Risk tingles up the spine of tranquility.
Wordless conversations weaving spiritual threads, bound to keep us upright even on the sharpest curves and steepest slopes, define the ride.
Skynard thumps from the speakers and I taste the moisture and dust in the air.
Thoughts skim and bounce along the edge of the road staying in my shadow, as if they don't want to bother me, but can't help wanting to come along for the ride.
It's color, texture, speed and freedom.
Serenity and adventure race side by side like the road's double yellow lines that sometimes break, but never meet.