After about a week or so of riding the roads, camping most nights, the mind finally joins the soul in letting go the last conventions drummed in by society's day to day grind. A wash in sun and wind day after day, the body tunes the mind to truly see further than the eye. A magnificent phenomenon when it occurs. It's a whole new referencing right from the center of your being. ...
It's morning, six days and about 3000 miles of back road wondering, you wake up just before dawn. It's cool, but not cold. Every now and then, you can almost see your breath. The ground, your tent and motorcycle are covered with dew. You're the only one awake in the campground. You're barefoot, blue jeans are four days old, and the T-shirt you slept in is earthy, but oh so comfortable. It's good for just another day. You decide to break camp quietly to preserve the solitude, Before having a shower to clear the sleep and aches from your body, you roll your sleeping bag. Pack your T-bag, leaving out your towel and toothbrush. You strike down your tent. Shake the moisture off preparing to roll and pack the tent away. At least twice, you break from your early morning toil, to sit on the picnic bench and listen to the almost perfect quiet that surrounds you. Your motorcycle is almost fully loaded. But you stop again to watch the beauty that is the morning's first light. Still, no one stirs in the campground. You stroll barefoot to the showers. Just before 6:30 AM, you idle your motorcycle just far enough down the road so as not to disturb those who have missed the best part of the morning. By the main gate, facing the highway you sit for a moment, do one last check, then leisurely ride down the road. Fifteen minutes later you're in Waffle House heaven. While the waitress asks if you'd like a coffee, she's already filling your cup. You're looking at her, thinking this is the most beautiful woman on the planet. She takes your order and fills your cup for the second time. She's no longer the great beauty she was a cup ago, but she sure fills your need. As she pours that third cup, she talks to you like you're the only person in her life. Just like she did with the two truckers that came in five minutes before. You slip the dollar bill under the coffee cup as you lift up off the counter stool. As you sit in the parking lot, and bring your bike to life once more, you look back through the plate glass window of yet another Waffle House. At the only woman to meet your needs, on such a fine summer morn.
It's morning, six days and about 3000 miles of back road wondering, you wake up just before dawn. It's cool, but not cold. Every now and then, you can almost see your breath. The ground, your tent and motorcycle are covered with dew. You're the only one awake in the campground. You're barefoot, blue jeans are four days old, and the T-shirt you slept in is earthy, but oh so comfortable. It's good for just another day. You decide to break camp quietly to preserve the solitude, Before having a shower to clear the sleep and aches from your body, you roll your sleeping bag. Pack your T-bag, leaving out your towel and toothbrush. You strike down your tent. Shake the moisture off preparing to roll and pack the tent away. At least twice, you break from your early morning toil, to sit on the picnic bench and listen to the almost perfect quiet that surrounds you. Your motorcycle is almost fully loaded. But you stop again to watch the beauty that is the morning's first light. Still, no one stirs in the campground. You stroll barefoot to the showers. Just before 6:30 AM, you idle your motorcycle just far enough down the road so as not to disturb those who have missed the best part of the morning. By the main gate, facing the highway you sit for a moment, do one last check, then leisurely ride down the road. Fifteen minutes later you're in Waffle House heaven. While the waitress asks if you'd like a coffee, she's already filling your cup. You're looking at her, thinking this is the most beautiful woman on the planet. She takes your order and fills your cup for the second time. She's no longer the great beauty she was a cup ago, but she sure fills your need. As she pours that third cup, she talks to you like you're the only person in her life. Just like she did with the two truckers that came in five minutes before. You slip the dollar bill under the coffee cup as you lift up off the counter stool. As you sit in the parking lot, and bring your bike to life once more, you look back through the plate glass window of yet another Waffle House. At the only woman to meet your needs, on such a fine summer morn.
