10-17-2017, 09:44 AM
Oh, the memories I had on this thing. The first day I got it, I drive-by punched this elderly lady in the face. Her cane did cartwheels in the air as she keeled over into a patch of tall grass. No witnesses, bitch! I yelled while making me escape from the bike shop; I remember the shop clerk rushing out to chase me, but then quickly turning his attention to the old woman.
Good ole' days.
The leather seat was as comfortable as I remembered, and the handgrips were in great condition; I squeezed them tightly, flexing my wrists as if revving a dirtbike. “Let's see how far this empty place goes.” Placing my feet on the pedals, I pushed forward. Destination: unknown.
I must have pedaled for at least twenty good minutes. The all-terrain tires on my bike glided across the flat ground; I even cranked it up to the 21spd gear, yet my calves didn't need to work any harder. It reminded me of Route 17, back in Kanto, but minus the douchebag wannabe biker gangs—Victreebel's Angels, and The Exeggutors (no, they didn't traffic PCP or meth, unfortunately).
As I continued to travel fuckknowswhat direction, something began to climb over the horizon. I peered. Two palm trees bent towards each other, blending together like laced hands; leaves plumed from the merged top. The space inside of the trees appeared to ripple, and glistened like ocean water. It reminded me of those sci-fi movies, where mystical gates would wormhole two adjacent universes to each other. As I brought my bike to a stop in front of the portal, the scent of sand and seagull became prevalent. It reminded me of Route 19, and its bare shore.
Good ole' days.
The leather seat was as comfortable as I remembered, and the handgrips were in great condition; I squeezed them tightly, flexing my wrists as if revving a dirtbike. “Let's see how far this empty place goes.” Placing my feet on the pedals, I pushed forward. Destination: unknown.
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I must have pedaled for at least twenty good minutes. The all-terrain tires on my bike glided across the flat ground; I even cranked it up to the 21spd gear, yet my calves didn't need to work any harder. It reminded me of Route 17, back in Kanto, but minus the douchebag wannabe biker gangs—Victreebel's Angels, and The Exeggutors (no, they didn't traffic PCP or meth, unfortunately).
As I continued to travel fuckknowswhat direction, something began to climb over the horizon. I peered. Two palm trees bent towards each other, blending together like laced hands; leaves plumed from the merged top. The space inside of the trees appeared to ripple, and glistened like ocean water. It reminded me of those sci-fi movies, where mystical gates would wormhole two adjacent universes to each other. As I brought my bike to a stop in front of the portal, the scent of sand and seagull became prevalent. It reminded me of Route 19, and its bare shore.