It's Saturday morning...Friday was yesterday...let me reflect...
The Weather Channel tells me it's about 85 today. The instruments on my fairing tell me the air temperature over the blacktop is closer to 100...and it feels every degree of it.
I'm not sure who to be more upset with...The Google...or me, for listening to The Google. I've been inching down this narrow parking lot for over an hour. My left hand aches from the constant use of the clutch. My clothes are damp with sweat. I feel like I'm baking from the top side and steaming from the bottom as the heat from my engine turns the sweat to steam.
I stopped for some liquid replenishment, for me and the bike, and The Google assured me that heading south on the road I had gotten off on would be a much quicker route than getting back on the interstate. For all I know The Google may actually be right, the interstate might not be moving any faster than I am right now...but there's no way for me to know for sure.
My left hand screams in agony as I squeeze the clutch for what feels like the thousandth time in an hour. I reflect that this is not the first time I've been stuck like this...and I realize it won't be the last because this memory will soon be repressed, sent back to some dark corner of my mind, far from the place where riding a motorcycle is all fun, wind in my face, and where you never get sunburned.
Traffic finally thins out as all the people in front of me turn down their respective cul de sacs. Trees line the road and offer the relief of shade. The air moving over me feels like a dream. Here is the interstate, it's time to really get moving....only the parking lot just got wider.
Tomorrow is another day, and another road.
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