If I have to explain, you wouldn't understand

Whitman wrote of it, Kerouac inspired a generation with it. The allure the road holds for some of us is positively irresistible. It's the siren song of the open highway, the anticipation of unimagined sights around the next bend, just over the next rise. The pavement marks time for the very beating of our hearts. I was never a Harley guy, don't quite get the branding, but I am definitely a motorcycle guy. Always have been. Something about taking to the highway on two wheels with the wind in your face defies explanation. Seems you either love it or you want nothing to do with it. For me few things rival the sensuality of riding. The tactile, but subtle changes in temperature as you top a hill into the sunshine, or dip into a shady hollow rounding a curve. How morning brings the smell of coffee and bacon wafting from homes. The afternoon breeze carries the scent of fresh cut hay, or the smell of the sea. It's as though the wind embraces you, wrapping it's arms around you, as it caresses each of your senses. The call of the road is like your favorite song. The wind, the engine, the tires on the asphalt are all music if you know how to listen.
Today was special. Some free time offered up the chance to do something I couldn't resist. Found myself with a day off here in Fairbanks, so I decided to rent a Harley and ride down to Denali. This ranks up there with some of the best fun I've ever had.

Never miss a chance to take a picture of a bridge.


Oh look, water.


The open road(just wouldn't be complete without bug guts)


If you look closely you just might see the grin(which is bug-free thanks to the windshield) on my face.


Denali entrance.


Inside the park(didn't see the mountain today, it was much too cloudy).


Valley shot.


Railroad bridge in the park.


See, I just can't pass up a bridge shot.


Mama moose and the lil' ones.


More of the meese.