Motorcycle Mania
Call it a hog. Call it a bike. I don’t care what you call it. I call it a way of life. There’s a big difference between those who ride on the weekend and those who ride every day of the week. I picture life as one big highway, just waiting to be ridden. As long as there’s asphalt to cover, I can take a sigh of relief to know there’s something worth living for.
I Don’t Always Listen to Skynyrd…
Who am I kidding, I listen to Lynyrd Skynyrd almost exclusively, and my whole neighborhood knows it. There’s only one way to listen to Skynyrd: loud. Forget about helmet inserts when I’m on my bike. Everyone needs to hear the good stuff. If others can blare their car stereos, I figure I can return the favor.
I’m the one listening to “Free Bird” as loud as it will go. I’m the one belting out the tune of “Simple Man” while at a traffic light loud enough that heads turn. You understand, I’m unapologetic when I’m on my bike. With the wind in my hair and my hand on the gas, there’s no greater feeling.
And my soundtrack is good ol’ Lynyrd because they’ve never let me down. They know what it’s like to be a travelin’ man and a gamblin’ man and, Lord knows, there’s no denying that I am both.
Therapy is Expensive but the Breeze is Free
Check this out. I’ve been riding for years. I’ve met folks from Texas, Minnesota, and all over the place. Never met anyone who needs therapy when they own a bike. There’s a reason for that, they’ve gotten motorcycle mania.
Spending all my time on the road means soaking up the Vitamin D. I’m not hiding in a car. I’m letting it soak directly into my body. Vitamin D from the sun is a mood enhancer. Combine that with the endorphins I get from riding and, well, who needs a shrink? The road is my therapy. My mental health is in check, despite what people think when I’ve got Lynyrd Skynyrd cranked to the limits.
There’s something else many don’t realize. I’m focusing more on the road than the drivers in cars. More obstacles mean having to be more attentive. This kind of focus can lead to better brain health. Wheew. Good thing, too. I’d rather spend my money on new leather boots than expensive therapy bills.
Don’t Fear Dying, Fear Not Living
I got a pocket full of memories. Wanna know why? I’m not afraid of dying. I’m afraid of not living. Fear isn’t going to get you anywhere in this world. My daddy and my brother taught me that from the time I was a little boy. And I ain’t about to disappoint them at this stage of the game.
Since I ain’t afraid of dying, I focus on living. Why drive a car when my hog allows for better gas mileage? It means I can go farther. I can test the boundaries of the United States.
From sweet home Alabama to way out yonder in the Chattahoochee, this country of ours has some amazing sights. I’ve done some of the top motorcycle rides this country has to offer, from the Peak to Peak Highway in Colorado to the Beartooth Highway in Montana. I’ve ridden from Minnesota to Texas and everywhere in between.
Only when you can say you have ridden across the country on a bike can you say that you have truly lived. Fear drops away. It’s replaced with memories and a new penchant for life. #MotorcycleMania
The Joys of a Hand-Me-Down Bike
I’ve already told you I’m a simple man. I don’t need anything fancy. All I need is a good engine between me and the road beneath me. A hand-me-down bike gets the job done, and that just gives me more money for gas. More gas means more adventure, and there’s a whole lot of life to be lived out there.
I’m never one to forget to ride. I ride to forget; to forget about the stress of the world. I ride into the one-horse towns and the big cities all the same. Every biker bar along I-35 knows my name, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
You get respect when you come riding up on a bike that’s been ridden hard. Anything too shiny attracts the kind of attention I don’t want. I ain’t afraid of a little mud. And I sure as heck ain’t afraid of a little work to keep my hand-me-down roarin’ like a lion.
An Open Highway and a Pole Barn is All I Need
It’s hard to saddle up if there’s no bike to be had. The idea of having my bike taken from me leaves me cold to the bone. It’s unthinkable. I might be the last of a dyin’ breed but I know how to take good care of my engine. A pole barn gives me a place to put my motorcycle so that it’s secure when I’m not hitting the asphalt.
Sherman Pole Buildings has managed to hook me up with a custom pole barn that allows me to tinker with my bike. I can blast my speakers with the greatest hits and work on my bike for hours on end. Rain or shine, I can be around my bike. It brings me peace. Snow outside? No problem. My bike could use some attention anyway. I get a nice break on insurance because of not leaving my pride and joy outside in the elements, too.
All I need is an open highway. I need that highway to feel like I’m living. I breathe easier with the roar of the engine feeding my soul. But I also need my barn because it offers me that added sense of security. It ensures my bike has a roof over her head so that she gets the same peace that’s offered to me when I lay my head on the pillow every night.
