Motorcycle Riders

By Liza Jagoda Allen

February 16, 2015

Motorcycle Riders

On the back of your motorcycle, somewhere between Leadville and Castle Rock, I plan our future together as we ride along jagged eggshell cliffs overlooking canyons whose gaping mouths open to swallow anything that falls.

The sun peaks above the pines. My arms circle your waist like two loose lengths of twine. I imagine we will always be inseparable like this.

Against the cool morning air you navigate the switchbacks of the granite road, shifting your body weight like a downhill skier. I count the hairpin turns and learn to balance sitting behind you. Nothing feels natural about leaning into a curve. My instinct is always to lean away. But you lean your head back and remind me that resistance here is dangerous, and so I begin to trust that the intersection of gravity and speed will be enough to keep us upright.


Photo provided by Jamie James Crooke Powell, via Flickr creative commons license.

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