So many people ask me that. So many people tell me of someone they knew who had a wreck or lost a life.
Why a motorcycle?
I can't really explain it. I admit that it can scare me at times. Seven hundred pounds of metal and plastic, with a fragile human body on top, going at speeds that would crush both given an impact with anything that may enter its path.
How do I explain it? The best answer I can give is the rush. The adrenaline rush. Even explaining that feeling is hard to understand. It is freedom as I ride. Being in nature, not in a box looking at it. It is the feeling of harnessing a power that I know can be destructive. Harnessing a machine that comes alive when asked. It is both nimble and fast on demand. It is responsive to all of my needs. The bike and I blend in to one. We have become a character that we share. We become an image and sound that others both admire and despise.
I look down at the tank and it sways when I lean. The fun of pushing an arm out and feeling the bike lean. I listen to it purr when cruising, I hear it roar when I give it fuel, and I feel it growl when I find that spot in between where it commands attention.
The rush stays with me each minute while I ride. I sing out loud as I ride down the roads. I scream like a mad man. No one can hear me. When it is time to go home, I usually find myself taking a few extra miles around the town before pulling into the neighborhood, playing with the sound through traffic. Growling on command. I command the road.
When I finally do force myself to pull into my driveway and turn it off, the rush is still with me, the rumble, the power. It slowly leaves and I find that I am more relaxed than at any other time in my other days. Even at night, I sleep better, relaxed, at peace.
Why a motorcycle?
It is a new me.
