Live to Ride, Ride to Live

My hand grabs the round handle as I swing my right leg over the leather seat that separates me from the hot chrome.  I place my feet firmly on the pavement and slowly pick this powerful machine off its kickstand.  From head to toe, I'm ready.  Bandana.  Check.   Hair in braids.  Check.  Jeans and boots.  Check, check.  I turn the key and hit start and it comes alive.  And now machine and me are one.  Hugging turns and the wind in my hair. 

Then just like that, everything becomes peaceful.  Everything becomes quiet.  Just my bike, me, and the road ahead.

This is what riding a motorcycle feels like. No, wait.  This is what driving your own motorcycle feels like.  Ever since I can remember, my dad has always had a motorcycle.  We only knew a life with a motorcycle in it.  It was normal and growing up I thought that was what families did. 

But no, not all families do what we do.  And that is what makes it special.  This is who we are.  This is what my family does on the weekends.  We ride.

And remember:  Loud pipes saves lives.