Getting Ready to Ride
| “ | At precisely this moment someone, somewhere, is getting ready to ride. . . . The key is slipped into the ignition at the top of the stearing head. Then the rider swings a leg over the seat and sit but keeps the weight on the balls of the feet. With a push from the thighs the rider rocks the bike forward once, again, picking up momentum until it starts to fall forward and down from the centerstand. At this moment the rider pulls a lever with the first finger of the right hand, and the brake pads close like a vice on the front wheel's iron rotor. At the almost instantaneous release of the brake, the bike rises slightly from the forks, which have telescoped under the heft. Now the 450 pounds of metal, fluid, and plastic rests in tenuous balance between the rider’s legs; if it started to lean too much to one side, the weight that had lain low in a state of grace would suddenly assert itself in a manic bid to meet the concrete with a crash. Inherently unstable at a standstill, the bike is waiting for the human help it become its true self. Out there running, it can seem as solid as stone. Anticipation mounts as Monday approaches. I can only think of one thing I have wanted to happen more in the past few months. Soon, I will turn that key. | ” |
| — Melissa Holbrook Pierson, The Perfect Vehicle | ||
| “ | But at that moment, before I’d turned a wheel or even pushed off the centerstand, I reaped the first reward of this journey, when my thoughts and energies contracted and narrowed their focus to riding the machine. My right hand gently rolled on the throttle a little more, left hand wiped away the raindrops already collecting on my clear faceshield, then pulled in the clutch lever. My left foot toed the shifter down into first gear, and I moved slowly up the lane between the wet trees. At the top I paused to lock the gate behind me, wiped off my faceshield again, and rode out onto the muddy gravel road, away from all that. | ” |
| — Neal Peart, Ghost Rider | ||