Motorcycles

When I was seven I was obsessed with motorcycles.  Not sure what sparked it, but on Sunday drives to NY I longingly stared out the backseat window coveting every bike we passed.  That Christmas, my parents stuffed my stocking with a plastic toy model.  I was outraged they didn't take me seriously.  I wanted a real motorcycle.  As quickly as it came,  my fixation faded, never to resurface again.  I was reminded of this random obsession as I found myself on the back of a Harley.   I remembered that little girl and knew she would have been ecstatic riding winding canyon roads on an unseasonably warm October day.  When we crested a peak, the cavernous valley filled one side, and the expansive Pacific ocean the other.  Breathtakingly beautiful.