Submitted story: One good ride

I am not much of a motorcycle rider, but I have a very fond memory of one Harley-Davidson ride I took sixteen years ago.

I was about seven years old, and I lived in rural Pennsylvania. A friend of my parents came to visit on his motorcycle. I don't know how he did it, but he convinced my (somewhat overprotective) parents to let him take me and my brother for a short ride on his motorcycle. It was a beautiful black Harley with lots of gleaming chrome. I don't remember what kind of bike it was or any other specifics, just that it was a beautiful machine.

Being the oldest, I went first. My parents' friend gave me a helmet and lifted me onto the bike. He started the motor and off we went. I'll never forget that exhilarating ride. It felt as if we were flying. The roar of the motor was loud and majestic, and the world just fell away. All of the admittedly minor concerns of a seven-year-old girl were blown away as we flew down the street.

It was only a short ride, but it was a marvelous and thrilling experience that I still remember vividly to this day. I have never felt anything quite like it before or since. Whenever I encounter a gleaming black motorcycle in the street, I remember that thrilling freedom I experienced ever so briefly, and it makes me long to experience it again. I am a penniless graduate student right now, but some day I will have my own gleaming black Harley and experience it again.