Motercycling

I'm doing one ten, I'm soaked, can't feel my right hand and I'm about as happy as I've ever been. And that, is motorcycling. It's not really a hobby, it's an obsession. I was on my bike (a KLR650 or as I call it KLaiR) bound for burns. The next few days of plus 40 weather and twisty lake side roads would develop what some experts call an addiction. There's just something about hitting the apex of a 40k corner at 80 with the sun beaming on you through a cloudless sky that you don't get in a car. This of course is why I started riding; cars are boring. Ever since I can remember I wanted to drive a car. And the moment I did, something was missing. So I got my license and learned I.C.B.C. is wrong. The first thing a rider does when he sees a sign indicating winding roads ahead isn't slow down. It isn't change seating position. They smile because the risk, the rough weather, the sad face their mom makes every time they go riding, is all for a moment at least, worth it. And now ever since that trip, I look for every sad pathetic excuse possible to indulge in an experience I'd kill for any day of the week.