Sojourn Poetry
On the western plains of Kansas
the signs of gas ahead are fewer and farther between.
The flashing fuel sign on the dashboard gives pause
as it flashes from low to extremely low.
Second doubts settle in about passing that last exit
while the weather creates another distraction.
The ominous, nearly black clouds to the right produce intense winds
requiring an extreme lean on the motorcycle to keep it straight.
The edge of the storm is just ahead
if only I can get past it.
Signs of civilization appear on the horizon.
It begins to rain as I exit the highway.
Under the cover of the gas station canopy, I refuel,
put on my rain gear and proceed down the Interstate.
Another near misadventure averted.
Brent
Damn, I love cross country rides. Feeling a bit of discomfort as I watch the miles slip away on the odometer, realizing I should have been a bit more cautious on the fueling side. Then, seeing an exit with fuel and feeling just a tad exonerated (LUCKY?). The storms are just to ensure you don’t fall into a false sense of security. I like them too.
You know, I like riding in a nice, gentle rain on an minimally traveled road. I recall my trip from Colorado back to Illinois and all along Kansas, for days, it rained. When I arrived at one of my stops in Topeka, it cleared up for several hours. Just in time for me to get back on the road. Loving the poetry.