In the beginning

 

Faltering steps and words swirling around in a maelstrom of half remembered conversations, whispers on a breeze from the past, colours and fragrance and ….... maybe kisses.

I was a child, we all were. I grew and in growing I saw patterns and shapes. I learned what was expected and I learned how to make people believe that I had learned what was expected and then, what?

Conform, maybe, maybe not but conform enough.

Then find a way out. Two wheels meant escape. I flew, I swooped and soared all within the confines of the chains that the establishment shackled me with. Sixteen, fifty cc, thirty mph, it was enough, for a while.

Every night through the winter. Out into the darkness. Back roads, anywhere where others were not. Miles and hours and crisp, silver darkness. The fields and woods paper cut-out silhouettes dancing in the moonlight.

Sometimes the sky was a velvet black robe studded with diamonds. My nerves jangled and sang. I longed for this to be all there was, dark, cold, tired, floating in a landscape that was a backdrop for movement and the sound of the inside of my head. I sang and spoke at length to an audience of me and then.......... street lights........ back to reality.

Time passed and age removed some of the chains. Seventeen, two hundred and fifty cc, speed, speed like a space craft that escapes the clutches of the planet that holds me to its breast. At least that's how it felt. Warm, sunny, first of spring. Past the graveyard, sobering but not sobered up, intoxicated by the way the world turned at my hand.

I found friends, we all knew how it felt on two wheels. No words, just the way you look, a way you saw the world. A tribe of outcasts. Unwanted we flocked together in places that accepted us and there we saw them, the older ones, the ones who never gave up, who kept faith and were the guardians of our world. Old men to our eyes, with the miles etched onto their faces. They wore their experiences on their sleeves, pinned to their chests and painted into their skin.

Time passed and regulations overcome and now the keys to the kingdom were ours. Nineteen, Unlimited CC, enough speed to cross the galaxy and cross it we did in groups manacled to the grind of the mundane tasks required by the grey and beige during the week, the weekends were ours to do what ever we wanted so we did. We raided the coastal towns, loud and aggressive, good humoured pillagers of candyfloss and paddling in the shallows. Fast run back to our towns inland for beer and loud music.

Then the riders fell, one by one. Taken by girls who didn't like the cold. Mortgages and family cars. The saddest losses were those taken by the road, the road we loved, that callous mistress, those called home to never leave the scene, to never grow old, to never.

Some of us remained and became the older ones, those who never gave up, with miles etched onto our faces, with experiences on our sleeves, pinned to our chests and painted into our skin. We became the guardians and keepers of our world.