Day 2 - Rain Dance
First rest behind us, and it’s an early rise to try and race the storm heading south. The skies are overcast, much like a mental fog that somehow exists everywhere except for long stretches of highway.
Traces of what this journey means on an individual level start to seep thru, scabs start to peel from hours of wind, and white noise. Grim has been scribbling away in his notebook, Jarnefr is thinking of short spoken segments detailing what each mile brings him, Hornsmith is shooting video, and I am here…cathartic.
At each stop we palm pavement and knock out 50 push ups, half a feet of ego, half to get blood back into our fingers. The Hornsmith is somewhere around 500.
On the horizon the dark clouds churn like an old steam engine cycling thru the mountain pass, and after conquering the electrical gremlin on Jarnefr’s Dyna, we duck heads and barrel into the storm.
At first the light splatter of mist on windscreen is a welcomed sensory input, amidst the learned scenery, but as the droplets increase in size, they do little to sooth sunburnt skin.
Trial is a given on any quest of the spirit, but wet gear needs attention, as much as stomachs need sustenance.
Drenched, smiling, we pull into Holiday Inn and make plans to get dinner with new friends who are eager to show support for the ride.
As the night draws down and packs are repacked, goodbyes to Road guests are said, a rhythm starts to develop, and though the song has yet to be played, its heartbeat is formed.









