Of a ride

She rode with abandon, in a way that only those who have seen nothing of the road or those who have seen it all in their lifetime, would ride. It was fast and reckless yet skillful. It could be figured with the way her wrist worked the acceleration. In those tight gaps between fast moving cars, she would cut in and zoom ahead in pocket of spaces ahead. One wonders if this was ride as usual or a Saturday evening rush to get somewhere. In spite of the recklessness which, on roads in the city is preserve of the men, there was an edgy confidence about her that appealed. This was a story beginning on the city’s roads, set amidst chaotic traffic where one only saw things in short frames – from one vehicle to the next. In those short spaces the riders cruised. Either one being a pillion with the other wouldn’t have been the same as each riding their own. Their love appeared to happen with speed and reckless riding. It continued that way until the intersection that led to the freeway. On the freeway they drifted as rapidly, with each working their machines to capacity, throttling away taking roads with that strange variety of abandonment which doesn’t care for much besides the lived moment.