THURSDAY, OCTOBER 12
Posted by Simon Gandolfi at October 26, 2006 12:53 AM GMT
7 a.m. and the road leads dead straight across scrub desert. A cold fierce head wind plays smoky patterns of fine sand across the tar. I bend forward over the fuel tank and edge the speedometer up to 70 KPH. The sand gets in my eyes and in my nostrils and in my ears. The road is endless. The country is featureless. Thousands of kilometres remain.
I check the speedometer. I have ridden six kilometres.
I check the speedometer. I have ridden eight kilometres.
I mark a post on the horizon. I wonít check the speedometer again until I reach the post.
A pale spot becomes a truck. The truck becomes a monster. The bike shudders. Ten kilometresÖ
I need coffee.
Cochico, at 90 Ks, is the first place name on the road map. 90 Ks at 70 KPH?
But it isnít 70 KPH. I sit up and the speed drops to 60.
All bikers suffer this type of depression one time or another, mostly when they are young and havenít dressed for the weather or on the wrong bike for what ever it is they are trying to do.