[And his handkerchief, which in this situation is more for keeping dirt out of his teeth as the wheels kick up silt and pebbles. Fuck this stupid riverbed. Why did he think this would be a good idea?
But something works - scooting up the bank, out of the middle. It's unstable, the ground slides and crumbles, but he picks up speed and laughs with joy as finally they get above some miserable fifteen miles and hour and skirt closer to thirty. This is not going to last long, there isn't enough stable bank for this, he needs to remember how the fuck he's supposed to control this -
The ground changes under his tires before he can figure it out. It isn't the time or place to think but at least they got going somewhere. The problem is, they're now kicking up tilled dirt in what looks like some kind of field and he doesn't have a fucking clue when they are, because agricultural fields are basically the whole history of this part of California as far as he knows, and the ground is too soft and he dumps the bike, but manages to at least get a foot down to keep himself from faceplanting into the soil and rolls with the movement. The only thing going through his head is his guitar, fuck, hopefully Chrissy falls forward into him and keeps it from getting crushed.
He spits dirt through his teeth and shakes off the fall, and looks around. At least there are more lights out there on the horizon. Civilization is lights and a river diverted around farmland. Sure.]
Well, fuck. If that's the freeway, it's over there somewhere. You okay?
no subject
[And his handkerchief, which in this situation is more for keeping dirt out of his teeth as the wheels kick up silt and pebbles. Fuck this stupid riverbed. Why did he think this would be a good idea?
But something works - scooting up the bank, out of the middle. It's unstable, the ground slides and crumbles, but he picks up speed and laughs with joy as finally they get above some miserable fifteen miles and hour and skirt closer to thirty. This is not going to last long, there isn't enough stable bank for this, he needs to remember how the fuck he's supposed to control this -
The ground changes under his tires before he can figure it out. It isn't the time or place to think but at least they got going somewhere. The problem is, they're now kicking up tilled dirt in what looks like some kind of field and he doesn't have a fucking clue when they are, because agricultural fields are basically the whole history of this part of California as far as he knows, and the ground is too soft and he dumps the bike, but manages to at least get a foot down to keep himself from faceplanting into the soil and rolls with the movement. The only thing going through his head is his guitar, fuck, hopefully Chrissy falls forward into him and keeps it from getting crushed.
He spits dirt through his teeth and shakes off the fall, and looks around. At least there are more lights out there on the horizon. Civilization is lights and a river diverted around farmland. Sure.]
Well, fuck. If that's the freeway, it's over there somewhere. You okay?