Saturday, September 8, 2012

Angry Highway 395

Highway 395 California
Hwy 395 through the Mojave Desert is not the worst place to be. . . I guess. Any day riding is a good day. Truly. Topping out at 100 degrees was a mild day, so I was grateful we were cruising through in early September. Piling up behind 3 semis and 3 cars, the dreaded sign approaches; No Passing Zone - Next 15 Miles. You've got to be fucking me right now.

Because of the numerous dips in the road, passing would be tricky, damn near impossible, along this stretch. Not to say that we never pass on a double yellow. We have, and we will again, when Highway can see far enough ahead to gauge the distance along with the power of the ST. But today, in this particular stretch, the dips made it unsafe.

We tooled along in the desert sun at 40-fucking-5 mph. No shit. 40-fucking-5. I could spit nails. The heat was beginning to irritate me as my wet vest was not feeling so wet anymore. Stuck between Boron and Adelanto, with nothing to look at but lonesome tumbleweeds and this asshole's bumper, I began to seethe.

California Highway 395
Then came the promise of freedom. A short passing lane, about a mile long, appeared before us. The semis all moved over, graciously, and I sighed with relief. Then the white-shoe-looking-motherfucking-car stayed in the #1 lane, hugging the double yellow. He miserably passes semi #1, barely passes semi #2, then falls in behind semi #3 as the passing lane disappears.

You fucking cocksucker. You stupid cocksucker! If you couldn't pass them all in your god damned shoe car, why did you stay in the #1 lane?

I was furious! We rode another 10-hot-fucking miles behind this cocksucker as I planned my revenge. I had decided his (and my) fate. As soon as we passed him, as I'm sure we eventually would, I would leap from the bike and plant myself of his windshield, hopefully destroying it, like a crash test dummy. Then, when he stopped his car, I would beat him to death.

Hwy 395 California
My temper flared as the vulgarities spewed from my bright, red lips. My heart pumped, until finally a second lane opened, then the beating became so loud I couldn't even hear my own screaming.

We passed him, swiftly, as Highway anticipated my hostile explosion. I waved both fingers, leaning off the side of the bike furiously, screaming out of my raised visor. Beating my arm in the "Up your ass!" motion, I cussed as we passed Ugly-shoe-car. The guy behind the wheel looked startled, then terrified, as his pasty white face grew even whiter with my rage. His wife clutched her chest as I heaved vulgarities towards them with venom.

Before I knew it, the moment was over. Highway had pulled the throttle, and off we flew up the road, weaving in and out of traffic for the next 20 miles. When we stopped at the next light, Highway opened his visor, leaning back, patting my leg and smiling at me.

"I figured if that cocksucker couldn't ball up enough to press the fucking accelerator, he wouldn't ball up to get out of the car to get an ass kicking from a woman!" I screamed.

Highway continued to pat my leg and smile. All in the day of the life of being my guy.

0 comments:

Post a Comment

About Sash


People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the rude biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)