Gypsy

Isn’t any wonder, how for years, I wondered and tried to figure out what they called “Ants in the pants.”, back in the day. I, of course, didn’t have a clue except for what I was told was this sense of restlessness, never being able to sit still for too long or be comfortable in one spot.

I wanted to run. I wanted to move. I wanted to see new places, even if just for the day. I wanted to try new things or try the same thing in new locations around different people. It wasn’t until later on in life that I understood what exactly was going on.

I once was told that I had lost my sense of adventure. My priorities had changed and the life I was living wasn’t the one I had later come to dream about returning to once again. I was missing something. I was missing the freedom that was part of my spirit. The spirit of the open road. The spirit of the two wheeled lifestyle. The spirit of the gypsy.

I began to do some soul searching and realized that it wasn’t my sense of adventure that was lost but my sense of freedom and that I wasn’t a conventional guy nor one a fan of conformity. It wasn’t until I had done this search and study of self that I realized I hadn’t lost anything but had turned my back on my true gypsy spirit. Two wheels and the open road. The smell of gasoline and grease and leather and hot asphalt. The wind in your face. The sun beating down. Chrome in the moonlight. The rumble at a throttle’s twist.

Let the voyage begin indeed. Rubber side down shiny side up.

 

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