last week, day four

I was determined to eat up some miles. Rifle to Clifton, more damn snow and cold-cold; fuck. Warmed up a bit and headed down 141; the radar said there were only pockets of precipitation that way. It snowed in a bunch of places but the scenery was so amazing I barely noticed.  

 The East side of the La Sals, on the other side of those hills was Moab.

 I dicked around so much that time got away from me in a big way. I was headed into Moab from the South at 0'dark-thirty. I was beat and then the bike gave up with a dead battery and a ghost. As I pushed the motorcycle into a sleeping town I lost my balance and we all went over. I snapped the brake lever and cussed like no-other.

Bead battery, electrical ghost, jets are way lean, now a broken brake lever and my back brakes are merely a decoration on good days.