Legend of Spring Ride

It’s that time of the year when meadows are carpeted with multi-hued wild flowers. The breeze flirts around, accompanied with a chilly yet comforting glare. The warmth of morning sun, the light amber rays, the

dodger blue skies dotted with scattered clouds inspire to leave the cradle called couch; and ride away. While walking past the side walk towards the garage, the auburn leaves ruffle, sounding like a cheering

crowd. The heart thumps faster than before; much faster, just as before jumping off a cliff; just as before confessing your love; just as before the graduation results were out; just as before owing a

promotion letter. And now the adrenalin rushes in- just when the soul is about to unveil the riding legend in within. Feels like being reborn.

The chrome silencers are the first to be spotted, though its a silencer but never chokes the emotions. The wide carbon black torso appears like a burly navy seal about to strike coldly. The stunning headlight stares straight into the viewers’ retina like a hovering hawk about pounce on its prey and as the ignition is switched

on, it roars like a Lion. The iconic engine shoves up a max power and the torque bestowing a feel of marching on a WW I German Tank. The thumping sound commands attention with awe. And it’s now a feeling of being one with the machine arises entwining the heart beats with its thump.

The wind salutes the machine and its master by merely gliding past, not brushing against the visor. The mountains seem silently witnessing the ride, the scattered clouds begin following and the rider’s silhouette

emerging out of the amber sun rays transforms the appearance like a knight emerging dressed in shining armor. Etching the century old tradition of leading in the battle of traffic, it tears off every

chase with ease, rendering overtakers and passersby spellbound. Even the wild flowers twist around to catch a glimpse of the force that repelled their oscillatory movement with a gust of wind as the machine

rode past.

When the whole world looks upon, the machine then anoints its rider, or so called better half as the successor or heir. Centuries have been a witness to the fact that its not a rider who produces the machine but

a legend called Harley’s gives birth to a riding legend.