The Riders

The pre-dawn stillness was temporarily broken by the sound of crunching gravel as boots meet rock like an orchestra of timpani drums, beating in unison as the wearers make their way to the iron steeds, sitting dormant in the chill of morning dew. The silence is about to be smashed to pieces like a thousand, porcelain dinner plates as the bikes are awoken when the spark plugs fire at uneven intervals causing the unmistakable “pop, pop, pause” sound as the low, mellow tone emitting from the exhaust takes on a life of its own. With the clutch released and throttle twisted, ramming power giving fuel through the veins to the heart of the motor the bikes break free with a thunderous roar. They ride….. The glow of the instrument panel emits an ambience of comfort against the darkened sky, creating a centric world between rider and bike. The sun breaches the eastern skyline in a blaze of color as deep orange re-enacts its daily ritual of giving birth to an azure sky. The riders push their machines along the licorice strap of road, peaking the apex and nadir of every corner as if the bike is anchored to a scalextric track. The passing riders take in the outer landscape in their peripheral vision, as tall mountain ash trees act like ancient soldiers providing a guard of honor to the passing riders. The road opens up from mountain pass to open plains, where cattle graze amid lush green fields. Late feeding rabbits make a hasty retreat from the roadside knolls as the bikes, like alien demigods, invade their tranquil Shangri la. Brakes are given respite as the throttle opens up and the riders can relax their concentration from the winding mountain pass that held them like gnarled talons as they squirm with every twist and turn before breaking free from its seemingly, endless icy grip. The riders turn in to a lonely country hamlet to refuel the thirsty, two wheel beasts. The distinct tack and crackle of cooling motors can be heard amidst the unzipping of leather jackets as the warm afternoon sun gazes upon both rider and bike, shimmering, heated air emits from sun drenched steel and leather while riders rest and chat about the morning ride. They share a common bond, unknown to those who have never straddled their legs over a thumping iron machine. The forge of comradery is enhanced as they traverse the countries highways and byways in an unspoken “knowing” stemming from the feeling of freedom profited from the bike and the open road.