Hours later he turned off the parkway. The road leading down the mountain was crooked and technical in an unpredictable, chaotic fashion. Its rogue character lay in sharp contrast to the effortless smoothness, the harmonious consistency of the earlier road. It forced him to work harder, to pay more attention. A half-dozen miles later, by the time he pulled into the diner in the valley down below, he was wide awake, enervated by the combination of risk and the exultation that came from surmounting it.
Lunch was lazy. Long after he finished eating he continued to sit there, drawing distractedly from the glass of iced tea while gazing idly out the window at his bike. Having already come some 400 miles he could feel the first tendrils of fatigue creeping in upon him, the first knots of soreness spreading from his neck into his shoulders. Yet he was loath to think about an end to the day. The perfect day, he thought, would be one that went on and on. Riding a high alpine road that never ended.
Even as he held that thought he recognized it for what it was.
He popped two Ibuprofen tablets as he prepared to leave. As he climbed back on the bike he wondered what it was about these two-wheeled machines that held such a fascination to him. Why was it that they exerted such a hold on him?
Returning up the mountain he marveled at how a road can look so different when running in the opposite direction. The rising elevation and having now a hint of what to expect gave the man an advantage, but that was offset by the mild lethargy that came from also having a full stomach. Funny how things even out, he thought.
Back on the parkway, he continued south, quickly again being lulled by the sublime rhythm of the road. An hour later his bladder prompted him to pull into an overlook. After taking care of that he retrieved the map from his tankbag and spread it across his seat. He had been considering where to stop for the night and, now, gazing at the map, his eyes turned towards the college town an hour west. Pulling his eyes back towards the purple line that represented the parkway, the man visually connected several of the faint, smaller squiggles that would get him there.
The next hour and a half was the best of the day. A rocking, broken, roller coaster of a ride, tracking along a small, shaded trout creek that had him bending towards the task with an intense concentration. By the time he arrived at the town the man's face held a satisfied countenance, belying his growing tiredness.
Dropping down into cruise mode, the man motored slowly up the main drag, absorbing the youthful vibrancy that college towns always seem to exude. He nodded at a couple of flirtatious coeds who smiled at him.
At the gas station he pondered his options. Hot supper and a cold beer sure sounded good. But the glow from that run down out of the mountains still held him. He was reluctant to let it go. As he returned the handle of the fuel hose and reset his odometer he did a quick calculation. He had already come 550 miles. And there was only an hour of daylight left. But the road still called. There wasn't much south of here. But there was a terrific road that tracked northwards, back towards the interstate. Back towards home. He paused, considering. He would not get back until late in the night. And most of it would be on interstate. But at least he would be riding.
Slowly pulling on his helmet he paused one more time, stepping back to gaze at his bike, the machine that had carried him so far, in so many ways.
Nodding quietly, he climbed back aboard and thumbed the starter. Then he pulled back onto the road.