I WALK to my bike and notice my heart rate speed-up. Life shifts as I throw my leg over and sink down into the soft leather seat. I push the start button and feel the frame twist. I squeeze the throttle and a rumble opens the throat. I plan a casual ride; leaving the driveway, I start slow.
I’m at ease and positioned at a red light ready to merge onto the highway. Seeing the green arrow, I squeeze the throttle and gravity thrusts me back against the seat. Testing the Milwaukee iron, I feel the wind buffeting my face.
Two lanes converge and I jump to the 202. The green blinker light on the chrome instrument panel communicates my intention. A small white car in the next lane moves left, so I shift lanes and lean into gravity; in seconds, I’m slip-sliding past the car at 80 mph.
We’ve see them on the highway in stale containers messing with their cell phones and Cheetos while squinting through dirty windows. We sit over power and ride into the wind. Our hands and arms are engaged – NO DISTRACTIONS – as we listen to the language of the big twin’s explosions.
Ahead of me, a black truck is spilling small rocks from its bed. I squeeze the throttle and my back hugs the leather seat. The engine’s roar quickly sends me past the hazard. I sink deeper and notice the sound. It’s a sound I enjoy, and a smile crosses my face as I decipher a language fueled by a rich mixture of heat, highway, and Harley.… read more...