But wait, wait. You're not an idiot. Not only had you set the handlebar lock, but you'd
left the bike in first gear. Clench the clutch. Ignition. That sweet, adrenaline-spiking rumble
of life. One long, shoulder-slumping exhalation dispels the gloom from your mind and dulls
the edge of your sense of helpless loss. (But your notebook . . . !) No. Don't dwell.
You roll the throttle, once more in control, and then you're veering through the one-ways
and roaring onto the Bay Bridge. Despite the hour, fog enfolds you, blurring out the entire
world except for the wet pavement below you and the grey skeleton of the steel bridge
you're floating across.
Finally out in the sun, the morning's despondency is gradually fading behind you — stripping
away like ragged cobwebs. The night's stark uncertainties are, as yet, far ahead of you.
Right now, in this moment, accompanied by the grumble of your motorcycle and the
buffeting wind, you're untouchable.
Wayward Mind
Summer/Fall 2015
7