Thank you to The Who for loaning me the title for this post. Good album, especially the track "Naked Eye". What follows are random excerpts from my "Drafts" folder. Posts started but never finished, and lets face it, probably not going to get finished. Below is a selection from the basement archives, the "odds and sods", as it were.
Long hours training in the gym and wrenching in the garage do little to sate the racer's urge. One needs an outlet, otherwise the light at the end of the tunnel grows very dim.
A fool believes he can win when the odds are stacked against him. A genius believes he can win when the race is already lost.
The test and the truth lie in finding oneself. But did it always need to be so damn hard?
Sometimes, I think if I could find a forest big enough, I might just ride into it and never come out.
There is no secret speed formula, I work at it every day, with mixed results.
Riding is a finicky drug with no set time release, no prescribed or recommended amount, and you never know it's too much until you've overdosed. Side effects have been reported, some fatal.
Despite the sense of entitlement we tend to feel, motorcycles owe us nothing.
Ever notice how doing simple maintenance on a machine can convince you it is running better?
I've never been one to commit to a whole lot of things (as my marital status, or lack thereof will verify), but the ones that I do, I am in for the full measure.
As a young man, I wasted a lot of time, as it seemed an endless thing.
Whatever your personal beliefs in an afterlife, the soul, reincarnation, might be, no one knows definitively that we get more than one lap around.
Racers know it. A low hum at the very edge that is always present, persistent, nagging reminder of the possible outcomes.
The motorcyclist has discovered something which can help to counter the creeping darkness we all experience from time to time.
I wait an hour and a half for someone to bring fuel. Gives me time to decide how mad I should be at my stupidity.
Force myself to relax.
$10,000 for a dirt bike? For what amounts to essentially a toy?
You reach a point in the murky depths of adulthood where you realize that everything parents and teachers fed you full of as a kid, you know "dream it and you can do it" is, for the most part, utter shite.