I read an article in Motorcyclist Magazine last month that I wanted to share.  It’s finally come up on their Web Site.  This captures the feeling that I have not been able to communicated.

The article is called “It can take you there.” by Joe Gresh.  The last few paragraphs are the juice.

It was a beautiful ride. No pack to synchronize my speed to, no pesky photo stops to interrupt my mojo, no need to think of things to say to people I want to impress. I could go in any direction I cared, alone. Between raindrops, the dense, moisture-laden air condensed into foggy mist. Man, I could smell everything: living things, rotting things.

The forest is a compost heap and I’m on a silver centipede pounding double-time through Deep Musty. Big Banger thuds softly—nothing can stop this engine, man, nothing! The rain falls harder and my hands numb from the cold, wet gloves. I can sense it, further on. More throttle, Big Banger lunges to 70 mph, 3000 rpm. Not enough—more! Seventy-five—it’s just ahead, it has to be! Faster still, Big Banger’s exhaust begins to drone. God, it feels good to shiver—I never want to die! Squirming black road iridescent with oil rising, cut dark green left, dull gray light blasts through a gap, asphalt yawning, stretching. Raining harder, Big Banger’s wheels are circular rivers, water streams from my visor, turn to clear and see trees blurring, and right now each curve is exactly where it should be, exactly!

I lived half a life in hundredths of a second. I wish you could have been there with me. I wish you could have seen me. I caught up with it, man! I caught the moment and it was perfect. And there was nothing in my way!

If that doesn’t make you jump on a Motorcycle and head out, nothing will.   When I read that, I thought, “Man, he nailed it.  That is it!”  That was poetry.