[He looks over at her with a raised eyebrow, then attempts to follow her gaze toward whatever that movement was. Butterfly? Who knows. Who cares. He smirks as he tugs his goggles down over his eyes and gets on the bike.]
I'm gonna hold you to that. Five minutes, let's go!
[She better get on fast, because he's in a hurry!
It is definitely not easy to get up to top speeds on the little footpath, and when he does go fast it's hard to maintain them, but he relishes the challenge of trying anyway. They fly past that little camp on the hill, probably scaring those people as they roar past. Trees, bushes, river all become - well, less of a blur than he'd like, but blurry nonetheless. He's guessing he's going about 40, top, not 80 or more but it's fine it's what they have and he won't waste time thinking about it. He just settles into the road.
Time slips, and this time around he has no control over it. Maybe it's the fault of the road, he can't tell. All he knows is that he's back on the highway as the landscape shifts around him - a good highway and a busy one at that. It's late afternoon and San Francisco commuters pack the road as they make the slow climb up the bridge over the Petaluma River, and Johnnie stares, eyes wide at their surroundings, then whoops with a fist in the air.]
How's that for five minutes!
[Might take them more than five minutes to get into town though with all this traffic, but he weaves through it as well as he can.]
no subject
I'm gonna hold you to that. Five minutes, let's go!
[She better get on fast, because he's in a hurry!
It is definitely not easy to get up to top speeds on the little footpath, and when he does go fast it's hard to maintain them, but he relishes the challenge of trying anyway. They fly past that little camp on the hill, probably scaring those people as they roar past. Trees, bushes, river all become - well, less of a blur than he'd like, but blurry nonetheless. He's guessing he's going about 40, top, not 80 or more but it's fine it's what they have and he won't waste time thinking about it. He just settles into the road.
Time slips, and this time around he has no control over it. Maybe it's the fault of the road, he can't tell. All he knows is that he's back on the highway as the landscape shifts around him - a good highway and a busy one at that. It's late afternoon and San Francisco commuters pack the road as they make the slow climb up the bridge over the Petaluma River, and Johnnie stares, eyes wide at their surroundings, then whoops with a fist in the air.]
How's that for five minutes!
[Might take them more than five minutes to get into town though with all this traffic, but he weaves through it as well as he can.]