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Okay, enough out of me. Here's some more overwhelming lyrical narrative.

I awakened to that even, neutral fog. I took my time to get my things together, and headed out for the freeway. Somehow, an undescribable feeling had worked its way all the way through me, and permeated my bones, muscles, and thoughts. I felt strange handling the bike, and I lost the freeway looking for it. I ended up getting on the ___ and taking it until I could connect to the __.

18T3460 (I think): On the way a rider on a grey Honda CBR1000RR past me, waved, and took off. As I followed him between cars, tearing through traffic at speeds from 50-110mph, I watched him fidget, double-check lanes, and wave to cars that moved over for him. The way he acted and handled his bike reminded me of me, somehow.

And so we'd go flying through a big clump of traffic, speed up, change a few lanes, and do it again. Alternating, I sometimes led, sometimes followed, and sometimes we split to opposite sides of the freeway and met up in the middle. No matter what traffic was like in front of us, we averaged at least 90mph. And so I awakened once more that day, and waved to him as I took off for the 10.

I flew. I flew down that freeway, and nothing could stop me. I was so filled with joy I began to sing. I'll have you know I've been known to hum Amazing Grace and sing with rich timbre, past 9000rpm, and everything passes from before me. I sang, and I slipped in and out of lanes. I sang to you, I sang to the sky, I sang through the traffic in front of me, I sang to the bike below me.

The fog continued all the way to P___ S______, but I didn't mind. I saw the huge fields of gigantic windmills, gently spinning in the wind, all at different rates.

On a motorcycle, you must never be in a hurry. There are times when I've forgotten this, or needed to, but it has always been in my mind. The space where time ceases, is where the bike and I can react as one. I think you know this place.

The fog is gone now, and it's time to fill the tank and take off. Fly...

--
I know you really wanted to do something for me. Well, I want you to know that you did.
You made a roaring, tumultous place inside me quiet and smoothly flowing. I cannot even begin to explain the coolness and silence after. And there's a lot that can grow out of this.

The motorcycle is filled with gasoline, and I am filled with joy and love, but it's operated with pure, unadulterated madness. A kind of high-level not-giving-a-damn. Well, I guess that's where the demon is. Right there, above the windscreen, in between the mirrors, balanced over the handlebars and...wait, that's me. Never mind.

I didn't notice it at first, but it sunk in all at once. The palo verde trees are in full bloom, their branches so heavy with chartreuse flowers they're all bent over. Welcome to spring in A_______, I guess.

Every time I come back to T______, it feels more like a dream. This place has passed so far below the level of consciousness for me I shouldn't hang around too long. And so I'll be getting the heck out of here as soon as possible. Let me know if there's anything you need done here, though.

And yet, I don't feel tired or unfocused. You're right, A_____ drivers are slow. I feel like I'm surrounded by groups of the most boring, lame children possible. Then again, I'll never be able to get that C_______ flow out of my system. Which is all right, since I need about 85mph minimum just to stay awake. (Geez, motorcycling is bad for you. Don't ever do it.)

I know what I'm doing now. Everything that I couldn't seem to understand in front of me has gained a little more definition. I feel like everything has been opened up and reset by a hand that from outside, knew everything and could cause it to be made right. I think I know whose hand it is.

Love, joy, and admiration,
and a whole lot more.
-T.