Waking up late this morning, I had to kinda scotch my initial plan to ride to work. Even when commuting on a bike, a little extra time must be given to gearing up, performing a quick walk-around of the machine, letting the engine warm a bit before setting off, et cetera. Having done it for many years, I'd forgotten the easy "jump in and drive" allure of the cage.
Still, though, it was a beautiful day for a lively drive home with the top down on the Beemer, following the twisty backroads I usually take on the bike. I was preparing to make my right turn onto Mourfield, a beautiful little road that twists sinuously through a leafy green tunnel of creek valley before cresting a hill in a heart-in-mouth off-camber ninety-degree right-hander whose apex is right at the crest, overlooking farmland with the Smokies visible on the horizon, when a Harley made the turn ahead of me. I didn't think much of it, because from the sound of things he was really working the throttle, and I was, after all, in a cage.
It's a weird feeling to be stuck in twisties behind a slow bike, driving a car. I felt like I was in bizzarro world, and half expected the trees to turn a lovely magenta to complement a yellow sky...
I made the best of things by filling the Zed Three's miniscule trunk with provisions at Kroger, and I've already set my alarm clock. I will be on the bike tomorrow, dammit.
(PS: Mourfield is cool, but at the end I make a right turn onto Bluegrass. Bluegrass is notable for being the road on which three different friends have said, from the Z3's navigator's chair, "Um, I think I'm going to throw up." :D )