matt g. and I took a good road for a while... then we took a bad road for a while... then we took no road for a while. 60 miles later we are in the middle of nowhere.
this 20th century topo map kept leeping from matt's bag from the very start... no doubt embarrassed by its lack of technology next to our 21st century Garmin Rino's. It felt much more at home with my 20th century bike:
60 miles from anywhere... i sure hope my hog starts up in the morning (dont be fooled, that smile is a smile of grave concern)!
full moon made for a bright night and severe third degree moon burn... woke up in the morning with blue face. I spent the first morning minutes doing some adventure modeling (a hobby of mine) while matt captured some of my work on film:
it made for an incredible sunrise:
close up of plateau moon and the henry's:
my hog started up immediately (after a LONG few seconds of concern... my engine switch was in the off position for the first few kicks). however, 20 miles into the return trip, and still forever away from anything, my hog gave up the ghost. i breathed the breath of life back into her with a spark plug transplant. she took the form of a resurrected being and pranced her way back to safety:
back on a main road, matt and his tee-dub peer into beef basin below:
the home stretch... a freeeekin cool valley that can only be appreciated when cruisin 40 mph's on yer hog:
...and preferably, on yer vintage hog:
120 or so miles and 20 hours later we return to the mother ship:
4 comments:
my husband is funny and cool
i think what you actually meant to say was...your husband thinks he's cool and is sometimes funny. nice work jonathin and friends on this blog, very mildly entertaining!
Ah the old Trail 90 mishap roulette wheel game... it can make or brake most men; but not us. I commend you for your Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance. Did you see Phaedrus?
Phaedrus is a total douche. you still tensioning your chain with a boulder? That's a true mans tool. It's the tool that stands the test of time. You aren't a true man until you've muscled your t90 around with a stone and your bare hands.
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