My Favorite Place

Written by B. L. Jilek, 10 Aug. 2003

My favorite place is freedom incarnate. I sit here forgetting my troubles and feeling the wind rushing by. Sometimes a gentle feather brushing against my skin, sometimes a fierce hurricane doing it's best to push me off, roaring in my ears like a freight train bearing down on me.

The sun warms me with it's fire and I forget what it's like to be cold. I smell the scents of every flower and evergreen. I feel the cool swamp air hit me like a seasonal change. I see the colors flashing by, lush green dotted with yellows and reds of the wild flowers. All of my senses on fire, feeling so alive.

I loose my self in the road. This long, gray strip winds it's way through the trees, lost but not caring, only wanting to take me as far away as possible. I don't care where it takes me, just that it never ends.

I lean back and relax, letting the pulses of the mighty twin soak through me, listening to the growl as it pounds away at the miles. I look forward to every twist and turn this road can throw at me with the anticipation of a child on Christmas eve. Leaning into them plants me firmly into the seat and I push it hard, so trails of sparks fly at my side as I feel the floorboards grind into the pavement. I twist the throttle with a uncontrollable ear-to-ear grin as I feel the monstrous torque of the sleek, silver machine pull me through the air and hear the growl turn into a throaty roar. I want to shout to this road, to goad this slithering gray serpent into more, but all I manage is an incoherent guffaw of pure joy.

I'm at my favorite place. Sitting on this uncompromising beast of violently pulsing power and noise. In control of this mighty machine and the road. Here I forget what it's like anywhere else. Here I would like to stay.