Second Month, Second Ride and a Sad Good Bye

February 9th, 2008

It has been over a month since I last rode, and let me tell you, it hurts!! Unlike the January Ride, the sky was open with sun pouring all over the land. Despite that, the temps were only up to the mid to high 40's. Hey, I will take it, as in the sun, it felt much warmer!

I didn't want to do the route I did last time, number one, I wanted to ride longer, and number two, it was still fresh in my mind. I started heading west on Washington Street, and took the ramp to south Shadeland Avenue.

I exited at Brookville Road, as I sat at the light waiting to go, I was surprised at how comfortable a ride it had been, even at 55 mph speeds.

I headed south and east on Brookville Road, cruising through the towns that dot that section of US 52. Eventually, I came upon SR 9, and took it north. I just felt like going to Greenfield today. It is where James Whitcomb Riley lived, and his home is museum now. After several miles on the state highway, I reached the classic town. It has a stately Town Square, and several new business around the area bring the downtown district back to life.

I crossed US 40, and headed up to McKenzie, which eventually becomes 21st when taken west back into Indianapolis. That was the direction I took. The bike really wanted to take a run on Fortville Road, but I was ready to head for home. I was feeling the wind, and the sun going behind a cloud.

I headed west until I arrived on Shadeland Avenue once again. I headed south, and took the ramp to get back on Washington Street. Gas prices were low. $2.79, so I thought I would fill up.

From there is was a short trip home.

That is it from the ride, but I do need to mention one more thing. While I rode, I noticed just how much things looked dead, and how winter always seems to be the sign of the end of things. When I got back from this ride, I was feeling pretty good, despite the empty trees.

Later that evening, I was on the computer, and via Instant Message, I got terrible news. A young man named Robbie, who had gone through a terrible life of abuse in the few 13 years he had been here, had died as a result of a dirt bike accident. I came to met and know this gentleman, and he was a gentleman at 13 years, via Pogo and Pogo Bowling, a place I have found many friends. He always called the men Sir, and ladies Ma'am, and wouldn't relent even when you begged him to just call you by your first name. He was rescued by another Bowler Cathy, and had a bright life in front of him, wanting to follow in her footsteps as Military Medic.

Besides the tragedy of such young life interrupted, and a life that never had a future until less than a year ago, I mention this for other reasons. He had asked, and I promised that one day I would ride down to North Carolina, and give him a ride. I regret that I didn't do it as soon as I promised. Now, he will never ride with me physically, but I know he will join the others that ride with me in spirit each time I throw my leg over the saddle.

Every ride is for you, Robbie, Sir.

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