I can remember the first time I ever got on the back of your red motorcycle. I could feel the wind trace the edges of my ears underneath the helmet while my fingers were laced together over your stomach. Nostalgia tends to get the best of me but I will always long for those windy rides in San Francisco.
So it goes. We’re on our motorcycle. You took a wrong turn and slid across the street, right into the van parked on the other side. I told you not to go so fast. You have children; a wife. The thirst for excitement
She would recognise the sound anywhere. The familiar rattle and purr of that old piece of junk pulling into the driveway. Her dad appeared at the door, windswept and handsome with his helmet perched under his arm. There was no smile tonight. She ran to him, as she always did, to feel the cold wind still fresh on his cheeks, and to drink in the smell of his neck as he hugged her, all man and leather. Her daddy was home.
He placed his daughter back down on the ground, gently pushing her towards the sofa and he looked up toward Elsa standing still and nervous in the hall.
“I’ve just come from town. It’s started.”
The sand was just firm enough for them to scoot along with the salty air filling their lungs. The sidecar ran much smoother along the beach than it down down the road.
It roared. A growling feral dog, yanking at its chain. It’s snarl echoed through the back alleys and bounced off the gathered trash. Human and garbage alike. Vermin skittered away as it stalked past the dingy openings leading nowhere. The gravel crunched under the dark rubber of its paws.
Oh boy, I already answered the motorcycle thing.
Ok. I will tell you another story. Imagine a world with no motorcycles. Imagine how quite it is! No biker, no bad stealers
Motircycle? Never had one. Never fancied boys with them. You know the traditional masculinity? Never attracted me! I love smart smart smart gentle boys with books And computers. And common sence. And good education =. And good families
the motorcycle calls us.beckons at us to travel the muddy roads, to soak in the sun, to drench in the rain.stands a symbol of freedom from the mundane miserable lives that we live.
He revs the motor as they glide down the interstate. He refuses to look back at the life that had destroyed him for so long. Now he’s riding his motorcycle across the country to a life he hopes will bring more joy and fewer hardships.
i used to have a motorcycle when I was young. my friend showed me a pic of both of us on motorcycles tohether some time ago. its so nostalgic and funnypicture
I’m going to ride life on the throttle,
No more clutching for a liqueur bottle,
I’m not a lost child, no need to coddle,
I’ll be the upgrade, the brand new model.
The revving of the engine, growling in the night send chills up your spine. Your decision to leave becoming all too real as you speed away. What are you leaving? What are you running from? You’re a coward, but at least you are free.
The motorcycle was sleek and shiny: it was, in other words, everything Mac wanted. He was a smart dude, and an almost nerdy dude, but he was a dude who liked bikes nonetheless.
And that was why his mother had went out and bought him one for his birthday. After everything he had been through in the past few years, he certainly deserved a break.
She’d always kind of wanted one- a motorcycle- but knew her parents would disagree. Alsoshe was too lazy to get her licence for it and too scared that it would be too out-of-character for someone like her.
he skidded to a stop in front of me, like a scene in a movie. I gasped. He scared me, but I liked it. He said nothing as he held out a hand to me and invited me on. I wanted him and i wanted to go. Fast.
al jumped onto his bike and drove off that evening. he hated his father. he hated both his fathers at that. i could never forgive them for turning his own little brother against him and into their sick ways.
he jumped onto his bike and drove off that evening. he hated his father. both his fathers at that. he despised their ways. they have even turned his little brother against him and into their sick ways.
A hard fast trip to the edge of the road that falls into a pit of shame, despair and pain.
This is what she told me I’d find out here and I didn’t believe her.
I do now.
Taking a puff from my cigarette, I flick the ash into the wind and consider my next move
Motorcycles! Oh goodness, so sentimental. My dad, riding through the bush with me perched on the fuel tank between him and the handlebars. Him buying me my own little dirtbike and teaching me to ride it out at our property. Him buying his first road bike in years the week before he died. My uncle taking me for a ride on his motorbike to the church dad would be buried at before the funeral, and me pretending my uncle was him. My first and only boyfriend, six years later, inviting me for a ride on his motorbike. Clinging to him as we travelled down the highway towards a lightning storm at midnight, going faster than I have ever travelled on land. Loving him and loving his motorbike and loving those painful memories.
There is nothing more exciting than being on the back of a motorcycle. The word flies by you. It is complete happiness. Pain is gone. Nothing is a problem. If everyday, every second, every moment in my mind could be like the back of this motorcycle, I would love life.
We all want to be that aesthetically pleasing person with the motorcycle, the one who looks like they stepped out of a painting and into your life, who makes seeming perfect so natural but maybe we all are that person, and we’re too stuck wondering how everyone does it to see how amazing we are.
