Wednesday, March 11, 2009

The Stench of the Ride

The Stench of the Ride

Sometimes trying to describe the nuances of riding on two wheels to the uninitiated is hard to do. Take for example smells. Being set free from the confines of a cage lets the surrounding scents in. The smell of the Waffle House on my commute to work in the morning most of the time is an aroma that will makes me want to stop and have breakfast. Riding by restaurant row in Grapevine on my way home I can sometimes pick out the smells of steaks cooking ad that gets my salivary glands all hyped up.

There are all kinds of scents that you notice when riding a motorcycle that you never have a chance to when driving an automobile. It is probably worse here in Texas where almost everyone has their windows rolled up and air conditioners running on max. Some of these smells are, like it is going to snow, smoke from a fireplace, someone grilling or smoking a brisket, imminent rain, flower or tree blossoms, piney woods, or coastal salty air. Not all scents are fun to smell though.

Then there are the bad odors, the diesels, the cars running too rich, the sewers, the dumps and landfills. Some food establishments may smell OK on the inside, but outside emit something that’s not quite pleasurable. Most fast food places are like that. Then there is the time Thomas Ramirez had his V-Star 650. We rode to lunch one day headed to one of our favorite restaurants called El Taco H. It is located right next to the Baja Grill and is like the fast food part of the Baja Grill.

We headed our way through downtown Grapevine and through some residential neighborhoods. We passed one older home with chain link fence with several dogs in the backyard. Then it hit us. The breeze must have blown just ever so slightly and we were slapped up side the head with the worst, foulest smell of dog do-do you ever smelt. I’m talking take your breath away, nauseous type of smell. It’s like when you are riding at highway speeds on a very windy day and a strong cross wind goes across your face and you cannot take a breath.

I attempted to hold my breath until we got further away. We came to the next stop sign and Thomas, catching his breath also, said, “Did you...” I cut him off with a laugh and we laughed together, shook our heads and twisted them off to go to lunch hoping to get our appetite back. Yes, not everything smells rosy when riding a motorcycle.

Ride on,
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