We talk into the pitch dark night, that fluent wobbling meander of two glasses of a vintage varietal on top of the beers, flames low, laughing guffaws, tales finding finally a looking up introspection everyone else goes to sleep.
We talk into the pitch dark night, that fluent wobbling meander of two glasses of a vintage varietal on top of the beers, flames low, laughing guffaws, tales finding finally a looking up introspection everyone else goes to sleep.
Riding out of Phoenix is interesting, hiding in the seams between development. Like visiting a secret orthogonal dimension world, where we could see out of it but few could see in. And then a barely perceptible slide then a burst into open country, the angles of constructed spaces a memory of an echo.
This ride breathes and coils. Sometimes big climbs, other times flick woodsy singletrack turns. Logan’s route inscribes dirt road motifs in a more expansive land’s humps and berms and valleys movement.