If there’s one thing that gets my blood pumpin’ faster than anything, it’s the rumble of a Harley between my legs, wind tearin’ through my hair. Back when I was younger, before arthritis set in, I rode every inch of blacktop across this great nation. Man, those were the glory days.
My ol’ Night Train, she was a beauty, a beast of a machine. She carried me through thunderstorms, blisterin’ deserts, and snowdrifts taller than me. Ridin’ solo, or rollin’ with the pack, we made quite a sight, garnerin’ stares wherever we went.
We lived fast, wild, and free. Nights spent round campfires, drinkin’ cheap whiskey, and spinnin’ yarns with strangers turned kin. Oh, how I’d give anything to relive those moments, even if just for a fleeting instant.
But age catches up to us all, and now I’m relegated to armchair reminisces. Every so often, though, I slip on my leather jacket, sit astride the bike in my mind, and ride again, feelin’ the sun on my face, the open road stretching out ahead…
>Soulkyn