
Originally Posted by
Hitcher
Too many favourite bits, too little time...
I must go down to the SI again, cross that lonely sea to the SI,
And all I ask is motorbike and a road to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the handlebars shaking,
And a light mist on the hills' face, and a gray dawn breaking.
Poor Masefield. He must be rolling in his grave.
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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