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My Fall Colors Observations By: Dan Kuryliak This prose describes my previous fall's ride on my 1997 XV1100 Special Edition. |
changing the maples to deep hues of crimson and gold. The sun is shining. It feels warm to my face. In yet another season of my life, I want to view the full splendour of nature's handiwork from a different perspective, in the saddle of my "Dark Horse". The starter gears whirr, the engine rumbles to life. The slash-cut exhausts bark out a staccato note, signifying that my steed is ready to head out into the fall sunshine. The pavement turns to a blurr beneath us as we head out into the north country, As we head up a crest of a hill, a twisty road unfolds in front of us. It seems to form a channel, cut through the maples in resplendent crimson hue. I see a shimmering lake in the distance, it's silver waters seem to beckon to dip a paddle, but there is no time to reflect those thoughts now. I need to see what lies around the next bend. Fragrant woodsmoke seems to permeate the cool crisp air. It's a wonderful feeling to be riding this day. I feel sorry for anyone who hasn't dazzled their senses from a motorcycle at this special season. A stop for a drink at a babbling brook. The waters are clear, cold and refreshing. Suddenly, I hear the splash of a painted turtle sunning itself on a nearby log. I look around to see my black Virago leaning on it's sidestand, impatiently waiting for me to mount up again. I'm off again, the resounding notes of each upshift and downshift echo off the trees and form the counterpoint to the melody of the frogs and crickets. "All of God's creatures have a place in the choir, some sing low and some sing higher". In the distance I can hear the hills resounding to the staccato beat of my Virago's exhaust signature. After the ride, sitting beside a crackling fire, I can recall the glorious panorama of fall over a cup of hot mulled cider. 8/98 |