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Tuesday, August 6, 2013

Crash - Indian Motorcycle Entry #16

The smell of the rock permeated me
It was all I could think about
As the dust mixed with blood
Forming a brown paste that stuck to whatever it touched

I raised up my head
Spying my motorcycle ten feet away
On it's side
Fuel dripping from the vent in the cap
Making a wet spot in the gravel shoulder of the highway

I climbed slowly to my feet
Wiping the brown paste from my face with my arm

Grasping the handlebars and heaving the bike upright
Revealing cruel dents and scratches to match my own
The still shiny chrome Indian script emblem now bent
Following the new contour it had gained

I kicked out the kickstand
Leaned it's bulk into it
And walked around the machine
Taking mental note of everything I saw

Not as bad as I'd thought all things considered

Looking back
There was no dead coyote anywhere to be seen
Which I had mixed feelings about
Seeing the consequences of the low side slide upon man and machine

I decided that I had gotten the worst of it most likely
And thew a leg over the thick leather saddle
Wiggling all the controls
Finding the front brake lever a couple inches shorter than it used to be
But otherwise nothing amiss

Thumbing the starter
The engine sprang to life
In it's usual orchestra of mechanical violence

I adjusted the mirrors
Grimacing at the image that was projected back at me

My sister was going to be pissed when I showed up for her wedding looking like this