Motorcycle Diaries

There is something incomparably free to the feel of wind ripping through my hair on a motorcycle. Akin to unbridled passion, but not the same as the feeling of loss of self while engaging with another. In any case, the feel of flying cannot be compared to such paltry distaste as lust lends itself to in the eyes of the populace. Riding a motorcycle is like taking all of your inhibitions and putting them into a blender. Forcing them to remold themselves, to take up the uniformity of the most dominant. The rules of the road are simple, Busses rule the road, semi's are slow moving but unmoveable, cars are erratic and unpredictable and motorcyclists have been relegated to the same tier as pedestrians: potential roadkill.

The light changes to red, the cars begin to slow down, their red tail lights flashing through my lenses. I peek over my shoulder and recognize the pattern of the slowing cars, I shift my weight slightly and begin to zip through the cracks; avoiding mirrors and shifting tires I quickly make my way to the front of the pack. The light is still red but there's no one around, the motorists behind me are patiently waiting for the machine to decide when they will be allowed forward motion. I crank the throttle, my wrist protests at the sudden movement but readjusts, my butt slides backwards slightly and the wind rips my hair from my lips. The road is full of imperfections that I deftly dodge, shifting my weight and adjusting my speed, another traffic light looms, the cars behind me have begun to move forward. I watch them start off slowly from my mirrors, as if from another place in time.

I've surpassed the second stoplight and am on open ground, I've become enveloped within the swarm of the cars. The buzzing of their engines and the bouncing of beats from within my headphones create the soundtrack of my drive. Unlike that of those around me I'm experiencing every change in temperature, wind speed, light and road conditions. I hug the right shoulder of the road for safety, keeping an ever watchful eye around me. The car in front of me brakes swiftly, I glance to my left and slip into the space between the braking car and the moving car behind me. The exhilaration of the move emboldens me and I begin to smile. Next thing I know I'm humming to the beat of the soft music in my ears, as I crest the first hill to home I'm belting the words.

The freedom of the motorcycle is unlike any I've felt before, the change in temperature, the feel of the road beneath you, the cars around me. All are potential dangers, there's no sitting back and firing off a quick text, there's no adjusting your seat or mirrors. Each little movement inspires a reaction by the bike. Careless movements could be the last movements you make. This feeling of complete knowledge of the things I am experiencing around me is so unique, I think that I've become colder, less sensitive to the changes around me. I live abroad and see quirky things everyday, I experience odd things daily and I've grown accustomed to it. The bike strips me of the layer of protective uncaring allowing me to feel again.

I was on the final stretch home, the semi in front of me was causing a bottleneck, it had slowed to an impossible speed. I set my feet on the asphalt beneath me and sighed deeply. I glanced to my right and saw my opportunity, I twisted the throttle and felt the bike speak to me, you can make it. I darted through, following the wide arc of the cab as the semi began it's final turn. I shot through to the other side, the glow of the apartments on the sides of the hill around me created an ethereal-like feel. My heart caught in my throat and my music sang to me "Escape."