I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm buckin' out for the territory. You won't understand. The sign of fealty, a sign of brotherhood, one to the other that none may ever understand. You must be awake. You must be alive. Every moment. When you find a fellow brother you show respect. One who cannot, will not, be tamed. Regardless of ride. Regardless of age. The last of the free thinkers.
We drive. Alone. In two's. It matters little. Wind courses around us. We must be aware. Not only for our space, but the spaces of all those ahead of us. Continually knowing, continually epecting the worst behavior, the most bone head ideas. We must. We must survive. From the press of the ignition (though I miss my kick-start) to the pull of the throttle... it's us. Us, against the world.
Beneath the motor roars, as all becomes focused on the here... the now. To live fully in the present, forgetting the past, future only exists due to every decision you make now. Every consequence has a reaction. You know it. You smile.
Something breaks, as it always will, you must be continually aware. You may have to spend, you may have to fashion. Either way it will get done. They must live, your ride, so that you can live. Wind buffets your body. You become one with the machine. You lean, she turns, You pull, she leaps finally freeborn into the sky. All the while she waits for the next move.
When you meet a brother on the road... you give the signal. Out of respect, out of admiration, you are bound: It is your brotherhood against the world. They are family. One born out of iron. One born of steel. Blood from scuffed knuckles born of care... she will demand her ounce of blood. You know, you share, if your brother or sister passes, you show respect, if they are down you pull over even if all you can do is offer camaraderie,
Why... that is what brothers do. Forged of steel. Fusioned in a mutual right for survival. We have made it this long. The smile. We have made it this long. .
