Musings on Summer Riding, part 2

Bugsplat Heaven. That’s what it is.

Geez, I love riding in the summer. Communing with nature and the song of the road. You can ride along at whatever speed floats your boat, and just become one with the wind and the gentle …

Splat.

OK. Now that was just a fluke. How could a bug come out of nowhere and ride the wind currents directly into my nostril? Ah well, at least it was just a little bug. You can snoff a no-see-um right out with a quick snort and be on your way.

Riding along Highway 20 towards the eastern side of the state is a beautiful trip. The trees are majestic and the road has lots of nifty turns you can carve. As I power out of the last S-turn, it seems like the asphalt belong just to me…

Splattt!

Oh, man! That was a big one. Fortunately, it missed my nose this time. Instead, it chose to die while embedding itself firmly between helmet and cheek. I can sort of feel it squirming its last little throes in there as it gets mashed into my sideburn. Ahh…I’ll just reach up and swipe it outta there with my glove.

Ooops. Wiped it down over my cheek instead of swiping.

Well, it’s only natural to have a couple of bugs hit you along the ride. No biggie for an experienced rider like me. Heck, I can probably dodge ‘em, if I can just see ‘em coming.

So, the road goes on. This highway is really beautiful. It goes through the forest and past Marblemount, then out along Diablo Dam. The viewpoint there is truly spectacular and worth a stop for a picture or two. Plus it will give me a chance to wipe that bug off my face.

After a nice little rest, it’s back on the road towards Winthrop. The destination there is Sherrie’s Sweet Shop for a funnel cone, and Three-Fingered Jack’s Saloon for a meal and maybe a cool brew. I can almost taste it now and…

…Holy moly! It’s a…SPLATT!

Ok, not funny. That was no bug. It was about the size of a softball with the wings of a dragonfly, and it hit me square in the right shin. Felt like a rock! Man, that guy really ate his wheaties. But he’s deader than a doornail now, so I’ll just ignore the big green and yellow gob of bug guts on my chaps.

Heck a little bug juice is practically required, for a big bad biker!

The road over Washington Pass tops out at over 5400 feet. Thanks to EFI I don’t have any altitude problems and the bike is running great. I sail down the highway, heading for the valley that will lead me into Winthrop and …

Splort!

Yeeesh. THAT was gross. Apparently, the government has been doing genetic research on bugs, to produce one that has more gooey guts than a can of pea soup. They must have released this guy as one of their earlier, failed efforts. Full in the chest, he got me. The thing was roughly the size of an Apache gunship, with about the same mass. I think I’ll need to use the hose, when I get to Three-Fingered Jack’s.

You know, a windshield might be a good investment. Maybe I’ll look into that when I get back.

I can see the signs of Winthrop in sight. Coming around the corner past the Barn, where I’ve had some good times in the past, I know that there is about two blocks to go. I slow into town and downshift for the stop sign. Made it!

Schlopp!

Oh why not? What’s one more six legged, green-gutted, kamikaze bug at this point in the ride? So it mashed itself to a pulp on my forehead? So what? I’ll just go into the restroom on the corner and clean up before I go into the bar. No point in scaring the kiddies.

When I get in there, I look in the mirror and only then do I realize the full extent of the damage. Aside from the big ones, there are literally dozens of smaller cruisers, shuttles and a couple of troop carries that have plastered themselves onto my gear. I look like the outside screen of a bug-zapper.

The horror….the horror.

Ride safe.