It's the memories that get to me sometimes. Especially now that the leaves are changing and the weather is growing cold. Those summer nights seems like a lifetime ago, the midnight rides where I'd take one road until it ended and then find another to take...
I guess that's why I'm Just Another Biker. Each road on Goldy (my old totally redone Honda Goldwing) brings me closer to whatever it is that brings me joy. Hitting fifth gear and pulling my hands off the bars, just letting the wind carry me along, watching the farmhouse lights reflecting in the tank and a million stars overhead. It's a solitary experience, because in my experience having someone with you changes the freedom you feel. You can't really share a personal experience, you can try but it always falls short of actually being in those shoes.
Some nights I'd just head in one direction as far as I wanted, some nights I'd see how many counties I could hit before I had to turn back and sleep. Some nights I'd just keep going regardless, not getting back home until the sun came up, chasing that feeling of freedom like a shot of two-dollar whiskey.
I light another cigarette and ponder it farther. Am I running from something, or running to it? That's the question. The first question brings about cowardice and excapism, the second something else. All I know is that when I'm cruising in fifth, doing about 65 or so, with one hand on the bars and I'm watching the suspension soaking up the imperfections in the road along with my own shortcomings, I feel at one.