Three Things

I was all packed up and ready to leave this morning. Backpack loaded. Coffee consumed. Mentally committed to a four-and-a-half-hour ride to Colorado on Aurora, my Softail.

Last night Dawna had asked if I wanted to just stay home this weekend and wait until Nyx was ready. She knew that ride on the Softail wasn't exactly going to be comfortable.

Of course, my stubborn ass said, "No, I'm fine."

I wasn't fine.

Aurora is a fantastic motorcycle, but she's not built for long-haul comfort. She's built to be loud, obnoxious, and stupidly fast. Nyx is my touring bike. Aurora is my "hold my beer and watch this" bike. Four and a half hours in the saddle on Aurora isn't impossible. It's just... unpleasant.

Then Dawna worked whatever magic she works.

I was talking to her on the phone after breakfast when my mechanic texted.

"Your bike will be ready today."

Well...

Fuck.

Looks like I'm staying another day.

The problem turned out to be a bad wire in the throttle, but while Nyx was in surgery, she got a few upgrades too. Okay... more than a few.

The new cam went in, along with the cam plate, Trask power kit, lifters, valve springs, a fresh tune, a new front tire, and rear brakes. When all was said and done, she rolled out putting down 122 horsepower and 131 foot-pounds of torque, and the torque curve is damned near flat across the powerband.

In other words...

She has attitude now.

The ride home reminded me why I bought that bike in the first place. She pulls hard, but she's smooth about it. Roll on the throttle and she doesn't ask questions. She just fucking goes.

God, I missed that motorcycle.

I'm still heading to Colorado this weekend. Just a day later than planned. It'll be a quick trip. Down Saturday. Home Sunday.

That's okay. Because I get to show up on Nyx instead of Aurora.

And yes...

I fully intend to arrive with just a little extra fucking attitude.

The funny thing is, while I was sitting around waiting for my bike, I realized something. My life has become incredibly simple.

There are really only three things that matter anymore: I was born to write. I was born to ride. And Dawna is the person I want beside me for whatever years I have left.

Everything else? Supporting cast.

Work pays the bills. I'm grateful for that. But it isn't who I am anymore.

Writing is who I am.

Motorcycles are who I am.

The woman waiting for me in Colorado is who I want to build a life with.

Everything else is just noise.

I know where I'm headed now.

I need to keep writing. Finish the short story collection. Finish the first novel. Write the second one. Then the third. Keep building one book at a time until writing becomes what supports the life I actually want to live.

Along the way, I'll keep riding.

Nyx will probably get a turbo someday. Aurora will probably get a big bore kit because she's already halfway to becoming the obnoxious little street fighter I always intended her to be. Neither project is necessary. But they're fun.

And if there's one thing death taught me, it's that fun belongs on the priority list too.

As I write this, the sun still hasn't quite made it over the mountains.

I don't mind riding at night anymore. That took a while after the accident. Headlights don't bother me like they used to. But I still don't like leaving before daylight.

Darkness belongs to deer. To elk. To bugs that seem genetically engineered to find the one square inch of exposed skin on a biker.

I'll wait another hour.

The sun will climb over the Sangre de Cristos. I'll throw a leg over Nyx. Point her north. And somewhere a few hundred miles from here, the woman I love will be waiting.

Honestly, I can't think of a better way to spend a weekend.