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I did not write this, but thought it was a great piece.......

Cold On A Motorcycle

There is cold, and there is cold on a motorcycle. Cold on a motorcycle is like being beaten with cold hammers while being kicked with cold boots, a bone bruising cold. The wind's big hands squeeze the heat out of my body and whisk it away; caught in a cold October rain, the drops don't even feel like water. They feel like shards of bone fallen from the skies of Hell to pock my face. I expect to arrive with my cheeks and forehead streaked with blood, but that's just an illusion, just the misery of nerves not designed for highway speeds.

Despite this, it's hard to give up my motorcycle in the fall and I rush to get it on the road again in the spring; lapses of sanity like this are common among motorcyclists. When you let a motorcycle into your life you're changed forever. The letters "MC" are stamped on your driver's license right next to your sex and weight as if "motorcycle" was just another of your physical characteristics, or maybe a mental condition.
But when warm weather finally does come around all those cold snaps and rainstorms are paid in full because a motorcycle summer is worth any price.

A motorcycle is not just a two-wheeled car; the difference between driving a car and climbing onto a motorcycle is the difference between watching TV and actually living your life. We spend all our time sealed in boxes and cars are just the rolling boxes that shuffle us languidly from home-box to work-box to store-box and back, the whole time, entombed in stale air, temperature regulated, sound insulated, and smelling of carpets.

On a motorcycle I know I'm alive. When I ride, even the familiar seems strange and glorious. The air has weight and substance as I push through it and its touch is as intimate as water to a swimmer. I feel the cool wells of air that pool under trees and the warm spokes of sunlight that fall through them. I can see everything in a sweeping 360 degrees, up, down and around, wider than Pana-Vision and higher than IMAX and unrestricted by ceiling or dashboard. Sometimes I even hear music. It's like hearing phantom telephones in the shower or false doorbells when vacuuming; the pattern-loving brain, seeking signals in the noise, raises acoustic ghosts out of the wind's roar. But on a motorcycle I hear whole songs: rock 'n roll, dark orchestras, women's voices, all hidden in the air and released by speed. At 30 miles per hour and up, smells become uncannily vivid. All the individual tree-smells and flower-smells and grass-smells flit by like chemical notes in a great plant symphony. Sometimes the smells evoke memories so strongly that it's as though the past hangs invisible in the air around me, wanting only the most casual of rumbling time machines to unlock it. A ride on a summer afternoon can border on the rapturous. The sheer volume and variety of stimuli is like a bath for my nervous system, an electrical massage for my brain, a systems check for my soul. It tears smiles out of me. A minute ago I was dour, depressed, apathetic, numb. But now, on two wheels, big, ragged, windy smiles flap against the side of my face, billowing out of me like air from a decompressing plane.

Transportation is only a secondary function. A motorcycle is a joy machine. It's a machine of wonders, a metal bird, a motorized prosthetic. It's light and dark and shiny and dirty and warm and cold lapping over each other; it's a conduit of grace, it's a catalyst for bonding the gritty and the holy. I've had dozens of bikes over the years and slept under my share of bridges. I wouldn't trade one second of either the good times or the misery. Deciding to live my life on two wheels is one of the best things I've done.

Cars lie to us and tell us we're safe, powerful, and in control. The air-conditioning fans murmur empty assurances and whisper, "Sleep, sleep." Motorcycles tell us a more useful truth: we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that's no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride.

Be safe out there, and enjoy the ride....
 

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Geek on Wheels
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perfect! and I couldn't agree more :biggrin:
 

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Vintage bike addict
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WOW! There is so much truth to that. Spoken from the heart of one who truly loves to ride.
 

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My manager says bikes are just a piece of machinery. I told him they are more like Satan, because it has a piece of my soul.
 

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Slow Guy on a Fast Bike
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Excellent. I hear music in my head all the time when I ride. It's like the road less travelled sends a signal to my grey matter that pushes play on my internal personal soundtrack.
 

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Power Hungry V2K Rider
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My manager says bikes are just a piece of machinery. I told him they are more like Satan, because it has a piece of my soul.
For me, it's more like a gift from God. the bike releases me from the mundane and reminds me that I am not in control of the universe. That every moment is a gift that I don't deserve, but have been given by grace.
 

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Premium Member
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Thanks. Seen it before. Particularly enjoy the last sentence

"we are small and exposed, and probably moving too fast for our own good, but that's no reason not to enjoy every minute of the ride."
 

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I relate motorcycle riding to pure enjoyment... I never ride when I absolutely positively have to be somewhere at a certain time...(which is seldom) it is something I do for me... call it relaxing... recharging or recreation... I know it makes me feel renewed.
 

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For me, it's more like a gift from God. the bike releases me from the mundane and reminds me that I am not in control of the universe. That every moment is a gift that I don't deserve, but have been given by grace.

Will agree. Even when standing on the side of the road beating at my flaming bike, I still wouldn't miss it for the world!
 

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Wow that story is so true, For me riding is several things, its FUN , its a type of therapy when things are not going right, If I see some things at work in the ER that might break your heart, at the end of my shift I can get on the Bike and just ride and the therapy starts, If me and the kids are not seeing eye to eye, then the therapy starts. I LOVE RIDING, my wife isnt much for riding with me but sometimes I wished she would just so she could understand where im coming from, But then I run the risk of her wanting to ride all the time, which has + and - . But she is my missing rib so I would risk it. This story is so true and thanks for posting it.:-D
 

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Vintage bike addict
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Wow that story is so true, For me riding is several things, its FUN , its a type of therapy when things are not going right, If I see some things at work in the ER that might break your heart, at the end of my shift I can get on the Bike and just ride and the therapy starts, If me and the kids are not seeing eye to eye, then the therapy starts. I LOVE RIDING, my wife isnt much for riding with me but sometimes I wished she would just so she could understand where im coming from, But then I run the risk of her wanting to ride all the time, which has + and - . But she is my missing rib so I would risk it. This story is so true and thanks for posting it.:-D
If I can be of any assistance in getting your wife on the bike I'd be proud to be of service. My wife loves it and it really is great. She won't fully understand though in my opinion until she really rides on her own. It'll cost you another bike but if it works she'll gain understanding she can't in any other way.
 
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