Yes, people in the Northwest are weather wimps. Deal with it.

*** continued from previous post***


Having survived -barely - we trundled down the road.  

As we rode along, the lonely farms and empty wheat fields transitioned into miles of sparse trees, and then into dense pine forest as we approached Lake Roosevelt.  All I can say is about this particular section of the ride is that it was incredibly beautiful.  We drove along the shores of the lake close enough to catch the sparkles of reflected sunlight, tiny prisms dancing across our helmets and the body of the bike like nature's disco ball.  Here there was hardly any traffic.  This section of the trip verily defined great riding.  Plus, there was nary a tornado to be seen.  

Although one may have been hiding in the bushes.  Tornadoes are sneaky little bastards.

Yes, we were riding easy.  The only problem was, if I were to believe the readout on the dash and there was no reason to not, the temperature was now firmly planted around 12,000 degrees.  

No, it was really more like 106, but still flippin' hot.  I was broiling in my mesh, and I became truly concerned for your Mom in her heavy gear.  So, we improvised.  I stopped quite frequently, (schedule be damned), and we would drink copius amounts of water, then pull an old biker trick - we would take a bottle or two of H2O and soak Mom's handkerchief and our shirts.  As we drove along the wind would flow over our clothing evaporating the water and cooling us at the same time.  Nature's air conditioning.  

This was critical.  Especially for your Mom.  That kerchief rested against her cartoid artery, providing a direct link to her bloodflow.  This would buy us some time, but when your Mom would lean forward and say, "My, aren't the stars pretty tonight?"  I'd know she was overheating.  I would pull over, douse her with water as if she were a confused tourist at a WTO convention, and cruise back onto the road.  

I tried to enjoy the sights but your Mom's imminent death distracted me from the natural splendor a tad.  We sacrifice for love, no?


*** the journey continues tomorrow ***