He was hit on a motorcycle. With a V for victory stitched to his forehead. Yet Jason, 24 moons prior, was killed in the same way. Why does God choose one over the other.
Is dangerous, right? Or so my mother told me every single day of my life. And then continued to rub it in my face when I brought home my first serious boyfriend. And well, she was right to a degree because he turned out to be a total joke. Thank you mum.
there is a large pink motorcycle outside my house. It belongs to my neighor, Mr. Garry. He hates little kids like me touching it. He will scream if anyone dare come close to it. Mr.G is very angry. He is a little hot headed and sensitive too. To be honest, im scared with mr. Garry. me and my best friend sally look at his pink motorcycle. i wish i could ride it.
My dad won’t let me get a motorcycle, so I’ve decided to get a Vespa instead. It’s all about how you word it, and how you find the loopholes. For instance, I asked my mother if I could get a tattoo of a snake on my ankle, to which she said no. But she didn’t say no to a snake tattoo on my left bicep. I asked both my parents if I could stay out until two and got a flat out negative. But staying out until one? I’m surprised they haven’t caught on to my scheme yet.
He clung tightly onto his back. Darn him and his reckless adrenaline-thirsty ways. One day he’d get them killed, but this was exactly the way he liked things.
The helmet was heavy on his head, and neither of them knew about the cut break cables, but all that mattered was their smiles and the feeling of being alive, so alive.
I rode a motorcycle once down through central and south america, and was about to board a canoe to head west before realizing I needed to go east. Before I knew it, someone had stolen my motorcycle and that was the last time I’d ever been south of the equator.
The crash was horrible. Jack was barely a pulse on a machine. He tried so hard to keep going. We could feel the tension of the room and the way everyones hearts dropped at the same count when he opened his eyes and confessed that he drove the motorcycle into the store with malice. That he choose to ruin his and others lives for pure adrenaline.
Motorcycles, psfft! You wanna a real vehicle? Not sure where I’m going with this.. Anyways, motorcycle!
I can remember the first time I ever got on the back of your red motorcycle. I could feel the wind trace the edges of my ears underneath the helmet while my fingers were laced together over your stomach. Nostalgia tends to get the best of me but I will always long for those windy rides in San Francisco.
So it goes. We’re on our motorcycle. You took a wrong turn and slid across the street, right into the van parked on the other side. I told you not to go so fast. You have children; a wife. The thirst for excitement
The motorcycle was loud. The sound vibrated through me as he made his way slowly across the road.
She would recognise the sound anywhere. The familiar rattle and purr of that old piece of junk pulling into the driveway. Her dad appeared at the door, windswept and handsome with his helmet perched under his arm. There was no smile tonight. She ran to him, as she always did, to feel the cold wind still fresh on his cheeks, and to drink in the smell of his neck as he hugged her, all man and leather. Her daddy was home.
He placed his daughter back down on the ground, gently pushing her towards the sofa and he looked up toward Elsa standing still and nervous in the hall.
“I’ve just come from town. It’s started.”
The sand was just firm enough for them to scoot along with the salty air filling their lungs. The sidecar ran much smoother along the beach than it down down the road.
It roared. A growling feral dog, yanking at its chain. It’s snarl echoed through the back alleys and bounced off the gathered trash. Human and garbage alike. Vermin skittered away as it stalked past the dingy openings leading nowhere. The gravel crunched under the dark rubber of its paws.
vehicle, accidents, cool, awesome, road trip,
Oh boy, I already answered the motorcycle thing.
Ok. I will tell you another story. Imagine a world with no motorcycles. Imagine how quite it is! No biker, no bad stealers
Motircycle? Never had one. Never fancied boys with them. You know the traditional masculinity? Never attracted me! I love smart smart smart gentle boys with books And computers. And common sence. And good education =. And good families
the motorcycle calls us.beckons at us to travel the muddy roads, to soak in the sun, to drench in the rain.stands a symbol of freedom from the mundane miserable lives that we live.
He revs the motor as they glide down the interstate. He refuses to look back at the life that had destroyed him for so long. Now he’s riding his motorcycle across the country to a life he hopes will bring more joy and fewer hardships.
i used to have a motorcycle when I was young. my friend showed me a pic of both of us on motorcycles tohether some time ago. its so nostalgic and funnypicture
I’m going to ride life on the throttle,
No more clutching for a liqueur bottle,
I’m not a lost child, no need to coddle,
I’ll be the upgrade, the brand new model.
The revving of the engine, growling in the night send chills up your spine. Your decision to leave becoming all too real as you speed away. What are you leaving? What are you running from? You’re a coward, but at least you are free.
No.
The motorcycle was sleek and shiny: it was, in other words, everything Mac wanted. He was a smart dude, and an almost nerdy dude, but he was a dude who liked bikes nonetheless.
