The Last Ride of the Year

It almost feels magic from the start of the day to the end. Sometimes you plan it for as close to that last insured day as you can, and at other times you just know from the weather that you have to ride while the riding is good. You feel the bite of cold weather creeping into the day earlier and earlier, or the howl of the wind that promises to bring in the slamming, icy cold rain, littering the road with slippery, motorcycle tripping leaves. The perfect day will come, though, and you'd better take it or regret it until the next bike season.

You feel it in your bones when you wake up that morning, the exhilarating feeling of anticipation, like a little kid on Christmas morning. You hurry your way through whatever chores will not be put off until later and then grab your gear. You get out to the garage and look at your bike and smile, the gentle smile of someone who is going to have to say goodbye to a loved one for a long time. And that is exactly what you are doing. Everyone else may call her a machine, but you know her soul better than anybody else. You nursed her back to health when you mistakenly gave her the crap gas from that cursed station that you will not even buy coffee from anymore. You know her every purr and rumble. She has listened to you wail when the last idiot broke your surprisingly fragile heart. And she was ready when you were back on your game and ready to have fun again. And through it all, she has sat in that dark garage, waiting for you, never making demands or trying to make you change in any way.

So, you open the door and you fire that bike up, puttering to the end of the drive and thinking about where you are going to go when you realize that the destination does not matter on this day, it is the journey that matters.