Oh boy. If you don't like the tar snakes now, just wait until summer.
The lovely feel you get as you tip the bike into the corner, pick the perfect line, wind the throttle on, and lurch sideways through a small pile of jelly disguised as road surface.
You'd think they'd have the decency to paint little pictures of landmines on them so we'd be able to know to slow the fuck down (TM). Cause you know, its impossible to pick a road surface and all... so we should go slow, slow, slow. It's really the only way to be safe.
And I to my motorcycle parked like the soul of the junkyard. Restored, a bicycle fleshed with power, and tore off. Up Highway 106 continually drunk on the wind in my mouth. Wringing the handlebar for speed, wild to be wreckage forever.
- James Dickey, Cherrylog Road.
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