Through nights and storms

Let me tell you a story, and you can draw your own inferences from it.

One evening after work, a boy got on his bike and didn't stop riding. It soon got dark, and there were huge flashes of lightening and claps of thunder, but the boy didn't stop riding. Then the rain came, first in gentle soothing drops, then in torrents, each drop making impact with the speed of a piearcing arrow, but the boy wouldn't stop riding. Cities faded away in his rear view, he was out on the highway, all alone, in the middle of nowhere with no one to help in case of crisis, amidst the darkness, thunder, lightening and the cold cold rain, but the boy wouldn't stop riding. Then came the wind, fierce and cold, strong enough to uproot bushes and send them tumbling across the highway in front of him, strong enough to push the bike a foot or two in any direction it pleased, but the boy refused to give up riding. Hours slipped by with miles, and in this war between biker and nature, although it seemed like nature had the upper hand and was throwing the kitchen sink at him, the boy was enduring, and slowly and steadily making progress.

Then morning broke, and the first rays of sunlight colored the sky. The darkness, rain and wind, as if afraid of the sun's disapproval of their trials on the boy during the night, vanished along with it. The boy had reached where he wanted to go, had covered 850 odd kilometers, was soaked and cold. But, he took a moment to stop and enjoy the beauty of the sun firing up the sky for a new and beautiful day.

I wont philosophize about this story. It may signify many things to many people. So I'll let You dear reader, draw from it the parallels you would like to draw, if any at all.

But i will tell you one thing,

the boy didn't stop riding...

A heart on two wheels

I went out on one of those "dont care where you're going" rides today. Quite a long one after quite a long time. And as mile after mile of beautiful country roads disappeared behind me with a cool breeze constantly caressing my face, I felt myself leaving behind a lot of things. Worries about injuries, thoughts about the past, anxieties of what the future may hold, anger about being wronged, hurt about being let down, pressures of being someone I'm not, in short a whole lot of baggage seemed to slowly burn away along with the fuel and disappear down the exhausts. All that existed for me was that moment. Me, my bike, the never ending road and all the beautiful sights that flew by. Maybe thats why some people (like me) love riding so much, its a humbling experience that on some good days brings you back to the bare essentials. I don't know if I did a good job describing it, nor do I know if anyone ever will, but I do know that in that moment I was not my past, I was not the image I'm forced to portray to society, I was not what I've achieved in life or what I've failed to be, I was just a boy, with a heart on two wheels.

Campanionship

Over the years my bikes have kept me going, in more ways than one. They have been companions that have never let me down, they have carried me home on days I couldn't carry myself, we have spent amazing moments conquering bends on highways, hills, valleys, rocks and rivers. We have taken tumbles together, gotten up together and moved on together. We have spent so much time together on the highways, and in the garage. We have grown older together, raced together, tried to catch the sunset and outran the rain. Human companionship is fickle, but a bike is always there with you till the very end.