You have to see Code 46. And if you can set me up with Samantha Morton, man, I’d really appreciate it.
Rain. Who needs it? What’s it good for? As the honorable Scott Harris once said, “It’s bullshit. And by bullshit I mean the stuff that comes out of a bull’s ass.” and he couldn’t be more righter.
Now, I know some of you tree huggin’, vegetable eatin’, a fuck about the Earth givin’ hippies will go on about how it brings our world to life and keeps the oceans full and puts food on our tables but I say if I can’t ride my gas guzzling motorcycle for an entire week I don’t WANT food on my table. Or yours.
I did finally get out a bit on Sunday but the rain chased me off repeatedly. I would get a few miles from home and rain would jump out from behind a building, or a cow and go “Ha! Now what, fucker?” and I’d turn around and run home. This happened pretty much all day and I never made it more than a few miles from home.I finally decided just to go to bed where it barely ever rains and to bed I went.
I woke up around 10:30pm and took a peek outside. Looked pretty dry, and the sky was fairly clear. I quietly called out into the night. “Rain? You still out there?”. I didn’t hear anything but the gentle snick, snick, snicking of the neighbor mowing his lawn so I put on a few extra shirts and hit the road. Since I’d been stuck in the house for an entire week I decided I’d try to run out to my favorite riding spot and see if I could find some gravel washed across the road to slide on and crash into a tree.
I jumped on 635 North and before I could say “massive hypothermia of the ankles, fingers and neck” I was freezing my ass off. It was about 55 degrees out which isn’t too bad when it’s sunny but it’s barely ever sunny in Kansas at 11pm. I thought I’d stick it out and kept going. I finally made it down to 5 North, took the ramp at about 90, took the other ramp at about 90 and went the hell home. Too damn cold. My body didn’t feel too bad but when I went to stop at the end of the first ramp my clutchin’ fingers and my brakin’ fingers didn’t wanna clutch and brake and that’s bad news when you are on your way to a high speed, twisty road.
So the weekend was pretty much a complete failure when it came to motorcycle riding. Luckily it was wildly successful when it came to running around the Plaza and downtown completely drunk, but that’s a story for another time.