The Diluvian Mountains were a bitter set of black and grey teeth jutting from a flood plain that was sparsely populated. Steep, tall, prone to releasing torrents of glacial flood waters at a whim, not many cities had seen a desire to set roots close by, so there were few who called the place home. The residents who did were seasonal farmers and hunters who would risk the plains during warm weather, growing fast, high-yield crops they could harvest quickly for market then return to the higher valleys to wait out winters, hunting, until the next cycle began.
My Yamaha Bolt has been in the dark for far too long. Has your own bike suffered from months of hibernation?
It’s time, my friends; Winter is releasing its cold grip on the Northern Hemisphere. Everywhere the dark is receding, the snows are melting, temperamental storms are voicing change and the air is (slowly) getting warmer.
“…some considered me an embarrassment to the sport and wanted me to just go away.”
We make wheelchair ramps, we strive to fight cancer, we pass laws to fight behaviors leading to diabetes. Mental Illness? Hell no, put those people away; let’s not even talk to them.
Love us one minute, ignore or hate us the next…we live with enough darkness. The constant rejection just feeds the illness; it adds to our suicide rates (and that’s when friends and support seem to come out of nowhere…after we’re dead? We needed you before that!)