Big bike, bigger rock

That smell. That almost indescribable musty sweet scent of spring was calling and I had to answer. In the garage under a fine layer of neglect she waited, without an ounce of complaint. Dust, dirt, bugs and grease are of no concern right now. I need a ride. You know the voice that tells you these things, somehow more in tune with your needs than you can believe.

Pre-ride check complete, I open the door and let the warmth rush in. The sky a perfect blue with wisps of white and a temperature scratching at 65, could it really be the 6th of January? Who cares! The roads are clear and I've been given the afternoon to myself. Twelve holes laced tight, I threw my leg over and jerked her upright. Together we roll to the drive and close the door behind. A slight warm breeze sweeps that scent of spring off the grass and into my helmet. I cannot help but take several slow deep breaths. Nice. I tug the choke lever, thumb the starter. The sound is nearly perfect, the reason there are no headphones in my helmet. After a brief warm-up for me and the bike and the pleasingly familiar "click" of the shield closing on my helmet, we are off.

I have no destination and aim for nothing more than a few miles to clear my mind. Success with a couple beautiful vistas along the way. Just what was needed. We roll silently back into the garage, dust and dirt seemingly undisturbed by the excessive winds to which they were subjected. Maybe next time I'll try harder to dislodge them.

Roe Ford Road

Cherokee Foothills Scenic Highway

Table Rock State Park