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<blockquote data-quote="Rolls" data-source="post: 102818" data-attributes="member: 28"><p><strong> Recent rain has covered her with a tiny film of rye grass. It looks like green velvet. The traction is perfect.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> For the better part of an hour I lay the bike over sliding in top gear like riding the Springfield Mile. Then it is rights and lefts as though practicing for the Peoria TT. New knobby, new engine, perfect green traction. As I nail the throttle a huge rooster tail spins up from the rear tire flying 39 feet in the air. Every granule of dirt flies up and comes down in exactly the same trough. I have the twist grip pegged and the handlebars crankedto the steering lock watching my own rooster tail. It is magnificent. It is magic.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> Finally tiring, I stop and lay the TR-6 on its side in the middle of The Playground. I sit next to her. An unusual sensation in my chest feels like heartburn. " Damned chicken-fried steak," I think. I try to burp. Alittle dizzy, I close my eyes to rest and nod off to sleep for a few minutes. When I open my eyes it is getting dark.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "Nice bike; don't see many perfectly restored Triumph desert sleds out here anymore." I look up and see a man dressed in black standing next to another perfectly restored TR-6. No, wait; it isn't restored-- it is new, brand new.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> 'Not many riders know about this place," I respond.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> </strong></p><p> <strong> "No, they don't."</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "Well, I guess we are the last of the breed."</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "That is exactly who you are!"</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> I stood up and righted the Triumph. "I was about to go."</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "No, you will be staying. There is time for another ride. I'll take a few laps with you."</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "OK." I kick her and she fires on the first kick.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "From now she will always fire first kick," he said.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "What do you mean. always? Who are you?"</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "You know who I am. You came up here for one last ride with me. I've been waiting for you. Don't bother with your helmet. You can't get hurt anymore. You have crashed for the last time. From now on the bike will start on the first kick and the riding will be perfect."</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong><strong> "What...What?" I stammered.</strong></strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> "Like I said, you won't ever get hurt again. You will never fall again. Now let's take a few laps before dark."</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> Impossible to resist. I follow him. He rides very well and so do I. In fact, I ride better than ever. I ride like I am in heaven and it is my last ride. It is.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong> The location of The Playground dies with me.</strong></p><p> </p><p><strong>.</strong> </p><p><strong> </strong></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Rolls, post: 102818, member: 28"] [B] Recent rain has covered her with a tiny film of rye grass. It looks like green velvet. The traction is perfect.[/B] [B] For the better part of an hour I lay the bike over sliding in top gear like riding the Springfield Mile. Then it is rights and lefts as though practicing for the Peoria TT. New knobby, new engine, perfect green traction. As I nail the throttle a huge rooster tail spins up from the rear tire flying 39 feet in the air. Every granule of dirt flies up and comes down in exactly the same trough. I have the twist grip pegged and the handlebars crankedto the steering lock watching my own rooster tail. It is magnificent. It is magic.[/B] [B] Finally tiring, I stop and lay the TR-6 on its side in the middle of The Playground. I sit next to her. An unusual sensation in my chest feels like heartburn. " Damned chicken-fried steak," I think. I try to burp. Alittle dizzy, I close my eyes to rest and nod off to sleep for a few minutes. When I open my eyes it is getting dark.[/B] [B] "Nice bike; don't see many perfectly restored Triumph desert sleds out here anymore." I look up and see a man dressed in black standing next to another perfectly restored TR-6. No, wait; it isn't restored-- it is new, brand new.[/B] [B] 'Not many riders know about this place," I respond.[/B] [B] [/B] [B] "No, they don't."[/B] [B] "Well, I guess we are the last of the breed."[/B] [B] "That is exactly who you are!"[/B] [B] I stood up and righted the Triumph. "I was about to go."[/B] [B] "No, you will be staying. There is time for another ride. I'll take a few laps with you."[/B] [B] "OK." I kick her and she fires on the first kick.[/B] [B] "From now she will always fire first kick," he said.[/B] [B] "What do you mean. always? Who are you?"[/B] [B] "You know who I am. You came up here for one last ride with me. I've been waiting for you. Don't bother with your helmet. You can't get hurt anymore. You have crashed for the last time. From now on the bike will start on the first kick and the riding will be perfect."[/B] [B][B] "What...What?" I stammered.[/B][/B] [B] "Like I said, you won't ever get hurt again. You will never fall again. Now let's take a few laps before dark."[/B] [B] Impossible to resist. I follow him. He rides very well and so do I. In fact, I ride better than ever. I ride like I am in heaven and it is my last ride. It is.[/B] [B] The location of The Playground dies with me.[/B] [B].[/B] [B] [/B] [/QUOTE]
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