I’m zooming past the highway, the cold wind hitting my face, numbing it. I’m squeezing my hands together, holding on to my father’s waist. Adrenaline, freedom. Those are the two words I think of when we ride.
I remember when I first saw a motorcycle in person. My dad showed my sister and I his bike, I w as excited to see it, but nervous to ask to go on. Not because I didn’t trust him but because I was only 7 years old and very tiny. The bike towered me. As I gaze up at the monstrous bike, my hands started to get sweaty and I was getting a little hot. The cool breeze pushed me toward the bike, as if telling me to get on. Though the breeze helped me relax, I never did get on. I look back on it now and I don’t really know why I was so nervous. It makes me smile a huge grin. It took awhile for me to get the courage to ride with him. I took three years.
I never thought I would love to ride motorcycles, but I do. When I was ten, I finally thought I was ready to ride the bike. I went up to him to ask to go for a ride with him. My dad always found any reason to ride his bike, so it wasn’t surprising when he was up in less than a second saying “Let’s go.” When I walked through the door of my apartment, fear slapped me in the face again. The seven year old was starting to come out. We were walking down the stairs to the parking lot, and I felt it. My heart accelerated and I started to feel hot again. I wanted to run back up the stairs and stay in my room, but I didn’t. I wanted to do this. When we reached his bike, I noticed it wasn’t as big as it was before. My dad explained to me some rules before we got on.
He said, “When you get in, don’t let your leg touch the muffler.” He pointed to this long metal pipe on the bike; it was where the bike made its noise. “When you get on, do not let your hands off my waist and don’t even think about throwing your arms in the air, because you will fall.”
Not that I was even planning on doing that, I thought to myself.
“And please don’t turn your body, or move side to side” he stated with a little plea in his voice. “Ok you ready?”
“Umm…uh, yea.” I stuttered.
He got on first and then he told me to get on. All of a sudden, the fear was gone, instead of fear I felt anticipation. When I was on I was nervous but not because I was scared but because I was thrilled. My dad had the helmet, which had me confused. I always thought the younger one was suppose to have it on. As my dad pulled out, you heard the engine and its roar. The loud noise had my heart beating as fast as it’s ever been in my lifetime. We were off. I never let go of his waist but the feeling was nothing I can describe. Even though we were only going 25mph the fun of being on the bike was fantastic. My dad started to speed up…30mph…35mph…40mph he kept going until were going 50 mph. The strong winds brushed my hair back flinging it wildly behind me. I felt my face making faces. I was squinting my eyes because it was hard to open them when wind is hitting it at 50mph. On the bike, the wind clears your head. I forgot about everything, homework, school, and any problems. I felt like I was flying. Now I understood what my dad meant when he said don’t throw my hands up in the air. I was free of everything. When we stopped at red lights people looked at us and the feeling of us standing out was like winning first place and received a prize for a contest. The feeling has never left me to this day.


Pg 2