Hill Country Epilogue

It was Friday morning, September 25. I was happily tapping away at my keyboard. I forget what was so important, but I was engrossed in the effort. As the morning wore on, I became increasingly agitated. Something was just not right. I ran through my checklist of potential problems and found nothing amiss. I tried my best to continue, but it became more difficult as time passed.


I looked at the clock.  It showed straight up noon. As I stared, I could not help seeing out the window a few feet away. “Odd,” I thought, “I don’t see any rain…” My thought process automatically raced to “why isn’t it raining?” I got out of my chair and peered through the glass. Hmm.

The sky was clear blue. The lawn was deep green and dry. I rushed to the front door and stepped out. 75-degree temperatures and the mildest of breezes greeted me. Sunshine, long a scarce commodity in my neighborhood, warmed my neck and face. I realized I had been wasting my life and a beautiful day indoors when I should have been out in the sunshine and fresh air. Work? “I don’t need no steenking work,” I thought. I ran to my closet and grabbed the basics. Helmet? Check. Armored Jacket? Got it. Gloves? Boots? Yes, yes, yes.

In ten minutes, my motorcycle sat poised in the driveway, idling quietly. In fifteen, I was enjoying the fresh air and sunshine the way God intended, from the saddle of my bike. “Today,” I thought to myself, “I shall redeem that rain dance I enjoyed over the Labor Day Weekend!” I took the sharp-turning back road south toward Hillsboro. From Hillsboro, S.H. 22 retraced my path to the west. In bright daylight, this was an entirely new adventure. Traffic was light as I turned onto the small highway. I opened the throttle a bit, producing a satisfying growl from the V-4 engine and a delightful breeze on my face. Wow. I swooped and banked along the highway. Green pastures, picturesque structures and fat livestock streamed by. The fragrance was more like spring than autumn. I soaked it in through every pore.

Eventually, I reached Meridian, Texas and turned onto Highway 144 toward Walnut Springs. “The Springs” is a sleepy little village. Industry is limited to a couple of beer stations and some antique shops. I have seen it in worse condition. Just beyond the town, I reached Farm Road 203. I save this little shortcut for times I need to get away from it all and do something stimulating at the same time. It is a narrow road with many low hills and enough curves to satisfy any motorcyclist craving excitement.

I plunged ahead, relishing the scenery and the road. There was no traffic. Since the little road is at most ten miles long, I wanted to go slow to enjoy it as long as I could. My evil side wanted me to speed up to enjoy the road as much as I could. As in life, Evil often makes the more compelling argument. I sped onward, leaning the bike steeply into switchback turns and enjoying weightlessness at the peak of small hills. It was wonderful.

Then, I turned hard into a blind curve. Committed to a line through the curve, I was surprised to see a large pickup truck approaching me from the other direction. He was in my lane, cutting the corner. I could do little. Judging by the size of the truck driver’s eyes, he felt similar anxiety. I shut the throttle and began braking, gently. (You try braking gently when your blood is diluted with adrenalin.) I saw the driver pull hard over on his steering wheel and I tightened my line through the curve as much as I dared. In a heartbeat, we brushed past each other, a foot of empty air separating us. I was alive! No, really, I survived and I was alive. The survival part was a surprise. Feeling my heart pound with gratitude reminded me I might have something left to do in this life after all. After that, the remainder of the ride was completely boring. I am good with that.

I shall keep a sharp lookout for my life's greater purpose in future. I might also be more circumspect when I feel the urge to frolic on a twisty back road.

Until next time!