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Patty and I just got back from another motorcycle trip. This time we went north to the Sequoia National Park and saw the big trees. Patty laid her bike down twice, and I only dumped mine once! But I am the one with the scars. We took a roll of film, so we ought to get some posted in the next few days. We bought one post card which I'm going to post in Yahoo! in a few minutes.
Last week we were at the motorcycle shop getting some parts when she found a pair of racing gloves for a mere $40. $40 bucks!!!!! I screamed and hollered and yelled , but she was determined. When she sticks that little, pointy chin out like that, I know who's boss, and it ain't me.
So yesterday morning we made the torturous, winding drive up to the park, twenty miles of switchbacks and 10-mph curves, climbing from near sea level up to over 7000 feet. We drove around for a while admiring the giant redwoods, and even though it was a warm, summer day, at that altitude, it was a bit chilly. Just about the time we decided to pack it in, Patty recalled her nice, warm gloves. With a smirk and an "I told you they'd come in handy," she slipped them on, cranked up her bike, and started back down the way we'd come.
With a mighty roar she shot off down the road at nearly full throttle. I tried to keep up, but she soon outpaced me. It was a real shock to see her take off like that, and an even bigger shock when she didn't back off but started taking those curves and switchbacks like some kind of daredevil stunt racer. She drove so cautiously coming up the mountain, I had been seriously considering getting a push bumper for the front of my bike. I mean, she was slow.
She was soon out of sight. I followed along behind at a more leisurely pace, only slowing slightly to admire the fresh grooves in the pavement where she had drug her foot pegs and the tire tracks up around the canyon walls where she had overrun the corner and climbed up the sides, like a carnival rider doing the Wall of Death.
After a while I caught up with her. She had stopped at a pull-out and was vigorously stomping one of her new gloves while frantically trying to yank off the other so she could do a Jarabe Tapatia (Mexican Hat Dance) on it. Damn, she was mad!
Come to find out that when she gave it the gas up on top, a sharp burr on her grip had snagged the glove and rolled some of the material up between the grip and the handlebar. She couldn't back off, and she couldn't use both hands on it because she needed both hands to control the wildly accelerating motorcycle. Since her right hand was almost immobile, she couldn't apply the hand brake, and every time she hit the foot brake too hard, the bike started skidding. So she rode it down until the acceleration topped out and she could put more concentration on getting the glove loose.
I'm glad she didn't upshift gears. She would have gone into orbit.
Editor's note:
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