(Paul once more nails moto-reality.)

I saddled the KLR Sunday and wandered south over old U.S. 127 that now serves the locals but is becoming increasingly pockmarked under marginal county maintenance. I enjoyed seeing sights I hadn't visited since Gov. Wally blazed the new "scenic" path to points south. Somewhere along the way, I realized that the single cylinder beneath me was rumbling perfectly content at only 60 mph, and all of the right sounds and sensations were present, including a hint of spring in the far distance, at least in my euphoric state.

Of course, any ride on February 1 symbolically is good, even if ice clings to the rock bluffs and tires kick a white trail from the chemically tortured pavement. Speed means less than sensory quality, and an agricultural machine of modest specification can be downright exotic.

Paul Elwyn