| Needless to say,
once that was done it was ...riding time. Ah, yes - the night air! The roads are yours and
the darkness - so alluring. Riding a bike - it is like playing an instrument. You twist
the throttle and you listen to the motor. As you accelerate through the gears and you
listen to the way the bike reacts to each RPM - speeed-load-gear-road grade combination.
Do it right and the harmony is symphonic. Miss by even a degree and you cringe. Rev up on
the power curve and the guys on the street do a double take - nothing like a well-tuned
bike pulling it up at the near peak of its power curve. You listen to it and they listen
to it and the RPMs go higher by a measure, but not a whine. You hold it steady and wait
for that special plateau - you will shift at some point, after you reach it. Maybe you'll
shift as soon as you are there, maybe you'll wait. You catch the curve in second and you
take it further. Let up. You listen to the bike taking a breath. There is a pause, a void,
and the guy on the street is uneasy with the suspense; will he shift in time or will it
lug for losing too much speed and taking third too late. Then you shift, because you know
they crave it and as you disappear behind the next turn, you can feel the guy on the
street asking himself questions about the summer of '68 and where did it all go? There are no answers and you see the red up
in the distance. There is time to listen to the bright roll of the motor in steady
revolve. Flawless. It is so easy! You want to keep it there for a long time, but the red,
the red! It's going to happen. So you walk it down through the gears; you shift it down in
measured takes and with each step they tense up - maybe they don't want to look, but still
they look - and the motor sings and the motor snarls. You listen to the feedback. Lately
things don't seem the same; acting funny, but I don't know why...
Later you will get back. You will tread the pedestrian sidewalk and be on the other side,
but now you are fast in the night air. Maybe I'll see you there some day. Don't be late.
Michael Stoic
June, 1999 |