The ride, the hair, the wind, the vibration, the bike, the ride… I am going down the road and I press the button and the portal opens.
I’m off again. This world was a hellhole and I was glad to leave. I was glad the button worked this time. I was glad to be heading out, to go out with a BANG! I was through the portal – it was orange this time – and I was into the hot air and the road… the road was always the same.
The road surged and bent, rose up and went through the portal and I was in a new place.
When I looked behind (I always look behind), the portal was gone and nothing but road, people, whatever it happened to have where I was today.
Sometimes there were people. Sometimes it was a busy city on a planet I didn’t recognize; I don’t know if it’s a planet – it was just somewhere. Heck, I didn’t even know if it really was somewhere.
Some were people similar to me, only slightly different – maybe their eyes were red or had red irises, or maybe they had an extra limb, or maybe they dragged their arms around. Some wore clothes, some didn’t.
Some tried to attack me as soon as I came through, and that’s a problem because I can’t always open another portal right away. Choice is a luxury that I am not always afforded.
It could be a few minutes, it could be days (whatever you mean by “day” in the world where you are); in one place, I aged for probably 10 years. I liked that place and I didn’t press the button – the portal opened up in front of me, out on the road, and pulled me through like I was being towed on a rope. Never got to say goodbye.
I’ll miss Myrtle, that’s for sure. And my kids. All of them in all of the places I’ve been to. I’ll miss them all.
Oh, I tried to stop riding – I began to feel weak after a few hours, then I got sick the further away from the bike I got. They got me, whoever they are, and they put something in me that ties me to that bike. I love to ride, but now I have to ride or I’ll die.
Sometimes, I ride for days, mind open only to the road, lost in a haze. These sessions don’t lead to any insights.
I tried to pull apart the bike but there are no nuts or bolts or fasteners of any kind – confounded thing doesn’t need gas or oil changes or anything. I do have to shift it and twist on the throttle. I tried to smash it into a wall, into other cars, and it does wreck – but not for long. It just forms back out like air inflating a balloon, and it’s shiny and sitting quietly, patiently, knowing I’ll be back.
I hate that bike.
And I ride on, into the day, into the night, into portals of different colors, into new worlds, into strange worlds that are just jungles, save for my road – the road I rode in on and the road I’ll ride out on.
I rode into a world where I met myself. I think it was a parallel universe where I never did get mixed up with this bike. At least I’m not an idiot in every universe, just “infinity minus 1” universes. I punched that guy, knocked him down and gave into a violent rage. He was saved by the bike – it pulled me back onto it and through a lavender portal.
This world appears to be a slum in India, and I don’t know if it’s my world or not. I ride past monkeys in the streets and statues that look like Hindu gods. I see people decorated in what looks like Henna. I smell bergamot and body odor.
I ride through the villa on my road, a road completely out of place in time and space, and I slow down and ride the rear brake and rev the engine up a bit, looking around to find what I’m here for, to find what I have to do before the portal will open up again. I look ahead and I see an orange glow from behind a window, and an eye peering between slats. I thumb the kill switch, kick out the stand, and go inside.