The Bikes, Blues and BBQs rally in Fayetteville Arkansas was behind me now and the time spent with old friends there had been uncommonly good. But the chill of winter’s coming now occupied the northern regions and seemed to be moving steadily south—as was I.
Most often drifter life, at least as I know it, is filled with leisure, little stress, and an easy desire to follow the road to whatever adventure might next present itself. But today it was not so.
Just now I rode the southbound highways with bungee cords, rope, and duct tape holding the motorcycle’s trunk and saddlebag together. For, the damage caused by the Gold Wing that had rear-ended me in Pueblo Colorado had only been partially repaired at Randy’s farm in Kansas. But there still remained plenty of broken fiberglass and I guessed that would just have to wait.
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