Miles of road lay behind me. Road grime is caked on my sun baked face with the smell of gasoline and sweat filling my nostrils. My hands, covered in callouses and oil filled cracks, grip the bars as I beat down the roadway eating up white line after white line. I'm chasing down a dream one gear at a time but I can't really tell you what the dream is. Freedom? Adventure? Enlightenment? All of the above and more I guess. The rawness of the ride always draws me in, no question. I am completely in the moment and in my simplest and purest form. And strangely enough, in this raw simplicity I am also completely in touch with everything around me. I am the machine. I am the road. I am the trees and the air. I am the sun and rolling hills in the distance. I am everything but at the same time I feel I am simply nothing. After I get off my bike, everything else seems to move slow in my tranquility and my senses pick up everything. In this moment of heightened awareness so many things seem sweeter. My kids excitement of my return home. The laughter and screams of "daddy" as they run to meet me, throwing their arms around my still vibrating legs. My wife's embrace as I wrap my arms around her body and kiss her perfect lips. My chop brings me many things. It fills my spirit and lets it soar free but at the same time it helps me appreciate my roots. Sometimes I don't know what is better, the trip or the getting home. I guess you can't have one without the other.
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