The Last Hoorah

I took the Dyna out for what was probably its last “naked” ride of the season.  From the moment I left the driveway, I could tell that something was going to be different about this ride.

Maybe it was the fact that I had spent all day working on her younger sister and she was a bit jealous.  Maybe it was the cooler fall air.  Or perhaps I developed an air leak, the bike’s leaning out, and it’s on the verge of blowing up.  Maybe she was grateful than I stripped off the bags and shield and polished her up a bit, thankful for the much needed attention.  But, from the time I said, “let’s go for a ride, old girl” and turned her over, she roared to life and rode like a banshee all the way to south Warren.

I’ve been very fortunate that I’ve had the opportunity to ride horses.  For an old dirt bike kid, it’s a hell of an experience.  It’s not like riding a bike.  It’s a bit of a compromise, almost a negotiation.  They don’t always go exactly where you want them.  They are not going to maintain the same precise speed.  They often think that it’s kinda funny to try to brush you up against some limbs.  The thing is, they’re thinking beings.  They know they might fall, get hurt, or even get you hurt.  They also have their own thoughts about what they want to do (Mmmmm, grass!) or where they want to go (hey, it’s my barn!).

The greatest horse I ever rode was a chestnut named Visa.  She was, by every account, a raging bitch.  She didn’t like people much.  Frankly, I can relate.  She’d try to back away from the trail hands.  She’d kick horses if they were behind her.  She’d bite horses in front of her.  But when you let her go, she had the smoothest, most beautiful canter.   Visa was bred to GO.  When you kicked her up to a canter, she would absolutely try to take off.  It was a constant battle to try to keep her from passing horses in front of her.  Once she was in stride, I’d always have to ease her back with a gentle pull on the reigns, “easy, girl….easy….”

Motorcycles, on the other hand, are just machines.  Inanimate objects, made of metal and plastic and cables and tires.  Bolts and fasteners, belts and chains, batteries and blinkers.  They have no thoughts, no feelings or desires.  They’re just bikes…..right?

So how is it that on this day, probably the last nice, warm weekend day of the year, that an amalgamation of rubber, pistons, vivid black and chrome could possibly pull on the reigns?  How could it seem to have its own will to run faster, to snort and buck and jerk when being coaxed to a halt, and how it could simply jump to full stride with the slightest provocation?  Could it be that it’s more than just a machine, and that it knows that there could be a long, cold winter to endure before we’ll have this chance again?  Maybe she knew it was the last hoorah of summer.