A1A 

being from the north, it's amazing to ride up A1A this day that's just a spit away from December in shirt sleeves. So there i am, riding along, wind thumping against my face, hot sun filtered through the ocean breeze. I watch the osprey hunt, light waves licking the beach, clouds touching the sea at horizon's edge. just over there ====>>>> is england or spain? or maybe portugal.

So there i ride, listening to the engine, subtle shifts in sound and tone as i roll against the throttle or ease up as my thoughts or traffic dictate. that aggravating wobble in the front end feels so pronounced today, time, i need time, if only i had time to take the bike over  to my buddy's for a check up. I look at the houses, for rent, for sale, for rent, for sale, for rent. I want to live there, there, there, there, there. ha, ha, ha. no i don't, but that little tiny one level on the beach side was nice, just big enough for me and the bikes and the dogs. maybe my retirement home.

So there i ride, and think, mind drifting from one layer of thought to another. i shoot back into a memory, suddenly as i approach a spot i remember from a northerly view. i remember. finding out CC is billy's uncle. Talking to Billy. Riding towards daytona from the north later that day............... i see the construction cones in my head, the memory of 3 or 4 years ago... Billy's return to my life, i see me drifting nearer to the cones, unaware that Billy is remembering wolleston beach, some whacked out chick on her ride de jour,  kicking over construction cones............., 20 years ago? was that my stock sporty or the rigid or one of my many japs?  I pass the spot, two cones still sit there, is that the same spot from 3-4 years ago? I laugh out loud and shake my head at myself.

So there i ride, down A1A headed home from the car show.  Thinking warm fuzzy thoughts about turning 50. Thinking about people i've known, people i know and people i'll come to know. the sun hitting my face, filtered through the wind off my screen. yeah, i'm still running my screen on The Dusty Buffalo. There's a chill in the air most of the time now and i can wear my prescription glasses. I don't feel like a spinnaker the way i do riding in all my gear and no windscreen.  i don't like it, but i appreciate it. The sun makes me squint as i cruise along, i stop several times for photo ops of the bike. i leave The Dusty Buffalo running while i step off, stand back, eyeball the view and my purpose for the photo.  I see many photo ops as i ride along. my camera can't catch the mood, it's unavailable to the lens. the clenching of my muscles, gritting of the teeth, narrowing of my eyes when i pull my vision from the sky to the brake lights gaining speed in front of me. Holy f***ing s**t that sucked, i say outloud. the adrenalin quickly disapates in preperation for the next time and the next time and the next time as i lose myself back into thoughts that wander as easily as the bike on A1A.

and so there i ride, cruising up A1A past the condo's, past the sand dunes, past the houses, past the places where my brain evaporates into thoughtlessness into the places where i must concentrate. into the urban sprawl of jacksonville. 3 hours it took, i guess from daytona to jacksonville beach. my brain immediately shifts into high gear. that processing speed i learned so many years ago riding in boston, hypervigilance, they're all out to kill me, running the gauntlet i suppose. dodging cars, texters, and generic f***ing idiots, people hell bent on taking over my lane of travel regardless of the havoc they impose upon others (mainly me).

So there i ride, my mindless journey up A1A is over yet again because i need to ride over the 9A bridge. it calls me, even in daytona i hear it calling me, be here in the clouds, fly with me, bike whining up as i roll up towards the crest, as always i look around, i see the world, my heart lifts, i fly, wind in my face, squinting and hoping i don't lose my glasses (blind f***er that i am) bike howling in conquest, i suppose i should look at the speedo, there's another ticket in my future..... but i'm flying, i don't care.  i smile as i fly down the west side headed to the freeway. the stretch of I95 that matches the I95 that i rode a million times back home. thinking of times i've been so cold being dead would be warmer.

So there i ride, i hit the highway, traffic is thick, holiday traffic, stupid people on the roads. minding my own business, hauling ass, it's been something like 4 hours since i left daytona, it's only about 180 miles from daytona to home. i'm in battle mode now, no time for drifting thoughts, no time for sightseeing, no time to wonder where, who, what, why and when or how. some punk in an suv...... jeep cherokee, black with south carolina tags to be exact, manages to pull into my lane less than a car length ahead of me............... there goes the adrenalin again, he cuts into the right lane, i shoot up next to him, and yes i holler at him, i think he said "what did you say" but i shoot out in front of him, adrenalin pumping, the trip up A1A is in the rearview right now, i give him my standard Yankee Salute, one solid straight up middle finger, and look over my shoulder so there's no mistaking i'm aiming it at him. and off i go, 90, 95, 100 into the wind, laughing and jittery at the adrenalin that hasn't left yet.

So there i ride, tense, wound up, ready to do battle, planning my next move, when here come those damn brake lights again, fast in my head light. he'd passed me, i was nearing home, sadly i wondered if his dumb ass hadn't caused an accident, he was lane changing like he thought he knew what his punk ass was doing. he'd never last a week in boston. traffic accidents, something, nothing, i don't know. i leave 95, cut the back roads home. yes home. park The Dusty Buffalo, play with my dogs, feed my face, and here i am, blogging for you all. there's so many other thoughts that drifted through my brain, but they're in my rear view now, i'll pick them up next time i ride down A1A. i'll find them again, i always do.