Let's face it; the scenery on my ride is excellent, but that's not why I love my commute.
The traffic on the whole is easy, especially as I work nights and I travel against the heavy traffic flows both ways. Even when traffic is backed up on the Overseas Highway I never have to do the Big City Stop-And-Go, I just have to throttle back and dawdle a little.
My commute is fun because I thoroughly enjoy riding my Bonneville to and from work.
The worst thing about living in the Keys is how straight the singular road is. I dream of the day a high speed ferry leaves Stock Island at noon and arrives in Mariel at 3pm. A quick pass through Cuban Customs and I could be off riding the Sierra Maestra for the weekend. That would be fantastic but until someone figures out an end to the stupid embargo all I've got is Highway One.
And my 2007 Triumph Bonneville which is the perfect ride for these islands.
I have ridden this bike almost 53,000 miles in the four years I've owned it and I still get a cheap thrill when I hit the starter and anticipate the ride. I don't care if it's hot, if it's raining, and if it's cold I can cope if I get properly dressed. I would rather ride than drive any day.
Then there's Cheyenne and for my Labrador I get in the car when ther are places to go and with her I go for a drive because she can't ride the Bonneville with me. But my commute is mine, the ride to work is all my own: no wife no dog and no car.
Well, it was because one bright day I got a new person on my shift and would you believe it, she lives across the canal from me. How could I not carpool? It's obvious it's ecological it just makes sense. But, bugger me, I missed my Bonneville, my forty minutes alone, my ride through the night, the sound of the wind in my ears, the ability to go in early and ride around town, the ability to stop on the way home and look at the moon on the water.
I don't even mind it when it's raining. These nothing quite so snug as being wrapped up in waterproofs listening to the rain splatter your helmet as you ride. Or you could be in a car stuck in a line of cars wishing you were riding that motorcycle whose tail light was disappearing into the darkness of the Saddlebunch Keys. Told Lisa last week, a man's just gotta ride.
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