Racin' with the Wind
Jun. 4th, 2010 12:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
taliesinrhysSomewhere in Montana...
"Get your motor runnin'
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way..."
Somewhere out there, on a highway in Montana, a Toyota Sienna full of bratty kids and useless rich parents is laughing at me. I live to amuse. Maybe it was the piles of stuff strapped to the bike behind me. Maybe it was the one-finger salute I gave Mr. Jones as I split his lane to get around him when he cut me off. I don't know. Wind in my hair, the old Honda beneath me purring like a kitten, and a thousand miles between me and the Pacific Ocean, I could care less what their problem is. The day was warm, the scenery was amazing, and the highway stretched on for miles. What more could I want?
Spent the winter in Canada, in Winnipeg, pretending to be a Qualmi like a good kitten. All that snow, though? Not my style. Fact the first: There are fewer good parties when the liquor store is under five feet of snow. Fact the second: I like concerts. I like parties. I'm not a riddle cat. That hermetic shit would drive me insane. So, hell with it. I'm on the road to San Fransisco and I'm not stopping till I see the Golden Gate Bridge. Everything I own is strapped to the bike, my guitar is strapped to my back, and all my money is in my boot. Time for some of that warm California sun. And hot blondes. There better be hot blondes in San Fransisco.
Stopped for gas just this side of the Rockies. Pulled into the station, grabbed a Coke and a candy bar, and flashed the attendant Sweet Hunter's Smile. Score one pack of cigs for me. Ha. Filled the bike with gas. Even managed to smoke a cig before the cops came looking for donuts. That's my cue to get the bike back on the highway. Me and pigs don't mix. Maybe I look like trouble. Maybe it's the bird I flipped them on the way out of the parking lot. Too late this time, pigs, I'm already out on the highway again. Run that Canadian tag, I dare you. David Everett doesn't exist. Taliesin Rhys Gwillt is gonna make a big splash in Cali, and all you can do is watch and stew over the one that got away! Ha!
Onward and upward! Over the mountains and to that Golden Gate! I got a meeting in a bar with a couple guys about a job in a band and I do not want to be late.
"Get your motor runnin'
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way..."
Somewhere out there, on a highway in Montana, a Toyota Sienna full of bratty kids and useless rich parents is laughing at me. I live to amuse. Maybe it was the piles of stuff strapped to the bike behind me. Maybe it was the one-finger salute I gave Mr. Jones as I split his lane to get around him when he cut me off. I don't know. Wind in my hair, the old Honda beneath me purring like a kitten, and a thousand miles between me and the Pacific Ocean, I could care less what their problem is. The day was warm, the scenery was amazing, and the highway stretched on for miles. What more could I want?
Spent the winter in Canada, in Winnipeg, pretending to be a Qualmi like a good kitten. All that snow, though? Not my style. Fact the first: There are fewer good parties when the liquor store is under five feet of snow. Fact the second: I like concerts. I like parties. I'm not a riddle cat. That hermetic shit would drive me insane. So, hell with it. I'm on the road to San Fransisco and I'm not stopping till I see the Golden Gate Bridge. Everything I own is strapped to the bike, my guitar is strapped to my back, and all my money is in my boot. Time for some of that warm California sun. And hot blondes. There better be hot blondes in San Fransisco.
Stopped for gas just this side of the Rockies. Pulled into the station, grabbed a Coke and a candy bar, and flashed the attendant Sweet Hunter's Smile. Score one pack of cigs for me. Ha. Filled the bike with gas. Even managed to smoke a cig before the cops came looking for donuts. That's my cue to get the bike back on the highway. Me and pigs don't mix. Maybe I look like trouble. Maybe it's the bird I flipped them on the way out of the parking lot. Too late this time, pigs, I'm already out on the highway again. Run that Canadian tag, I dare you. David Everett doesn't exist. Taliesin Rhys Gwillt is gonna make a big splash in Cali, and all you can do is watch and stew over the one that got away! Ha!
Onward and upward! Over the mountains and to that Golden Gate! I got a meeting in a bar with a couple guys about a job in a band and I do not want to be late.