Saturday morning about 7, my husband Herb and I took off on his Harley to go down to the farmer's market in Houston. We took a country road for the first leg of the journey, and my nose delighted in the fragrance of the wild honeysuckle that is blooming along the fences. The cool morning air caressed my arms in the most pleasant way. I stayed aware of it for a long, long time. It reminded me of something you would pay to have done at a spa.
Herb tuned the radio to a classical station which was playing a program of baroque music with lots of harpsichord. I got kind of tickled because the roaring exhaust of the Harley juxtaposed with the delicate singing of the harpsichord made everything I looked at seem just a little bit comical, the same way that a comedy movie soundtrack makes the action on the screen funnier. All the cows we zoomed past seemed to be staring at me as if they could hear the odd combination of sounds I was listening to and thought it peculiar. I smiled at them just the same. It was good to be out early in the sunshine and the fresh air with my husband and with nothing to do but drink it all in. I can't wait to go again, though this time I will bring my own hat. When we stopped for breakfast, and I took off my helmet, my hair looked so frightening that I accepted Herb's offer of a ball cap that he had stowed in the large compartment on the back of the bike for just such an emergency--a brown cap with "Harley Davidson" embroidered in big letters across the front. It wasn't really my style, but hey, the waitress in the bathroom truly admired it.
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