Ride Life

The way the early morning sun lights the village clinging to the side of the mountain behind us brings the name of the story to me in a second, and the moment is instantly consigned to my mental notebook. The warm, golden sunshine ignites my soul as it sets the Spanish countryside ablaze with color. It is the moment I thought would never come. Struggling through heavy rain for three days, fighting inner demons as we picked our way along treacherous roads, and riding with our hearts in our mouths, knuckles white on the bars, had been tough. These difficulties were important though, and at that moment totally necessary, as the scene of intense beauty filling my visor could not have been so incredible without the struggle. Anyone can come to Spain, when under the cloudless blue sky the late afternoon sun is turning the small white pueblos gold against the pastel Spanish landscape. But to see it after the rain intensifies the moment, the way the act of traveling tears through the fabric of time. In the saddle of the Tuono I am singing in my helmet, as the throttle gets twisted hard in search of the day’s new horizons.