It is best described as an itch. Or a twitch. It begins in the hands, it does, this itch. When you are holding the steering wheel of the car and you are staring into the empty road ahead. It begins in the centre of your palm actually, that urge, that need to step away from the honking and the shouting and the buses and bikes and people hovering all around you. Cause you know you can and you know you will.
You know you will sit on your bike and you will kick the starter and she will rumble and grumble awake. Oh she will grumble and sputter and you will have to beg and cajole her because that is the way she is. As stubborn as you and gloating with self-importance. So you beg some more and you hit the road and the cold breeze hits you in the face. And on your arms and on your legs and your speed builds and builds until you are flying through the world.
You are swinging down mountains and climbing up ghats and you are looking at the beautiful, beautiful world around you. You are hunting down the apexes and laughing and smiling inside your head because you know that this, this, is where the magic is at. And sometimes it rains and your clothes soak wet and when you stop for the hot hot chai, your boots make those squishy sounds. But you are happy and you sip the hot chai and you look at the steam in front of your eyes and you are happy.
And now you are back on the road and you are resting on your backpack every now and then cause goddamit your back hurts like hell and the next village, town, city is so many many miles away. The helmet is becoming heavier and your hands are tiring and becoming numb and the rain is going all patter patter patter on your head but you go on because you want a warm bed and a dry towel. And because the road is just taking you along.
And you reach the place where you have to reach and you step into some dry clothes and you can see your bike parked under the shade. And you sit down gingerly because your bum hurts like mad, and you think of all the things that happened today because you have the time, oh the glorious luxury of time, to do what you want.
And the next morning it begins once again and you groan as you swing your legs over the seat because everything is aching and you can’t imagine doing another hundred, two hundred, three hundred clicks but you know you have to and you know you need to. So you take your bags and clip, tie and pin it down onto the saddle seat and hope and pray that you have not forgotten anything behind.
And you are on the road once again and the speed needle is shivering and shaking in comfort and the cold breeze is hitting you once again. And you begin to smile because there are few things more beautiful than an empty road and a tankful of the unleaded stuff. So you smile and you smile and you laugh. Because that is the way it is.
It has been a while since I felt that itch. That twitch.
It is calling me.