she: “whatcha rebellin’ against johnie?”
he: “I dunno, whatcha got?”
his iconic reply was rolling around my head that day as I crackled and barked through a dusty little town in eastern new York. brando’s smokey voice, worn leather jacket and holed jeans completed the backdrop of my reverie as I drifted back to a different time – then back into the moment again. my “K” was slammed 2inches fore and aft, I had the baffles out of the Mac 4/1 and my blacked-out ride was running perfectly, snarling and roaring amid the stupid pedestrians and gawkers I encountered. I quickly snapped the throttle open and closed again and again, waiting for the town’s only light to change. HA! you morons just don’t understand the open road, the feelings, the wanderlust. I’ll be free of you all in just a second. losers, all.
the collar of my old highway jacket was turned up against the autumn day, with a black bandana snug around my neck. black gloves with knuckles protected by red carbon inserts, and steel-toed boots made me feel invincible, and all was right in my right in my world.
the light changed and I quickly snapped into first, then second.
“where was barnie fife?” I thought, grinning.
down the main drag, with dark echoes of the bikes’ exhaust bouncing off old brick buildings, I sped away. but then trapped, a hay wagon holding me up. I glanced around, folks are staring, some pointing. a few smiles encourage more throttle, and the inevitable scream of an in-line four followed. more gestures toward me.
have I reached it? after a lifetime of searching, has my soul finally blackened? I looked deep into my very center and thought, “can it be? have I reached my own nirvana?”
I dared to think, am I finally “bad”? have I achieved a level of coolness only eclipsed by the likes of james dean, steve mcqueen, james brown, and the most revered - Sinatra?
sadly, I looked down and discovered I had left my blinker on again.
sigh.
I blatted out of that town as quickly as possible, but desperately trying not to offend.
bobp in vt
