Articles Tiger Tales
He was young, and he had his woman with him. They were both new to it, and so was the ride they rode. It was raining hard, and we were going to be there awhile. They asked me what was the finest road I had ever ridden. And I told them I hadn't rode that one yet. He smiled appreciatively and pressed me for an answer. So I told them about The Pacific Coast Highway, about how it was all twists and curves and inclines. I spoke about that other ocean coming to the shore on one side and the Santa Lucia Mountains on the other. I went on some about the seals and the whales. Told them how the ride south along the PCH puts you closer to the ocean. I mentioned San Simeon and a diner in Pismo Beach and a fish place in Monterey. I told about Point Reyes and Mendocino and crossing the Russian and the Noyo and the Mad and the Columbia Rivers. I mentioned a lumberjack restaurant in Samoa. Then I told them about Oregon and Washington and The Olympic Peninsula.
I got a new helmet the other day. Back in the beginning, forty-five or so years back, I promised my Grammaw I would always wear one. I didn't really need a new helmet, but the old one was getting pretty beat up from being dropped and worn. If you live and ride in Florida, you can sweat a helmet a size or two bigger in about a year. And if you are as clumsy as I am, they get chipped and scarred up from being dropped a lot.
Mostly I got a good price on this new one. But the virgin, snug fit, especially around the ears, made for a different ride. I couldn't hear a damn thing. And it pressed in on the ear pieces of my glasses a little harder than the old one and put the lenses in a slightly different place. The strap is a little thinner than the one on the old helmet, and that is going to take some more getting used to.
First of all, God bless President Dwight David Eisenhower for the American Interstate Expressway System. Secondly, damn Ike for those same interstate highways.
Awhile back I got a letter from an old friend, Dulcimer George, from up in Vermont. He asked how many miles a day I was riding now that I was old and had a full-time good woman up behind me. That got me to pondering and reminiscing. I recalled a few thousand mile days back in the early seventies when there was still cheap gas and good two-lane highways and friendlier cops and way less traffic. Hell, I remembered one ride when about the only other traffic I saw all day was a couple cops,and they waved as I went by. I remembered Miami to Detroit in just over twenty-one hours one time. Those were all solo rides when I was a young man. Then I got to recollecting more current times and rides.
