Mountains are to hills what elephants are
to mice. The very geology of great granite
protuberances that straddle the Earth's mantle
inspire awe, their gigantism both intimidates
and attracts the adventurous answering to a
subconscious urge to mount their summits as
though by so doing they have slain a giant.
And their allure extends through the hairpin
turns and twists of mountain roads to a variant
of the thrill-seeking spirit seeking intoxication
of the senses in daring mountain passes and
elevations on a motorcycle speeding the
tight curves taunting death's oversight in
proximity to gradients and guardrail-less
slopes where skids are lethal and the rising
mists portend a mysterious netherworld. The
sun's heat and updrafts conspire toward the
sound and fury of electrical storms where
thunder plays the drums of the mountain's
concerto, the wild wind blasting rain and
hailstones on the hapless skulls of those
intrepid motorcycle fiends speeding down
the mountainside, one hand on the handlebar
the other desperately shielding their naked
vulnerable scalps from the icy inundation.
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