By John R. Greenwood
It's not a midlife crisis; I wrestled that to the ground years ago.
It's not an, "I want one too." statement. It's simply been a few years since my last bike and the fever got to be more than I could handle. Last year I barely squeaked by; this summer I folded. All it took was a walk through a showroom full of motorcycles to push me over the edge and on to the credit union.
The stomach stir that gets my heart tapping to the beat of my feet is the same one that possessed my 10 year old spirit when I rode that first minibike out of our yard and into a world beyond.
There is a freedom that attaches itself to a seat with two wheels and motor below.
My pulse-maker is neither new nor a Harley.
It's just another cruiser that's fast enough to put a snap in my neck and fresh air in my face.
It's greenery streaming by on a country road.
It's a refreshing ride to work on damp August morning.
The world looks different from a motorcycle.
You feel more in sync with the Earth's rotation.
The stars seem closer.
Bright eyes in the hedges are a quiet reminder to be cautious.
I am excited, like a kid one more time.
We will share a smile, a pat on the tank, then off we'll go.
A man and a bike on a visit to the past hoping to sip some youth on the way to the future.
For me a bike is a wake up, wind down experience. It's a magic pill with a 3 gallon gas tank. You can spend thousands or a few hundred and still get that jolt of adrenaline.
A twist of the throttle and a torque surge forward can make the difference between a bad start and a good finish.