I've got a few days off work, so I thought I'd take a roadtrip on my new Duc. I checked the forecast, heading up north to Santa Fe is out- crap weather there. I checked West...woo-HOO! Grand Canyon, here I come! I packed my tankbag with the necessities and headed out.
I get a few miles up the road and the wind kicks in. Wind usually doesn't bother me, after all, I commuted across the bay bridge to work on a Ninja250, and I took it along the coast down to Monterey and up the 101. Before long, I'm being blown all over the damn road, and I couldn't really hug the tank for the tank bag. Trees were whipping all over and the traffic lights were swinging around like mad. I'm alternately getting pissy about it and calling myself a pussy for being affected by it, deciding if I should go ahead or not regardless of the sandblasting I'm enduring (I'm in the frikkin desert these days, lots of sand). Anyway, I finally decide to call it quits and head home.
As I'm riding along a ridge heading back home, I approach a stoplight that turns yellow. I'm still a good distance away. There's a ricer waiting at the stoplight, and he's rolling forward slowly out into the intersection. At the same time, the truck behind me decides to punch it and run the light, and right over me too, I guess. Fearing becoming road pizza, I swerve to the left quickly, across a 'no crossing' area and into the left turn lane to get out of the way of the dumbass. There's rocks and sand and shit all over the road, so it made for an interesting little slide. I was able to get safely out of the way and stopped just in time to see a nice swerve/screeching of tires/honkfest in the middle of the intersection.
After that I was like, fuck the trip for sure, I'm going home and taking a nap.