How Do You Describe a Motorcycle Ride? Part One.

Riding my bike tonight at dusk I was describing the incredible clouds I was seeing. My problem was that of trying to reduce the picture of the sky down to a few words. I failed. So I’m going to give you what I came up with and you can pick and choose. Help yourself.
Pewter colored clouds, bruised purple clouds trimmed in orange and pink, harsh, unforgiving black clouds with creamsicle underbellies, oyster colored clouds with an honey apricot glow, patches of renaissance blue sky, clouds with faces of foreign dignitaries.
I’m glad this challenge came to me because I wanted to write about my ride over the last few days when I went up to the mountains and roads of North Carolina, Tennessee and Georgia, I just didn’t know where to start.
It’s the same with scents that assault you as you ride. Where’s that barbecue smell coming from? Somebody’s got a wood fire burning. Wow, there’s the sweet smell of mimosa. Ah, the scent of newly mowed grass. I can smell the cut pine wood coming from that logging truck. There’s confederate jasmine around her somewhere. Damn – creosote! Must be train tracks nearby. Oh no. Something died around here.
Sounds usually are soothing. I love the sounds of trains when I’m riding or when I stop at a crossing. The stream that I pitched my tent next to allowed me to listen to the clear water trickling over the stones, lapping over small pebbles, the unceasing murmuring of the rill.
“A noise like of a hidden brook. / In the leafy month of June, / That to the sleeping woods all night / Singeth a quiet tune.” (Coleridge).
Combine the sounds of a stream with the evening songs of birds and it’s magical

Who knows what bird song
Reveals to an open heart?
The clear water flows.

I was happy enough with all the sounds until those bally katydids started screeching when I tried to sleep. The male and female talk to each other in the usual male female way.
Katy did
No she didn’t
Katy did
No she didn’t
Katy did
No she didn’t.
Whole lotta trouble to go to when we all just need a little love.
I imagine that the frogs I hear are just a little drunk, leaning against each other and swaying, singing some kind of sentimental bar tune, like “Show me the way to go home”.

Part Two Soon!

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