"Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul." ~Author Unknown

It's the end of the evening and I'm settled on the couch. I'm still unshowered. I smell a little like gasoline and dust and dog. I have oil or dirt or some black grungy substance still stuck to the inside left ankle of my jeans likely caused by rhythmically and unconsciously flipping a kickstand up and down. The muscle in my right inner thigh has a tight twinge from my struggle to keep 500 pounds of metal and rubber from crashing to the garage floor. Today I spent hours perched on a motorcycle...hours spent talking and laughing and thinking...hours spent wishing I could start those bikes up and take off on the road with no particular destination in mind. Alas, I don't know how to start them or how to ride them or more importantly how not to crash them. For the past six months, I've dreamed about owning one and the freedom and escape it could allow. After today, I know I need one. The desire seemed to seep through my skin...like osmosis...but more exciting. I look forward to learning to ride. I am craving a sunny weekend, a big field, and the loud engine sound under me. I might fall and I might be scared at first. I look forward to the fear the most. At least then I'll know I'm alive.
Enough of my rambling...I'm off to search for a bike for sale. I know it's waiting for me somewhere. I will find it, and I will have it.