In the dark, Zion's rock formations and towers cannot pull a rider's focus away from the road, and everything in life was forgotten as the RS responded to Cindy. The bike was strong enough to wheelie off the slow, second-gear hairpins and everything that racing at Willow Springs meant to her came back as the purity of human and machine interaction jelled. She, her dad, and Scott had owned a lot of bikes—there were still six in the garage plus four more at her dad's in Grand Junction, but as Cindy turned left on Highway 89 for the short run up to Highway 12 she knew that the RS was the perfect machine for this wild dash to her father. Comfortable on the freeway, stable in the fast stuff, and tossable in the slow. I might have to mount some lower driving lights to help during the wheelies, Cindy thought to herself, laughing as she imagined Scott wiring up some "wheelie lights." He would have done it.