It's one of the best parts of riding. The relationship between bike and rider is a mind-meld. All it takes is thinking "faster" and the machine anxiously complies. There isn't much that compares. On the other hand, it can be so responsive it'll scare the crap out of you.
As we drew near, I slowed to take stock in the massive smoke cloud. It was dumbfounding in its proportions.
In the last quarter mile, it was clear that a farm house was between us and whatever was causing the smoke. It was directly in front of us. At the last minute the road curved left in front of the house, and we were skirting the house and what was behind it. Relieved to be turning away from the column, but knowing we were right on top of it, I braced for the reveal.
I expected a scene filled with flashing lights, agitated firemen and arcing snakes of water - perhaps surrounding a broken and sooty fusilage. Instead, a small group of overall-clad men surrounded the tornado-sized vortex. These people were leaning on shovels.
Why they were burning the field, I'll never know.
At first it was a relief we weren't going to be stopping to assist with some kind of catastrophic recovery effort. Then it was just a relief all the smoke was going straight up and not across the road.
Lonnie and I rolled by, taking it in - just for a moment. Then, with a thought that we needed to keep moving to make for Burgaw, our bikes didn't hesitate.
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