Riding with Shadows, 8/31/2002 by dmbrown

[aVOL2]

The throaty exhaust signaled the beast had stirred from its slumber. �One hundred miles� he thought, �I will do at least one hundred miles today.� That was an easy enough ride and had always managed to clear his mind, refresh his spirit. It was in many ways almost euphoric. It was better than any consumed substance and had none of the usual side effects.

The sod was completely worn away from the abuse the sixteen inch tires had inflicted upon it, but he did not care as this spot on the front lawn below a security light was reserved for his beloved Volusia. The grass would have to find elsewhere to live. He swung his right leg over the seat, gave the throttle a satisfying twist and kicked the shifter into first. Easing off the clutch the beast rolled forward and onto the street.

Through Stop Signs and Traffic Lights he made his way out of town and onto the country roads he so enjoyed riding. It was busier today than was normal for a Sunday but he didn�t mind so long as he was into the wind and away from the world. It took only a few miles before he found himself in the Zone. His mind alive with the sights and sound and smells around him. The sky was so blue it hurt his eyes to look at it.

�What a day, who could ask for more� he thought. �The tank is full, the bike is clean and there is absolutely nothing around the house that needs doing. Today is for me.�

The ride was quickly becoming all he had hoped for. But things were about to change. You see, they had been sealing the roads the day before in preparation for the coming winter. He didn�t notice the groves cut deep into the pavement by the heavy machines until the front tire dropped into one. The handlebars of his Volusia shook in his hands as he wrestled to bring the motorcycle back under his control. He eased off the throttle, down shifted, tapped the brake, and tried to angle his way out, but nothing was working. For the first time in many years of riding he realized the possibility that he was probably going to go down. And it scared the hell out of him.

Then, as if of its own accord, the motorcycle seemed to climb, no, it seemed to nearly float out of a self imposed certain doom to the safety of even pavement. He was shaking from the sudden fright and pulled to the side of the road to catch his breath. It took a few minutes to compose himself and shake off the incident but rather than abort the ride and return home he decided to look for another path to his goal of a one hundred mile therapeutic ride.

He turned west at the very next intersection and rolled on through the gears. Within a few miles and with even less warning he found the road before him to be strewn with pot holes and resembled a shell scared battlefield. The Volusia rolled left and right, back and forth across the lane turning this way and that to avoid the dangers. He wrestled with the bars spread wide in his hands but he had no control. He tried to twist the throttle but it would not budge and he pulled at the clutch lever but it would not move. It no longer obeyed his commands yet he traversed the pock marked road with sureness and safety.

Then in a blur he was out the other side and back in command. The Volusia handled normally and responded to his every whim. He could not explain it, not to himself and surely not to anyone else. His motorcycle was alive, it� it, moved on its own. The rider didn�t know whether to be afraid or excited but on he rode. At every obstacle he encountered along the way no matter how small, the Volusia seemed to come alive and with perfect precision it moved to avoid them and kept the rider from harms way.

At one such obstacle the rider even dared to close his eyes for only a fraction of a second, and when he quickly snapped them back open he found that the danger had passed. On and on this went, minute by minute, and mile by mile until he finally realized he was not alone.

They did not appear like spectral images or as formless spirits trying to communicate. They did not lurk at just beyond his vision and there were no disembodied voices calling his name. No, he felt them rather than saw them. He was safe in their presence; it was like being wrapped in a warm blanket.
And so it was, he rode in a group yet was riding alone. All through the sunny and warm afternoon as he watched the little bars on his gas gauge disappear and the sun light slipping away he rode on and on until finally it was time to go home.

Turning onto his street, up his drive and across the lawn to the tire warn spot his Volusia called home. The rider kicked the shifter into neutral and sat on his trusty steed pondering the days events. The fan that kept the engine coolant at a proper temperature kicked on after a few minutes and snapped him back to the moment. The rider glanced up to see his wife standing near by watering her flowers. He leaned forward to switch the engine off with the key and something caught his eye. He dared not look directly at them but he knew they were there. He held very still for a few seconds not wanting to move for fear he might frighten them away. They didn�t have form or shape as the mind was accustomed to seeing but they were there none the less. He found himself flanked on either side by black and white Volusias. Identical in year and color only but each unique to the rider it bore.

The rider closed his eyes, turned off the switch and looked slowly from side to side. There was the familiar whirr of the starter engaging and then silence. His riding companions had gone and he was sad. Would they ever return to keep him company again? He did not know.

�Did you have a good ride?� his wife chimed in.
�Yeah we had a great time,� the rider said with out really thinking.
�We,� his wife retorted, �I thought you were going alone?�
�I was.� The rider said as he swung his leg over the saddle.
�Then who is we?� his wife asked.

With an almost puzzled look on his face; not really sure how to answer; the rider turned in his wife�s direction and pondered a moment. �I guess,� he said in a voice whose tone almost implied a revelation, �I guess, today I was riding with shadows.� With no further explanation he gave his Volusia a gentile pat on the handle bars and then an assuring nod to where his companions had been only moments before and went in the house.

For Web and Dracko
David

Borrowed from the old VOL site
I am sure he wouldnt mind us adding Zookoff and a few more to the list.
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"Bikers ride, everybody else gets old" ®