I walked out of the office today at 6:30 pm. It was another in a long line of days beginning and ending with both clock hands pointing at the number six. I am not complaining because I enjoy my work, enjoy leaving the office knowing I have completed something, enjoy walking out the doors believing that I have made a difference for the people I lead. There were very few cars left in the lot, very few cars and one lone motorcycle. My black Honda Magna was standing in the motorcycle stable, my trusty steed waiting to take me home. She turned over at the first button press, roared to life and whinnied as I tweaked the throttle once, twice, thrice sending the tachometer to the redline as my baby screamed and shook with an intense energy begging to be unleashed.
I pulled up the zipper on my leather jacket, put on my helmet, then my deerskin, leather gloves while feeling the rumble of the engine beneath me, enjoying the vibration of a 750cc engine between my legs. Her purr worked it's way through my body making me feel at one with my two wheeled steed. I shifted into gear and took off turning the handle bars back and forth taking me on a serpentine path through the parking lot, around the curbs, over the speed bumps, into the turns and up to the street where I paused as the cages, the wheeled boxes clumsily hobbled on by.
As soon as the coast cleared, I attacked the road and shot into the evening air, the perfect, 58 degree evening air, 58 exhilarating degrees, cool not cold, brisk not bitter. The wind buffeted my body as I flew past the cages, flew down the black pavement gaining speed until the dividing lines blended into one long, white ribbon, flew until any lingering world cares melted away leaving just me on my motorcycle, a naked soul soaring effortlessly through space and time. Utopia. Nirvana. Heaven.
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