My Love For The Open Road And Harley Davidson

Ever since I was young, the freedom of the open road called to me louder than any siren song. There ain't nothing quite like the rumble of a Harley beneath me, wind tearing through my beard, and the endless horizon stretching before me. I've ridden across every state except Alaska - someday, she'll have my tires marks, mark my words.

Back in the seventies, me and the boys would hit the highway for weeks at a stretch, living off burgers and whiskey. Those were the glory days, man. No GPS, no cell phones, just trusting in the compass in yer gut. Hell, we even rode right past Woodstock, could've been part of legend, but we weren't much for flower children.

Nowadays, the highways are clogged with SUVs and soccer moms, scared to leave their air-conditioned cocoons. Folks got no guts anymore, no taste for adventure. Well, I still saddle up whenever I get the chance, raising a middle finger to progress and its fancy gadgetry. When the last kick of my engine fades away, I'll die a happy man, knowing I lived a life most only dream of.

So, if you see an ol' chrome beast thundering towards ya, maybe give a nod or a wave, and let the spirit of the road flow between us. Because, in the end, it's not the destination, sonny, it's the ride itself.