It was a crisp cool morning, 65 degrees made it feel more like October than the middle of August. The gravel crunched beneath my tires as I traversed that last half a mile before reaching the asphalt. To my left just peeking over the trees a huge brilliant sun was shining like a cosmic blow torch burning away the foggy mist that lay gently on the forests & fields that surround my Carolina country home. Stopping at the end of the dirt road, I made sure the choke was completely off, and checked my surroundings before pulling out onto the empty back road of the kind that I love so much.

After a quick run up through the gears, it was time to weave back and forth leaning the old Honda to the left and the right as far as I could without leaving my lane to warm up the tires a little and clean the sand off of the sides of the treads. So far, so good, the road is still empty so I ride on stepping up the pace a little, confident that all is well with my steed.

Then I spy a nicely banked sweeping curve that is followed by a nice long straight running down through the pine trees, so I lean forward a bit and twist the exhilarator a little bit more. While swinging through the apex of this gentle curve, I peer down the road ahead and note that it’s completely empty for at least the next 2 or 3 miles that I can see.

Exiting the curve I simultaneously lean over & reach down, wrapping my armor plated leather fist around the top of the left fork tube, while my right hand twists the throttle all the way to the stop, and my heart pounds as the devil may care grin on my face stretches from ear to ear. In that moment all is perfect, a curious mixture of calm serenity, and the heart pounding excitement of the illusion of danger. In this moment it seems that I am thundering down the back straight at the Indy Mile aboard the legendary RS750, as the crowd goes wild. Hitting the red line in fourth I shift into fifth and screw it on for just a few seconds more.

Real Honda Dreams

Before you know it, it’s over, it’s time to let go of the dream and the throttle. Up ahead there are houses with driveways & cages, filled with prisoners, their cell phones in one hand, breakfast in the other, and a cup of coffee between their legs as they attempt to navigate through the commute that they regard as a waste of their life. To them the road is just an obstacle course to be run, a linear prison where they are held against their will, and driving is a form of punishment. God help the innocents that get in their way.

Turning onto the multi-lane roads heading into the city, two fingers on the clutch & two on the brake crawling through traffic at forty or fifty is far more dangerous than any amount of ludicrous speed on the back roads. You watch every car & truck like a hawk, trying to anticipate any bone headed moves that might punt you into the emergency room or the morgue.

Knowing these things why do I still ride? Even sensible motorcycling is still far more enjoyable than being stuck in a box isolated from the surrounding environment, you see, hear, feel and smell what is around you. But the best times for me, are the rare moments like this morning;

I was Mercury, my feet had wings, and I could fly!

Help me keep a good thing going! Click below to shop through Amazon & support this site for free while you do so.