Fifty miles from the city, after dark, the roads belong to me. Few venture out…wrapped up in the mundane tasks of living.
A full moon…and gentle, caressing temperatures…for some of us…in these conditions…NOT riding is just not possible, particularly after days of riding in “less than comfortable” conditions.
An addiction? Possibly. Certainly a demand of the soul.
But there are costs far beyond the fuel, gear, and machine.
Friends, lovers, family may not truly understand.
“Where do you have to go?”
“What if I asked you to stay?”
Small rips in the fabric. Tears in the soul. They accumulate.
Lost loves. Lost moments. Lost sleep.
There is more to a man than muscle and blood, more purpose than a life of hard work, and more required to sustain him than food, shelter, and sleep.
Tolerance, if not understanding, is necessary. Sustaining the id, feeding the soul, containing the absolutely relentless passion and drive…these things are no more selfish than breathing.
Total destruction is the other path.
Understand or not.
Just know…I will go and tear through the night, speak with the winds, howl at the moon, and fly with the dragons. I will live, and I will love. These things must be. Others have no more right to interfere than they would asking my heart to simply stop.
The alternatives are unthinkable. A man with no soul, no passion, no drive…is a horrible, wasted, and bloody dangerous thing.
I’ll see you on the road.