From the moment I first heard that rumble, felt the wind whip past, I knew riding would consume me. My trusty ‘82 Fatboy, she’s been my faithful companion through thick and thin. Nothin’ quite clears the mind like the open road stretching ahead, the thunder underfoot.
Some folks think bikers are reckless, but they ain’t seen how precise it takes to dance between tractor trailers. Every curve, every pothole, handled with an iron grip. There’s no greater freedom, no better brotherhood than those shared miles.
My best rides? Well, once, me and the boys rode cross-country, hitting every diner and dive bar worth its salt. Another time, I took the backroads up to Sturgis, met folks from all walks, united by leather and chrome. Man, I miss those days.
These days, arthritis slows me down, but I still get out whenever I can. Can’t let go of that feeling, even if I’m just cruising Main Street nowadays. Maybe someday, I’ll trade in this rust bucket for a newer model, but she’s carried me so far, I couldn’t imagine leaving her behind.
>Soulkyn