It was a 250cc road bike, a Nighthawk, which isn't much, but it would beat most anything on four wheels off the line when the light turned. There were problems once with a black Porsche Carrera passing me by on the outside, but most anything else was headed for the rearview. I would ride to school each morning and the fog would be thick in from the Bay. There was a dip in the road after Skyline Drive got out from the Park where I would yank back on the accelerator and go quick into the drop so that I'd leave the ground for, I don't know, maybe half a second, but that was enough. My stomach and my heart would be about in the same place for that moment, down around my belly belt line and I couldn't see anything past the fat grey fingers of fog reaching out. That was something.
You weren't supposed to leave the high school for the lunch hour, but the campus guard understood that I had a fast bike and that there was a lot of daylight dappling the road from between the trees. I'd ride out for awhile, just the breeze would be out there, really, nobody else, and then I would wind back and pick up a burger at Sparky's. Parking was never much of a problem with a motorcycle, even there. There was a sense that I could go anywhere.
I tell you the truth, that was most fun I ever had ever, and I guess it is no surprise now that I lose patience with flat and heavy wines and look for whatever wine horizon I can find that offers the sensation of speed and a fast wind against my nose. God I love acidity.