I am still writing my story about the Lake Powell trip, in preparation for the book I am doing for the kids. It kind of writes itself in my head as I am doing other things. For example, today while I was on the road, I wasn’t actively thinking about it, but it was on the back burner as I rode my F800ST.
Some people go to church, meditate, or do yoga to find peace. I always say that I worship at the church of the holy motorbike. It used to be mountain bike, but I seem to do more motorbiking now. I find a lot of peace when I am on the bike, watching the road unfold in front of me.
Today I was wary. I knew I wanted to ride fast, but I felt that something was not right, that I needed to pay attention, and keep my speed down. It was difficult, but I did. My intuitions are usually correct, today was no exception. I saw three cops during the day on a stretch of road that is normally so remote that no one, including THEM, is on it. Two of them were not running radar, the third was. I was keeping myself in check, and I made Hal ride up front since he is less likely than I am to ride with abandon, and he will ride more safely.
We rode to Kearny, perhaps for the last time until it gets cool again, and had breakfast at West End. We had a chance meeting with some friends/fellow motorcyclists there. After that, we rode toward Globe through the canyon that is most delightful, a curvaceous stretch of road that I never get tired of riding. We rode it to Globe, fueled up there, then turned around and rode it again. It was over too soon.
Back in town, we stopped at our usual coffee place, and then I went home. It wasn’t a long day, but it was 250 miles or so toward my mileage contest total.