Life is funny. In my last blog post I described visiting Prescott, Arizona for the first time. After 8 months of playful discussions, a decision, a home purchase and an eventful move, Rosalie and I now live…er,…’here’ while retaining a summer base on San Juan Island. I’ll resume my long-suspended blog by describing part of the adventure.
Rosalie was the pathfinder, taking one vehicle to meet the moving van in Prescott. Three weeks later, cousin Mark and I, the San Juan Island closeout team, boarded a predawn Washington State ferry. Mark’s classic mid-eighties station wagon pulled two bikes on their new motorcycle trailer. My one-ton truck pulled a 20′ utility trailer. I struggled more than anticipated to keep up with Mark in the mountain stretches of Washington, Oregon and Idaho. A truck scale later revealed that my combined rig weighed over 20,000 lb! (more…)
No competitor was in sight, so I chased a swollen sun down Bailer Hill Road. Wind enveloped me. Icy fists drummed my chest and shoulders. Cold fingers probed beneath my helmet, brushing over my nose, cheeks and eyes. The smell of wet earth and dark forest mingled with the damp warmth of my breath.
The bike leaned side to side responding to my gentle pressures as the road snaked left and right. I concentrated sixty yards ahead as fence posts, a ragged fir, a mailbox accelerated toward me…blurrred…then blinked past in a steady rhythm. The road straightened. ‘More speed’ my wrist demanded. The engine’s pitch rose, the sun seemed to grow larger and the long tail of my shadow scrambled to keep up.