humansdorf egg farmer

yesterday from graham's town there was a very strong headwind for everyone traveling west through frontier land towards george and cape town. with an overcast sky and a good chill the conditions were unfavorable for motorcycling. the road itself is three lanes wide and divided, pitch black pavement with fresh shining yellow and white stripes with long beautiful cars speeding along. i spend my time in the shoulder.
for the past three days the bike has been good to me, i figure it must be the fresh road, there is at least one major complication related to the bike per day. these three delayed complications yesterday combined and produced the singular event of an explosion and a white cloud of smoke as i was buzzing at a hundred kilometers an hour downhill on the freeway. the engine seized and completely locked and twisted and spun and gurgled and had me very near tossed to the flying road below. the bike has been hinting this mutiny for a long time. i love the bike though so i dragged it along for a few kilometers until came to a turn off. i quite nearly pushed the bike into a bush and but kept to it, i love the bike.
with the bike, its license plates from so far away, its modest size and its awful state, wonder and pity and all sorts of emotions from fellow people on the road have helped me to be helped. the bike is a badge, it was a badge. i dragged it up a horrible hill and at the top discovered another horrible hill, cutting up into a mountain pass, to where? when you love something and that something disappears it is no good to drag the empty shell of it around with you, especially if it weighs a lot and you are dragging it uphill.
at the top of the first hill the sun began to set, the clouds has dissolved, the golden light had this strange mountain scene glowing. a negro woman with very small eyes and a top lip that hung down to cover the bottom one came from the forest and explained that if i was in need of a ride before sundown there could be no knowing whether i should get one, but that jesus could arrange it if i were to ask him, then she continued on. a little sign swaying in the still heavy wind and illuminated a blinding orange caught my eye across the road, an egg farm. i wheeled the metal carcass across the street and hailed a young man in a blue work suit who sat smoking with his friends over by a tractor in the yard. he jogged over to me by the gate and i told him that if he wished, he could have the remnants of this motorcycle, plus a helmet and a little bottle of gasoline. he agreed, D.A. Jonas, a very handsome young dark skinned egg farmer from humansdorp, we shook hands and i walked on. it is awkward without a motorcycle to ride, i feel like a human being again, i have no direct proof any longer that i have done a fantastic thing.

love jasper

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