Heavenly Pursuits

My boss is a former biker, so he understands the call of the road. He understands the horizon. He understands the itch that sometimes settles into your soul and can only be scratched by two wheels and a tank of gas.

We talk about riding fairly often.

He eventually gave it up after a string of close calls and losing too many friends in too short a period of time. He's a family man now. I get it. I really do.

But recently I realized there are parts of riding that either left him when he stopped riding, or were never there to begin with.

I suspect it's the latter.

I was telling him about the cam upgrade on Aurora and how goddamned ridiculous that bike has become.

I've owned Aurora for almost a year. Before the cam upgrade, I had put maybe three thousand miles on her. I only ride her on weekends.

Since the cam upgrade? I've nearly doubled the odometer.

I can't get enough of her. Every excuse becomes a ride. Every errand becomes a ride. Every sunrise becomes a ride. That motorcycle just makes me smile.

So I was telling him about it. About the torque. About the power. About how violently she launches when I roll into the throttle.

And then he asked me a question. A serious question: "Why do you need that much power?"

And right then I knew we weren't riding for the same reasons.

I had always assumed that all bikers loved horsepower. That all bikers loved torque. That every rider secretly wanted a machine capable of ripping their arms out of their sockets and launching them toward the horizon like a missile wrapped in chrome.

Apparently not.

I assumed all bikers viewed physics as an adversary. A worthy opponent. A rival. Tomorrow. Noon. Main Street. Bring your fucking lunch.

Turns out that's not universal. Some people ride for scenery. Some ride for community. Some ride for peace. Some ride because they enjoy the machine.

And some of us ride because we're engaged in an ongoing theological dispute with the laws of physics.

My boss doesn't seem to share that particular religion.

Neither do a lot of riders I talk to.

And that's okay. But it surprised me.

Much like my recent realization that not all bikers are freedom-loving libertarians, I discovered that not all bikers are horsepower junkies either.

Some of us are simply wired differently. Because for me, there is something almost spiritual about torque.

Not speed. Torque.

That instant shove.

That feeling that the motorcycle is trying to rotate the Earth backward beneath you.

That split second where machine and rider both agree that tomorrow is somebody else's problem.

I love it.

The truth is, I used to have somebody to talk to about this stuff. A friend from my IT days who absolutely understood performance machines. He understood why someone would spend thousands of dollars chasing a few extra horsepower or a handful of foot-pounds of torque. He understood why dyno charts are exciting. He understood why cams, exhausts, and tuning sessions become obsessions.

He got it.

Or at least I thought he did.

Last year he applied for a position in my organization. When I viewed the applicants, he didn’t pass the first HR screening, so I couldn’t interview him. Rather than letting him sit around wondering, I called him and told him directly. I explained why. I thought I was doing a friend a favor.

Life moved on.

Then I got hit by a car.

I was still sitting in a fucking wheelchair, trying to figure out how to put my life back together, when he decided to unload on me one night.

Drunk texts. Accusations. Attacks on my integrity. The whole fucking production.

And just like that, a friendship I'd valued for years evaporated.

Funny how that works.

Sometimes you think you're losing a riding buddy. Then you realize you never had one to begin with.

So these days, this excitement mostly stays in my own head.

Which is why I handed money to The Fab Shop yesterday to order parts for Nyx. She's getting a cam too. The same torque-heavy cam that's currently turning Aurora into a two-wheeled felony.

And I'm embarrassingly excited about it.

The problem is that I don't really have anyone to talk to about it. Nobody to obsess over dyno charts with. Nobody to compare before-and-after numbers with. Nobody to celebrate every additional foot-pound of torque like we just cured cancer.

I can see people's eyes glaze over about ten seconds into the conversation. They smile politely. They nod. And they immediately begin searching for the nearest exit.

So for now, this excitement mostly stays between me, my motorcycles, and whatever poor mechanic answers the phone when I call.

Not because those people don't exist. They absolutely do.

There are riders out there who understand exactly what I'm talking about. Riders who look at a dyno sheet the way art collectors look at paintings. Riders who hear the word "camshaft" and lean forward in their chairs. Riders who understand that horsepower sells motorcycles, but torque changes lives.

I just don't happen to know many of them. At least not yet.

So for now, I wait.

Patiently.

Or as patiently as possible.

Parts on order. Installation date approaching. Excitement building.

And somewhere in the distance, Nyx is about to become significantly more dangerous to my financial future.

Which, honestly, sounds a lot like happiness.