In the Nevada desert autumn quietly tiptoes across the wind-swept sage and you wake up one morning to the sure sign of colder weather to come, when the desert sage blooms for miles in every direction. The sullen summer green is replaced by vibrant yellow to ochre hues filling the air with a dusky aroma as the branches celebrate, dancing in the breeze. With the inevitable change in the air, I took a couple of days to get out on the bike in search of fall.

Nothing quite compares to this sudden transformation, although I am certain the glorious seasonal change in New England must be magnificent. (I have never experienced a fall in the Midwest or New England and suppose that is yet another adventure I must undertake — yet another addition to my list of “musts” that’s got to cover at least a decade of constant motorcycle riding!) Fall brings introspection for me, a time when I think about life’s experiences and challenges and the goals I have yet to achieve. As each year rolls by I perceive myself further seasoned as more and more white waltzes into my darkened locks. Considering a future in a world that sends away their old to be ignored and forgotten, I ponder and ride my motorbike.

And then another fall season arrives, nature howling to be noticed with a constant colorful screech of “here look at me, no me, no me and me and me”. I yielded to the beckoning and submitted in search of fall and answers to life’s deepest questions on the back of a motorbike.

Riding my usual escape route from Reno, I bounded through Carson City (if one can honestly call the slog through downtown Carson City “bounding”). My first photo opportunity was a few miles south in Jack’s Valley where the golden glow of the valley flows along Foothill Rd., a quiet little alternate path that rejoins Hwy 88 near Woodfords.