Lead, Follow or Git Outa the Way!

[Calimusjohn]

Day 18
At some point in the past twenty-seven years, the Cassier Highway received a coating of asphalt. To keep things interesting, the engineers left a slew of potholes for drivers to sashay around.

For the first thirty miles, trees beside the roadway were blackened by fire. Bleak black. From the top of a rise, green trees appeared in the distance. Unfortunately, they were crowned by a plume of smoke indicating another fire was actively decimating the terrain. I later learned that the new fire had consumed over 5,000 acres. It would burn until extinguished by snow. Available firefighters worked fires closer to towns.

The Cassier is a two-lane black ribbon primarily lacking fog lines, center divider stripes, and signs announcing curves. Few guard rails block scenic views. A rider must adapt to ever-changing conditions. The road twists, turns, dives off ridgelines, swoops into canyons, curls along lakeshores, bores through tunnels, and leaps rivers on metal-gridded bridges. If God had money, the Cassier is the highway she would build.
Glancing sideways, I saw pesky glaciers slipping their way down mountainsides.

What a day! Good weather, a great road, little traffic, and my body not complaining. The bike felt like an extension of my body as we swirled through the curves and danced down the straights. Two Toyotas appeared in my rear-view mirrors. Evening was approaching, motels and resorts lay fifty miles ahead. I didn’t want a couple of cars to disrupt the rhythm I’d established.

The cars began tailgating. Well! Coming out of the next curve, I kicked down a gear, twisted the throttle to the stop, and rocketed down a straight-a-way. Braked hard, maxed out a curve, and accelerated again. My mirrors showed an empty road. I maintained a healthy pace for the next thirty minutes.

I pulled into a gas station for fuel. While filling the gas tank, the Toyotas arrived. A man from Japan leaped out of the front car. “You some rider! I ride Japan. I very good. You fast. Faster me.” I removed my helmet. His eyes appeared to grow. He shouted at the men sitting in the Toyotas, “Oh, you see this fast rider. Not a kid. He old man!”

They followed me until I pulled off the highway onto a road leading to a resort. The drivers honked and waved. I heard them cheer as they passed on down the road.

The resort offered me a tent site or the use of a cabin with a kitchen and bath en suite. I soaked my tootsies (and the rest of me) in a porcelain tub for an hour. Dinty Moore and Captain Morgan joined me at the dinner table.

[BamaJohn]

Day 18
At some point in the past twenty-seven years, the Cassier Highway received a coating of asphalt. To keep things interesting, the engineers left a slew of potholes for drivers to sashay around.

For the first thirty miles, trees beside the roadway were blackened by fire. Bleak black. From the top of a rise, green trees appeared in the distance. Unfortunately, they were crowned by a plume of smoke indicating another fire was actively decimating the terrain. I later learned that the new fire had consumed over 5,000 acres. It would burn until extinguished by snow. Available firefighters worked fires closer to towns.

The Cassier is a two-lane black ribbon primarily lacking fog lines, center divider stripes, and signs announcing curves. Few guard rails block scenic views. A rider must adapt to ever-changing conditions. The road twists, turns, dives off ridgelines, swoops into canyons, curls along lakeshores, bores through tunnels, and leaps rivers on metal-gridded bridges. If God had money, the Cassier is the highway she would build.
Glancing sideways, I saw pesky glaciers slipping their way down mountainsides.

What a day! Good weather, a great road, little traffic, and my body not complaining. The bike felt like an extension of my body as we swirled through the curves and danced down the straights. Two Toyotas appeared in my rear-view mirrors. Evening was approaching, motels and resorts lay fifty miles ahead. I didn’t want a couple of cars to disrupt the rhythm I’d established.

The cars began tailgating. Well! Coming out of the next curve, I kicked down a gear, twisted the throttle to the stop, and rocketed down a straight-a-way. Braked hard, maxed out a curve, and accelerated again. My mirrors showed an empty road. I maintained a healthy pace for the next thirty minutes.

I pulled into a gas station for fuel. While filling the gas tank, the Toyotas arrived. A man from Japan leaped out of the front car. “You some rider! I ride Japan. I very good. You fast. Faster me.” I removed my helmet. His eyes appeared to grow. He shouted at the men sitting in the Toyotas, “Oh, you see this fast rider. Not a kid. He old man!”

They followed me until I pulled off the highway onto a road leading to a resort. The drivers honked and waved. I heard them cheer as they passed on down the road.

The resort offered me a tent site or the use of a cabin with a kitchen and bath en suite. I soaked my tootsies (and the rest of me) in a porcelain tub for an hour. Dinty Moore and Captain Morgan joined me at the dinner table.