Blazing west following the sun’s path over hill and dale through sun and snow and sun again to far reaches of the desert vista to roll wheels on thorny dirt and rock, two pals side by side riding like glory through the valley of death. German tourists with precision attitudes hup hup hup through the dust as all others cringe before their teutonic majesty, bar band playing every song at 88% tempo, Bored Princess wishing it was her party, speaking when spoken to and pouting through fat lip as the band drones on and beer pours down our gullets. We are the brave and mighty who dare to ride in the horrible conditions bestowed upon us by the gods of weather.com and live to tell tales of long climbs on sharp rocks and skinny tires, two flats all weekend within 10 minutes, broken chain at the outset crashing and bashing, bloodthirsty tree reaching out for passing arm flesh thwarted by double layers of sleeves. Bad-ass BSA motorcycle lurks in the dark driveway of hipster coffee shop, useless brake rotor gleaming but lonely for caliper and lever no worries it always goes and it always gets him back, the black-leather cowboy with the cup of hot brown water. Somewhere the band drones on, tape-player with dying batteries performing Stevie Ray tributes at pepsi jam whatever the hell that is and the trails remain, unaffected by imaginary snow and ready to take on all comers. Home again now safe and sound and bloody and bruised feeling like I got away with something, thief in the night stealing fun from the dusty rock, road trip behind yet everlasting in the psyche of the two wheeled warriors on the move.