Its cold and grey. The mountain roads weave and I'm finding it hard to find the line. I came so far to do this, and just cant find the rhythm. I voice in my head says "LET ME". Vatta rides better than me. He makes poetry with Elsa's wheels. It's a trick of the mind, I know. I let him.
Counter steer, accelerate, drop, go. Roll, swoop, power, roll, shift position, rotate, flick her over, do it again. 1 hour. drop, roll, power, glide, 2 hours. 3. No sense of time or speed, or destination. No me. No Elsa. Just the road and the ride. @ one. Biker poetry.
About Me
- Kevin Winterburn
- What do you do when you find yourself single again, career over, and a world recession ongoing? Switch the news off, dust off the motorbike, and go and find people you want to spend time with, and roads you want to ride. Work? Only if I get hungry or cold.
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