I hung my helmet on the handlebars, my fingertips brushing the warm matte finish of the fuel tank, still hot from the day’s sun. The gauge needle hovered at zero, as if counting down to a journey about to begin.

The distant sunset painted the sky crimson, and the asphalt still held the day’s residual heat. Leaning against the bike, I listened to the wind whistle through the exhaust, mixing with the distant hum of the city. The exhaustion that had built up in the office all day was now being slowly carried away by the gasoline-scented evening breeze.

There was no rush to twist the throttle. I’d wait for the wind to pick up, for the last ray of sunlight to sink below the horizon. Then I’d take this steel beast and head for the open road, where there are no traffic lights. The engine would roar for me, the wind would breathe for me, and all the unspoken feelings would be left behind in the neon glow of the city.