I started riding my motorcycle to work tonight.  A 1979 Honda 750LTD.

There is something soothing about riding a motorcycle.  Almost like meditation.

I've been thinking of it for a while.  Waiting for morning temperatures to be above freezing for the ride home.

Even with thick leather gloves my fingers were cold when I got to work after riding 17 miles.  But my snowmobile suit and helmet kept me warm otherwise.

Gas prices are ridiculous.  $3.60 a gallon for the cheap stuff here around Seattle.  The bike gets 40 mpg, and the car gets 25 mpg.

So this way I can have fun, and save money.  But the dog will not be so happy because i usually bring her to work with me in the summer.  She sleeps in the car, and I take her for a walk in the middle of my shift.

Indian would be my bike of choice if money was not an object.

The Japanese bikes may not be as popular, in the US, but they are affordable.

I bought my bike twice.  In 1993 I bought it from a friend.  And a few years later its motor was shot, and it didn't pencil out to replace it, so I turned the bike over to the Honda shop so they could part it out. 

They found another motor for it and sold it.  I saw a guy riding around on my bike and told him if he ever wanted to sell it to let me know.  Turns out he did, because his legs were too short for it, and I bought it back for several hundred less than the bike shop had earlier quoted to fix it.

Next year it will be an antique, over 30 years old.

I've had a lot of near misses, and a few accidents.  You really do have to watch your ass out there on the road, but statistically it is no more dangerous to ride a bike than to drive a car.  The causes of accidents are about the same:  excessive speed, overdriving the brakes or headlight, or both, and drinking. 

I'm over 50.  I take it easy.  And you have to be like an Owl, looking all the time in all directions.

I was riding at 120 MPH in the flattest lands of western Kansas on my BSA Lighting Rocket (Oil leaking everywhere). A pound and a half June bug came up and hit me square between the eyes and moved me 6 inches back on the seat. At 6-5 and 300 pounds at the time it got my attention. It was a Zen moment.

Quote: "I do not want a pickle, I just want to ride on my motorcycl. I do not want to die,  I just want to ride on my motorcy. -- MU"
.........

Flying into Los Angeles, bringin' in a couple of keys,

Don't check my bags if you please, Mr. Customs Man.

Arlo Guthrie, circa 1970, if I recall well.

We can all go down to Alice's Restaurant and talk about it.

Like a duck on a June Bug,

You should have ducked that June Bug.

The fastest I have ever gone is 115, and on a Honda 750 I had to lie down on the tank, on a long straight road, with my feet on the back peddles too. 

It would zoom right up to 110, but after that it took some time to build speed.

Of course, I was a suicidal maniac with no intention of living to the old age of 30.

I know the June bug did not weigh a pound and a half but that was my subjective feeling. The Zen reflection was on the fact that a tiny insect almost decapitate me. Other things I did not tell you about the experience was that I was buck naked, it was raining and I was high on 3,4-Methylenedioxyamphetamine.