At dusk, riding home on Big Red, the alluring scent of the purple wisteria, mingling with the aroma of the wood fires almost made me dizzy. The skyline wore a peach-apricot glow with cloudless brilliant blue above. The sun chased alongside me through the trees. A train passed under the evening rising mist. It was cold but I didn’t care. The sunlight was retreating and cool shadows and fog had started to claim the road. The cars had their lights on as they hurried toward the future. I was fine riding through the present.
I’d left home this morning not quite realizing how cold it was. It was 41 degrees (5 Celsius). I’d forgotten to charge the batteries on my heated gloves so my hands were freezing. I had to hunker down at the Hardees in Adairsville and warm my hands and soul with some coffee. My heart was already warmed from the friction of gratitude rushing through me. Away from the music and news reports, enveloped by nature and especially the newly blooming dogwoods, it’s really hard for a boy not to feel grateful on a motorcycle. Even if it’s cold.