06-13-2017, 09:35 PM
"The man wakes and like he does every morning since his retirement, has a simple breakfast, kisses his wife on the cheek, and heads to the garage for his morning motorcycle ride. Of the many reasons he rides daily, he supposes that this day's reason is at once the least favorite and the most powerful. He had lost a dear friend and fellow motorcyclist last week and will be attending a funeral of a another motorcyclist and friend this afternoon. Time was rolling on and today's ride is in remembrance.
He turns his bike out of his driveway and onto the tree lined street, partially spotted dark with the light rain which had just begun to filter through the sieve of overseas leaves and branches. He continues on his route through the filling hills of the Ohio River valley,listening to the raindrops echoing in his helmet, smelling that unique and pleasant aroma of fresh rain on asphalt, and seeing the bright greens of the wet grass bordering his route contrasted against the gray skies beyond. Yes, it was a picture perfect day for a motorcycle ride. At least for this motorcycle ride."
He turns his bike out of his driveway and onto the tree lined street, partially spotted dark with the light rain which had just begun to filter through the sieve of overseas leaves and branches. He continues on his route through the filling hills of the Ohio River valley,listening to the raindrops echoing in his helmet, smelling that unique and pleasant aroma of fresh rain on asphalt, and seeing the bright greens of the wet grass bordering his route contrasted against the gray skies beyond. Yes, it was a picture perfect day for a motorcycle ride. At least for this motorcycle ride."
