It is days like this I remind myself of sweeping corners and snaking yellow lines.
The drizzle is persistent, dreary with a sense of foreboding. My mind wanders back to the rumble of the motor and the ever changing smells that waft through the landscape. I hadn't noticed smells before, apart from the obvious ones that invade your nostrils - chemical plants, bakeries or fire. The more and farther away I ride, I recognize the emanation of hay or honeysuckle, the cedar and loam that exhales from the forest floor. Distinguishing between the tang of the sea and the crispness of the mountain air. The smell of rain and the wet of leathers is embedded. A field of lavender perks my brain and as we edge toward the city I can no longer isolate scents. A soup of emissions mixed with people, restaurants and industry are like the dreariness of the rain.