And that was why his mother had went out and bought him one for his birthday. After everything he had been through in the past few years, he certainly deserved a break.
She’d always kind of wanted one- a motorcycle- but knew her parents would disagree. Alsoshe was too lazy to get her licence for it and too scared that it would be too out-of-character for someone like her.
he skidded to a stop in front of me, like a scene in a movie. I gasped. He scared me, but I liked it. He said nothing as he held out a hand to me and invited me on. I wanted him and i wanted to go. Fast.
this isnt against anyone or anyones sexuality.
al jumped onto his bike and drove off that evening. he hated his father. he hated both his fathers at that. i could never forgive them for turning his own little brother against him and into their sick ways.
he jumped onto his bike and drove off that evening. he hated his father. both his fathers at that. he despised their ways. they have even turned his little brother against him and into their sick ways.
A hard fast trip to the edge of the road that falls into a pit of shame, despair and pain.
This is what she told me I’d find out here and I didn’t believe her.
I do now.
Taking a puff from my cigarette, I flick the ash into the wind and consider my next move
Motorcycles! Oh goodness, so sentimental. My dad, riding through the bush with me perched on the fuel tank between him and the handlebars. Him buying me my own little dirtbike and teaching me to ride it out at our property. Him buying his first road bike in years the week before he died. My uncle taking me for a ride on his motorbike to the church dad would be buried at before the funeral, and me pretending my uncle was him. My first and only boyfriend, six years later, inviting me for a ride on his motorbike. Clinging to him as we travelled down the highway towards a lightning storm at midnight, going faster than I have ever travelled on land. Loving him and loving his motorbike and loving those painful memories.
There is nothing more exciting than being on the back of a motorcycle. The word flies by you. It is complete happiness. Pain is gone. Nothing is a problem. If everyday, every second, every moment in my mind could be like the back of this motorcycle, I would love life.
in 2012, my family went on a motorcycle trip around new Zealand, we saw some amazing sights, and beautiful places……
We all want to be that aesthetically pleasing person with the motorcycle, the one who looks like they stepped out of a painting and into your life, who makes seeming perfect so natural but maybe we all are that person, and we’re too stuck wondering how everyone does it to see how amazing we are.
He was hit on a motorcycle. With a V for victory stitched to his forehead. Yet Jason, 24 moons prior, was killed in the same way. Why does God choose one over the other.
Is dangerous, right? Or so my mother told me every single day of my life. And then continued to rub it in my face when I brought home my first serious boyfriend. And well, she was right to a degree because he turned out to be a total joke. Thank you mum.
the cycle of trust, that vicious wheel,
chruns and turns!
oh but it let alone burns itself,
like fire flamed abundantly improper!
A chemist with an angst which strifes
the very trees assorted for fame!
there is a large pink motorcycle outside my house. It belongs to my neighor, Mr. Garry. He hates little kids like me touching it. He will scream if anyone dare come close to it. Mr.G is very angry. He is a little hot headed and sensitive too. To be honest, im scared with mr. Garry. me and my best friend sally look at his pink motorcycle. i wish i could ride it.
I’ve always considered motorcycles to be some kind of rare breed that roars down the highway. A red lion scattering the throngs of minivans.
My dad won’t let me get a motorcycle, so I’ve decided to get a Vespa instead. It’s all about how you word it, and how you find the loopholes. For instance, I asked my mother if I could get a tattoo of a snake on my ankle, to which she said no. But she didn’t say no to a snake tattoo on my left bicep. I asked both my parents if I could stay out until two and got a flat out negative. But staying out until one? I’m surprised they haven’t caught on to my scheme yet.
He clung tightly onto his back. Darn him and his reckless adrenaline-thirsty ways. One day he’d get them killed, but this was exactly the way he liked things.
The helmet was heavy on his head, and neither of them knew about the cut break cables, but all that mattered was their smiles and the feeling of being alive, so alive.
Totally AWESOME!!!!!!!!!!
motorcycles are fast and very helpful and I should get one because there cool.
I rode a motorcycle once down through central and south america, and was about to board a canoe to head west before realizing I needed to go east. Before I knew it, someone had stolen my motorcycle and that was the last time I’d ever been south of the equator.
I need to get out. This evasiveness is controlling me entirely.
I don’t love you mom.
ridden and rode
two by two
by one
pavement like ice
pushing us forward
gravity like Saturn
pulling me back
The crash was horrible. Jack was barely a pulse on a machine. He tried so hard to keep going. We could feel the tension of the room and the way everyones hearts dropped at the same count when he opened his eyes and confessed that he drove the motorcycle into the store with malice. That he choose to ruin his and others lives for pure adrenaline.