Sandy Death

I own a motorcycle. I also live in Colorado. Normally, those two things don't clash. In fact, Colorado has some fantastic roads for motorcycle riding. Most of them are above 8,000 feet, and quite a few of them aren't paved. Fortunately, I have a dual-sport machine, which is more than capable of traveling on dirt roads. Gravel and sand, however, are a different story, and the whole reason I'm writing today.

Despite the nice weather over the last couple days, I've been afraid to pull my bike out of the garage due to the large amount of sand all over the place. Both the city and my employer are very quick to put sand down when it snows, but very very slow to remove it once everything has melted. The parking lot at work is a death trap; even for cars, unless they have knobby off-road tires. The less-traveled roads throughout the city aren't a whole lot better.

I decided to brave a few of the more-traveled roads this evening after work, and was quite happy to discover that a short jaunt through Garden of the Gods was all my bike needed to recover from its long winter nap. Now all I need to know is who I have to kill to get the sand off the roads so I feel safe enough to ride.