Post by Rowan St. John on Apr 26, 2010 18:26:48 GMT -5
It was uncommonly warm for a spring morning in Alaska; the sun beat down on the melting with all the intensity and determination of a drunk hitting on a cute girl, revealing a few sprouting saplings. Rowan was happy about this, of course, so what better way to celebrate the coming of spring than with the clean of her bike? There hadn't been much of a chance to ride it in the last couple months (mostly due to black ice and blizzards), but she'd managed to have collect more than dust if the water spots where snow had melted were any indication. Just because she couldn't go into town didn't mean she couldn't ride around campus.
The angry complaints about the roaring of the Screaming Eagle pipes attested to this as well.
The Good Doctor sat on a tiny stool in front of her now gleaming '98 Heritage Softail Classic, the red paint dark and inviting to any who would wish to touch it. She was polishing it now to make it extra shiny, the sleeves of her hoodie and long sleeved shirt rolled up as she dipped the sponge into the buckt of warm water to wash some of the remaining polish off. Chrome parts glistened in the sun with drying water droplets (she'd need to do away with those quickly) as she moved on to the V2 engine and wiped the remaining polish from the pipes; she rather liked chrome--everything was more high-speed with it on. Looked nice too.
At this point the blonde tossed the useless sponge back into the bucket and pulled out a small towel, stroking the paint and engine almost lovingly as she began to dry it.
The leather saddle bags had been carefully dumped to the side and she'd decided that the sissy bar was useless and took that off as well; she rather liked being taken seriously when she cruised into town, and that stupid sissy bar made that kind of hard. If her passengers didn't know how to hold on tight while riding a motorcycle, then they could just fall off.
The radio beside her blasted Three Days Grace while a small smile paint her currently unpainted lips; she was rarely seen without her make-up, and she looked much younger than she was.
The angry complaints about the roaring of the Screaming Eagle pipes attested to this as well.
The Good Doctor sat on a tiny stool in front of her now gleaming '98 Heritage Softail Classic, the red paint dark and inviting to any who would wish to touch it. She was polishing it now to make it extra shiny, the sleeves of her hoodie and long sleeved shirt rolled up as she dipped the sponge into the buckt of warm water to wash some of the remaining polish off. Chrome parts glistened in the sun with drying water droplets (she'd need to do away with those quickly) as she moved on to the V2 engine and wiped the remaining polish from the pipes; she rather liked chrome--everything was more high-speed with it on. Looked nice too.
At this point the blonde tossed the useless sponge back into the bucket and pulled out a small towel, stroking the paint and engine almost lovingly as she began to dry it.
The leather saddle bags had been carefully dumped to the side and she'd decided that the sissy bar was useless and took that off as well; she rather liked being taken seriously when she cruised into town, and that stupid sissy bar made that kind of hard. If her passengers didn't know how to hold on tight while riding a motorcycle, then they could just fall off.
The radio beside her blasted Three Days Grace while a small smile paint her currently unpainted lips; she was rarely seen without her make-up, and she looked much younger than she was.
