I love the rain when I can stay in bed and read. Otherwise, I hate rain.
I love snow if there enough to make snowmen. Otherwise, it indifference to me.
Like the dry cold, only if I'm pretty covered. Otherwise, I shiver.
I love the weather. The sky blue. The eyes that pucker. That heats the skin. Which relaxes the back.
I hate being sick. But maybe not at all. Ago as an asset of your whole being to decide that nothing works, same words become sore, you worry bite fingers impotence. You know he just wait. But in general, this is where comes into your head all you gotta do, all that is behind the tricks to make urgent for yesterday, and all projects that can advance no further because here, no really, you're better, ten thousand times better, under the duvet.
This morning I woke up BEFORE children (those who know him know that).
I took a shower before my coffee.
I scored two tights. Two T-shirt. One (one?) Pull. Jeans (two, it not fit).
And then, when this was the moment I pulled out my little motorcycle from behind his hiding place.
And there.
No, you who do not climb with saddle beast injection, you do not know.
do not imagine that I drive a racing car. No need. For now. I have a bike without permission, 125. But as they say the other "it has everything a large".
At first I did not have gloves, no jacket. And then I was scared. Never mounted a two-wheeled motorized. Never. Always wanted. But.
So before my four hours, the seller just showed me the clutch, brakes, gears. Finally, when it stood mechanically speaking, because I did not even know it. I was able to brake with the clutch, you know, like cycling, and then two more fingers.
Then, timidly, after my first hour, I turned on the ignition of my Yam. ;
I stalled.
Then I went on the dirt road near the house. To join so there is a hundred meters away. Ben.
I was, I believe, I'm sure, uptight. I position the evil hands on the wrists, my elbows hurt, hurt my center of gravity. And then I went up up to fifty.
you off there, you know, when you do not master the trick. You feel the wind you will cast off the chatter. If you come across a friend, and unfortunately it makes you cuckoo, you, crâneuse you want to meet him, you let the left hand, you raise your arm, your arm but, unfortunately, we must keep it, otherwise it bar back, the wind never forget that you create with your speed (hey, it reminds me of the stories of true wind and wind on a boat).
To summarize, at the beginning, you get quiet. Looking for hidden routes, the secret corners.
More you t'équipes (gloves, boots) you do more pro, you most afraid of being ridiculous. Yes.
But you're Mom, you secure as possible, you know that the bike kills. You have fear of ridicule that the time to tell you, yes, but.
And the miles.
Days. Seasons.
One day you spend 3000 km rales you, because you have not seen the three zero. Nan. This morning I saw 3009.
is not 3000. It seems to know how to drive properly before, it takes 20 000. If you take away the rainy days, Wednesdays, Sundays, holidays and days of frost and snow he ... do you still not that much of days.
Today, 89 km.
Rhaaah, DDS, it feels good!
Well, I'll tell you.
is a special day where the sun shines enough to make the leather of your saddle is hot. The air is cold, but your bike is already warm.
You turn the key. You press contact. And you hear the hum. She purrs my bike, it's true. It's not something a moron, these mufflers tampered with, just to annoy the neighbors. This is not the rolling of the Harley eh. No. These, you hear them far enough, to have just enough time to run and watch them go.
You press the tip of the left foot first, and you get out of the driveway. Immediately after you pass your foot under the lever of speeds, because the next are up. And tactac, tock, tock, tock. Vroom. 7000 rpm, 90 per hour.
Yes!
You choose the road curves. The small road. I have already written somewhere, that I'll ramble, but I really love.
When you drive by car, we look at the landscape.
motorbikes, you look at the landscape and you feel. You see the coast before feel it, and then your body up the hill with the bike, you make one with the craft, to understand the landscape, ripples, high, low. Odors. You grimace when power is not enough to keep the speed, the mountains make you slow down, laugh when you arrive and take you down, there's this wind, this force, against which you struggle, with which you fight.
There the blue sky which is that sometimes the sun warms your legs frozen, there are green fields, the sunlight in the trees, some cows in a meadow.
There is regular noise from the engine, the vibration that makes you whole when you quit your horse, it will continue to ricochet through your veins, through the swarm that has you from head to toe.
You push the door of your house where you go with a smile beaming.
You put the helmet, gloves, glove liners. At this writing, I still tremble. Cold and pleasure.
Sure, there are days when everything goes well.
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