Chapter 2
The Great Brown
Frozen.
That's what I was. Frozen.
You think I jest. T'was a sad sight, watching your poor old father shiver and shake as I scooped slush off the windshield of the bike. Why the hell don't you ever see a motorcycle with wipers? That's what I'd like to know.
Oh yeah. Not supposed to ride a bike in the snow. That’s why.
We pushed on. Down. Down. Down. Away from the snow and the cold and the grey sullen skies of our homeland.
I could go into great detail describing to you how I shredded the twisties as we descended the east side of the Cascades and navigated those rare and beautiful miles into the tiny burg of Naches. But I won't. I'll spare you the minutiae of each turn of the tire, each apex, each rise of the blacktop. I shall resist the urge to create a lyrical ballad - an ode to the pines and the rivers and the wondrous, wondrous curves.
Let's just say if the road and I were both doing time in prison by the time we arrived at the bottom I could have traded it for smokes.
Oh stop cringing. I thought that image rather clever. You're a Navy girl. Suck it up.
The temperature inched steadily upward as the day progressed from early to mid-morning. Steadily and rapidly. Really rapidly. Climbing faster than a helium balloon escapes a toddler's sticky fist at the zoo. Not that it made much difference. My core was hovering somewhere between Minot, ND in January and the McMurdo Station in . . . well, pick a month. August will do. I had a ways to go before I would be warm again - if ever. And miles to go before I sleep but that's a different story entirely.
For a moment there I seriously considered setting myself on fire. I reasoned that it probably wouldn't be that bad, and I could more than likely put it out before I incurred too much damage. You know, finding the sweet-spot wherein the fire had warmed me enough that I could taste again, but right before I entered the burnt-marshmallow stage.
*** the journey continues tomorrow ***
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