Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Live to ride...Ride to live

Its dark outside, as it usually gets this time of the day. But the wind is unusually strong, and his jacket flaps violently against his torso. He walks out of the elevator, of the artificially illuminated, climate controlled prison building that is his office. And is greeted by a smile and a nod from the security guard.

He feels that old, familiar pinprick of excitement, as he spots his motorcycle from a distance. He walks over to her, straddling the seat, as the anticipation builds within him. Its almost as if she's urging him kick start his freedom. his hands move almost automatically, and he begins the old routine. Engage the decompresser, half a kick to get the oil moving, disengage the decomp, give her a second to breathe in some air, shoop..! a light kick, buda buda buda buda, her engine awakes after so many hours of rest, and the rhythmic beats bring a smile to his lips. She's ready to hit the road...more than ready, eager, desperate even. As he shifts into first, she surges forward, now second, here's third, and finally fourth. And he cruises past the sluggish traffic to begin the stretch of highway separating the suburbs from the city.

For a few minutes, he's stopped thinking about her, thinking instead of the events of the day, he winces as if in physical pain...a day in that office is not easy, not for the best of men. Suddenly, he is brought back to reality. A red light. That old enemy. Why they ever put up traffic lights on a highway he cannot understand. His first impulse is to ride through it, and she agrees...unwilling to slow down, let alone stop. He hears the annoying voice inside his head, that one with the nasal twinge...(there are others!), threatening him with the worst consequences...imploring him to stop. He rides through it...its late and theres very little traffic on the highway, and he's reached the limit of his patience.

To soothe his anger, she responds as soon as she feels him tug at her accelerator. With all the power of her 350 horses, she surges forward into the night, the gusts of wind blowing away all his negative thoughts . He smiles again. He can feel his heartbeat rising, almost matching hers. The wind in his face feels good, makes him feel alive. Every second on the bike diluting the awareness of his own fragile mortality. The fear evaporates, his senses are razor sharp, and his eyes lock onto the road ahead. He teases her by slowing down a little, but before she can object, tugs hard at the accelerator, pushing the needle past 85, now 90, here's 100! His escape from reality is complete! Nothing worries him now, he is free, and his freedom comes at a 100 kilometers per hour, with the wind tearing at his face, the open road at his feet, and everything else momentarily meaningless.

But it cannot last forever....he's reached the end of the highway, and now faces another 5 boring minutes of sluggish commuter traffic. Those yuppies in their chauffeur driven coffins-on-wheels, sending yet another email from their laptops (may their batteries explode!), the college kids on their electric-shaver-ish, pathetic excuses for bike's, and the lazy buses lurching and straining against their loads. None of them will ever feel the ride, not in the way she makes him feel it. They are consumed by their commute....getting from A to B, thats all that matters to them. Not him, he turns off her ignition, he has to force himself to do it. To leave her in the garage, and resume functioning as a normal human being. She makes him feel like a God, with unlimited power, speed and no concept of fear. As he walks away from her to step into another elevator, he looks back, almost guiltily...but her silhouette promises to make him a God yet again, promising a wild, violent escape from reality...the next morning.

1 comment:

rearset said...

A bullet man, eh?