It’s the middle of winter, January 10th 2017; all I can think of is the feel of warm summer air breaking on my face, creating a strong turbulence; hearing nothing but the wind roaring passed my ears and the rumble of my 1983 Honda V65 Magna with 116 raw horse power drifting along the smooth winding pavement with nothing but a slight tilt of my wrist and a gentle lean here and there. Cut the edge close to the brink of pavement as I corner, just for that slight increase of a rush. In no hurry to see what comes next but I hit a straight stretch and cock the wrist right back to discover what speeds I can engage before having to let off and corner again – I push it to the last second for an exhilarating thrill. It’s ironic that at such high speeds it still feels like I’m watching the world pass by in slow motion; as I depart from landscapes and watch them change like phases of life, something new around every corner; and even more drastic changes as I make it over mountains and through valleys, over lakes by ferry, and around the edges of cities. There’s not even close to any absolute destination, just an exploration to anywhere the road channels. The gaiety is affluent in such a ride, in fact almost inexpressible – an infinite journey of complete freedom. I will only stop when the heart’s content and desires a break, (a local town pub for a fresh cold brew would be ideal); or a mere is in need of a pause for a more perceivable observation; and lastly at the day’s end when I’ve found a desirable atmosphere to lay my head and rest for the night. Too long has the bitter cold deprived me of such a day as depicted. I wait eagerly to do what I ought when the sun’s shine warms the streets again.