As we whip around the blind corners of the winding road at the bottom of the gorge I give myself in to the ride with complete abandon. With all the senses tuned in, the amazing bliss of thorough unrestraint washes over me and I disengage from the daily grind left far behind within the confines of my office. And in this feeling I catch myself thinking that the only thing separating me from the pavement is the thin layer of leather of my jacket. Acknowledgement of this vulnerability comes with a discovery of how similar riding a bike can feel to sex: the more open and uninhibited you are, the more vulnerable, but also the more able to experience the whole thing fully, to the last drop, and with nothing left on the table.
Somehow with all the cliche comparisons I can make between motorcycling and lovemaking, this one is the most honest and the most true for me: submitting to it is scary, but what you get in return makes it all worthwhile in the end.
And so we ride.