Almost a 300 mile Sunday...

Good grief. That's all I can say about Sunday's ride. Let me first say that there is no such thing as a bad day of riding. It's just that your body can't take hours upon hours of anything, fun or not. I did have a blast, but holy crap, I was beat. For some reason, I think that every single ride I take will be a half day sort of thing. It has never ended up like that, so what the heck was I thinking? We decided to take Swen's brother that leaves tomorrow, Oct. 7th, on a day trip to Blood Mountain. Ok. Then I was told we were meeting two more riders at a Waffle House. Good, I thought, I was starving and the more the merrier. They pulled up on Suzuki Burgmans (glorified scooters). I actually laughed to myself. They turned out to be the ones laughing. They blew us off the road and never looked back. It was all any of us on Harley's could do to keep up with these Crotch-Rocket/Scooters. Dad had a saying, W.F.O. (wide f'ing open) and they were, ALL DAY LONG. Not once did I get a whiff of any flowers or even cow poop. We were 90 to nothing from beginning to end. Oh how I longed for cig and a coke. My hands felt as if they would be permanently bent in the shape of a nostalgic hand grip. I'm not over exaggerating when I say my speedometer never got below 70 miles per hour unless it was coming to a screeching halt at a Slightly Tap on Pedal sign (stop sign). It's true, I must have wussed out at the word go. But, it was challenging and dull moments were few and far between. Where are the pictures? Well, who the hell had time to whip out a camera? (Thorsten, hopefully he’ll share) Not me, I was too busy preparing for the next "Go Speedracer, go" moment. Shoot man, good times!