LTRRTL

LTRRTL. Six letters that define the biker culture. Live to ride, ride to live. You see it patched onto leather and inked into skin.

This weekend I reached my limit. I flipped the pressures of marriage and fatherhood the bird and took off. I rode south 400 miles before I stopped to consider where I was. There was no destination, no goal. I road for the sheer joy of riding. I rode because if I didn't, I might not like the things I would do, or the person I might become.

I live to ride. It's a passion that most people just don't get. I don't keep a shiny bike, a bike that is meant to be ridden around for show. My bike is designed to ride, day and night, night and day. It's designed to live one and out of for days at a time. I live to sit my ass on that leather seat and go.

But...

 ride to live. It makes me feel alive in a way that I can't express. I know that I am one drunk driver or blind curve away from meeting my maker. I know that there is no room for error, no cage around me to protect me. If I make a mistake, or if the other guy does, and I fail to anticipate it, I die. Is it worth it? Absolutely.

I ride 1100 miles in 50 hours this weekend. I saw the places my father grew up, and rode by the places my family had been most happy. I remembered better times, and created a memory to be cherished a lifetime. I rode to live.

Until next time , LTRRTL.