After I left work tonight, I decided to ride my F800ST east on the freeway for a few miles. I hadn’t had the bike out for a decent ride in weeks, which is very strange, but sometimes happens in the winter months. I run this bike hard during the summer months, but during the winter, my dirt bikes seem to take over.
Anyway, I flew down the freeway, and as the sun was setting, the red-gold light tinted the Superstition Mountains east of Phoenix a deep red, the strata at the top of the mountains lined with purple. The striking rusty burnt orange color made the mountains glow in the sunset against the gray-blue of the twilight sky. It was a beautiful sight, and it made me think that I couldn’t live in a place that didn’t have mountains. Every day they change, their awesome beauty something to marvel at and provide inspiration.
A few minutes later, the glow was gone. Concentrating on the heavy traffic, I did not see the moment the light faded, but suddenly the mountains were muted in the distance. As I turned around and rode home, the darkening mountains were in the rear view. A sense of peace and well-being came over me as I remembered all the great trips I’ve had on this bike, three years and 52,000 miles worth. I’ve loved every minute of being in that particular reality, and I am looking forward to the upcoming riding season. It should be a good one, and the escape from real life especially sweet.