Back when I was a kid with a snotty nose, grass stained knees and a rubberband-shooting pistol permanently affixed to the palm of my hand, I had an affinity for companionship; constantly and persistently begging Mom to let me stay out longer to play in the woods with the neighborhood kids. Back then, of course, I didn't know what relationships were and the only thing I knew of love was that feeling I had when I got a new bike, or cap gun, or fire truck. What I did know, was that I couldn't get enough time with my friends, and certainly wasn't happy with the amount of play time I was allowed. If I only knew then what a microcosmic metaphor that was for what the rest of life had in store.
Naturally as we grow up a bit, most of our friends begin to develop interests outside of aimlessly running around in the woods and riding our bikes around in circles in the driveway; so we drift apart and are forced to find our own proverbial "niches". I had no idea, at the time, that I would get so excited by motorcycles a little later in life; the thought had never really occurred to me, and for that matter, I didn't so much care. Suddenly, I was a sexual being, a pubescent teenager, and I didn't care much about anything except the new, weekly someone I was watching in the hallway between study hall and lunch. To say that I would acquiesce to this transition would naturally be an understatement; after all, human companionship is, usually, every bit as much human nature as eating, breathing and sleeping. It was, and continued to be what I was passionate about, longed for, and strived for.
Over the years that desire has faded a bit as the raging hormones racing through my veins started to slow to a steady and sensible pace. That's not to say, of course, that I have abandoned all kinship to human nature, it just doesn't seem so essential or necessitous these days.
It was fairly recently, though, that I did meet the love of my life; a companion whom I am confident will endure. It is, sometimes, a labor of love to keep our relationship running smoothly, and I admit that there are times at which I could communicate more fluently; after all, it is my input that dictates behavior. There are also times, however, when I should spend a little more time listening, rather than incessantly running around for the pure thrill of it. Taking care of my baby is undoubtedly a first priority as there is nothing I want more than continued and improving performance; you could even call it an obsession; it's a give and take, a balance, and the proverbial 'two way street'.
When we have good times (which is the vast majority of the time), it's blissful, and could even be described as godly, or perhaps more fittingly, orgasmic. My one and only is always on my mind, and spending time together has undeniably become cherished.
On occasion we do have a disagreement; even downright brawls, but as in any relationship, a little exercised patience and the willingness to listen, pay attention, and even communicate my thoughts fully, will eventually lead to a peaceful and understanding conclusion.
Perhaps faintly romanticizing this affair, the feeling that comes from our intense and fanatical alliance is one that I have not yet felt from any other.
Even as I contemplate the most effective words to use in description, I'm consistently faced with an incredible loss for words; I'm just not sure that true love can be expressed effectively. It's been attempted for years; the definition of love, and it's pretty well understood that it simply can't be done. There is no real protocol in love, and there most certainly are no rules; and though this relationship may appear unorthodox, it certainly cannot be denied.
And so, as we head out for the road for the first epic occasion, my mind is reeling with expectations of grandeur and transcendency. The journey will not, of course, reveal itself in so much majesty, as we do naturally tend to embellish our expectations. Nevertheless, my motorcycle and I will attempt to maintain the posture of true unbridled wanderlust and remain conscious of the intuitive recognition of quality in the human experience.
"It should not be denied...that being footloose has always exhilarated us. It is associated in our minds with escape from history and oppression and law and irksome obligations, with absolute freedom.." -Wallace Stegner
