After the visit with Dennis for a spare spark maker and some time swallowing dust we rode some road to spend the night at Clarksdale, MS. I should mention though, that much of the route in MS is actually quite enjoyable in deep woods void of other humans. There was some freshly scraped heavy clay that was cool, because it was dry. Had it rained there's a good chance we would have had more than dirty tires quickly. That stuff would have been brown ice and no place for heavy street bikes. But hey, when you're blessed don't whine about what could have been- right? The last stretch to Clarksdale was straight, flat, hot, paved road with expansion joints that obviously were calculated for lower temperatures. It was brutal on Ollie and the Goose. And it's not like I didn't prepare the Harley. I had put some first rate fancy shocks on with another 1.5" of travel. Actually Guzzi guy sent them- off a wrecked Triumph Bonneville. I had tried to soften them by grinding the spring stops but they were still set up for a different leverage ratio. My chassis dyno (read tail bone) illustrated that. And the Guzzi wasn't much better. Same deal as the HD; soft front and hard rear- and that combination doesn't work well in a broad array of arenas. VFR man was happy as can be strolling along on his custom suspenders that actually worked. His only beef was holding it to about a 60mph cruise that I requested for Sportster longevity. While he and the Guzzi did make some top speed runs I puttered along merrily at an assumed 60ish (no speedo, no blinkers, no horn, no idiot lights, no superfluous nonsense of any type- except the glorious electric start). I had geared the thing as tall as possible, but it still felt like work above about 65. It should be noted that this VFR is now part of its owner's anatomy after over 70,000 miles. And his miles are not normal. His miles tend to caress the rev limiter as pegs trench asphalt- and I'm not exaggerating. I've seen him come so close to crashing that the tip over switch actually killed the motor and he had to pull over and cycle the key to reset it. Yet he never actually crashes. It's almost eerie. So limping at 60 was more than gracious of him- it took serious determination. This guy rarely goes a month without getting pulled for some maniacal stunt for which he's only set loose because the 'special' officer likes his hair, and he drives a Miata- there, it's out. Ok, I've strayed again. We made it to a nice place in another town I wouldn't live in. Right on the big river. We found a place to watch the McGregor Mayweather fight after a jog that got us lost. Yes, foot jog, cause we're dumbasses that's why.