Gypsy's Leisure: Labor Day Lounging

Wednesday, September 3, 2008

Labor Day Lounging

I did absolutely no riding this Labor Day. None whatsoever. I didn't even sit on the bike through the holiday. The thought crossed my mind sometime on Saturday morning, early while the air was cool. By the time I hauled my butt off the couch, I'd been up much of the night watching Predator and Predator II, I stepped out the kitchen door into a steamy afternoon. I turned around immediately and resumed my post in front of the television.

I did leave the house for most of Sunday, but I took the cage. My wife and I visited some friends in Elizabethtown, KY for some food and an evening playing games. Yes, that's the same Elizabethtown for which the movie was named.

I spent Labor Day again parked in front of the boob tube for a 15-hour Star Trek TNG marathon on the Sci-fi Channel, a viewer's choice marathon. Oh yes, 15 hours of Jean Luc Picard, Warf, Data, Q, Dr. Beverly Crusher, and, God forbid, even little Wesley. So while the bike occasionally called to me from the driveway, I spent the weekend indulging my inner goober.

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Overpass Blues

Every garage houses a collection of spare parts. Odds, ends, bits and pieces stashed away and gathering dust. While cleaning beneath the work bench we might liberate from the cobwebs a broken clutch cable, and the shredded wire reminds us of that time in the rain and dark beneath the overpass on Route 138. While puzzling over how to stitch together the frayed ends, we breathe deep the scent of wet asphalt and cooling tar. Perhaps while waiting for the glimmer of a brother's headlight to swim out of the night, we close our eyes and listen to the shush of rain on corn.

Sporty's Last Ride

I wake before dawn on July 3, 2005 and can't force myself back to sleep. While I wait for a fresh pot of coffee to brew, I push my 95 1200 Sportster out of the garage and gear up in the chilly pre-dawn. I kiss my wife goodbye and inform her that I'm riding an early loop around the county before the holiday traffic rolls through. I seal my fresh java into a thermos with the plan to find a quiet, isolated spot on the road somewhere to enjoy it.

I turn east on Rt. 136 which twists its way through a portion of McLean County, KY toward the Ohio County line. The corn waves in the fields, its sweet smell pushed along by the cool breeze. Still early in the season, the stalks have not yet reached their heights that always give me the impression of riding through a corridor. Ahead of me, the orange light creeps over the treetops and the last stars wink out as their velvet backdrop burns away.

I roll onto a farm access road choked with weeds and shut it down. As the Sporty's engine tumbles to standstill, I hear the belching of frogs from beneath the nearby bridge. A tractor, trailing a plume of diesel smoke, lumbers along the far edge of an adjacent field. The scent of tilled earth ebbs as the machine maneuvers behind a stand of trees.

I crack open the thermos and wait for the sun to climb. Had I known what awaits me just a few days away in the middle of a sultry July afternoon, I'd stay by the side of the road just a few moments more. I would sip my coffee slowly and allow its earthy vapors to warm my face. I'd welcome the light spilling over the nearby ridge, cascading over polished chrome. I'd spread my leathers over the drying grass to soak up the first rays of fine summer sun. I'd stand tall, not shut my eyes against the dawn.