From an old issue of AMA magazine:
"Riding is part of who we are, and we can’t imagine not riding. We dread the day when age or illness will inevitably force us to park our rides for the final time.
Until then, we love the surge of the engine when we roll on the throttle, and the wide-open-sky euphoria of the open road.
The forward motion keeps us shiny side up, but the sights, sounds, and smells spice up our experiences. Rolling past a barbeque joint, while inhaling the aroma of live oak and mesquite as the meat simmers over the live coals. The scent of a hay field’s first cutting, or the cool quietness of an early summer morning before the sun bakes the blacktop.
The perfume of wildflowers in the spring or the colors of autumn leaves. Spying a formation of geese flying south in the fall, or a hawk surveying from his regal perch atop a telephone pole. Mid-summer breakfast rides before the heat of day or a cold beer after a long afternoon cruise.
The sudden rush of cool air as you drop into a valley on an early September morning. Rolling home at dusk with a full moon rising, pale orange on the horizon as a bat flutters past. Peering into the fading light warily looking for deer along the roadside.
Knowing how that cheeseburger will taste after a 200-mile morning or bench racing with your buddies over a frosty mug.
I could ramble on, but morning’s fog has lifted, and it’s kickstands up..." --Wayne Carpenter
"Riding is part of who we are, and we can’t imagine not riding. We dread the day when age or illness will inevitably force us to park our rides for the final time.
Until then, we love the surge of the engine when we roll on the throttle, and the wide-open-sky euphoria of the open road.
The forward motion keeps us shiny side up, but the sights, sounds, and smells spice up our experiences. Rolling past a barbeque joint, while inhaling the aroma of live oak and mesquite as the meat simmers over the live coals. The scent of a hay field’s first cutting, or the cool quietness of an early summer morning before the sun bakes the blacktop.
The perfume of wildflowers in the spring or the colors of autumn leaves. Spying a formation of geese flying south in the fall, or a hawk surveying from his regal perch atop a telephone pole. Mid-summer breakfast rides before the heat of day or a cold beer after a long afternoon cruise.
The sudden rush of cool air as you drop into a valley on an early September morning. Rolling home at dusk with a full moon rising, pale orange on the horizon as a bat flutters past. Peering into the fading light warily looking for deer along the roadside.
Knowing how that cheeseburger will taste after a 200-mile morning or bench racing with your buddies over a frosty mug.
I could ramble on, but morning’s fog has lifted, and it’s kickstands up..." --Wayne Carpenter