Tire Hunting and Kalispell

The sun is up over a wide Montana sky. Somewhere north of here is a town called Kalispell. In that town is a Motorcycle shop that, this afternoon, is supposed to have a tire waiting for the front end of the Raider.

So, while Chicken fingers are typing stories of lipless Ducks Quacking at short itchy snakes a pontificating biker will ride his scoot with a hope and a prayer, and a worn out tire to Kalispell.

I'd wear a plaid shirt... if I had one, which I don't... so I'll just be happy for the black T under my leathers.

This life and peoples perceptions...are curiosities. Things of true value and treasure... worthy of life, or the sacrifice of it...are fleeting, and unseen by too many.

Most often, for most, they are obscured by ego and what meets public approval.

For me... chasing a paint stripe on a two lane winding through western mountains, splitting the wind under a blue Montana sky is a thing of true value and treasure.

In The Wind
Brian