These streets

In an instant my joy ride could turn into a heap of mangled flesh and steel. There are no rules on these streets, other than those of physics, and my little 150cc kick-start street bike with an absolute top speed of 50mph likes to push even those. At such speeds there is little room for error on these narrow streets, I have but one rule, “Never to fast to stop.” There is a fluid disorder in driving here, as the wind, dust, smells, and people fly by my stress melts into a blissful focus. It is here on these streets that I can feel the freedom I need to survive. These streets are unpredictable, at any time a rickshaw may choose to zig when it should zag. I am convinced it is genetically impossible for people here to have a sense of balance and drive a bicycle in a straight line. It is also on these streets that guns, nooses, and bombs have taken their victims, but now they are safe… mostly. I love these streets. They are full of life. There is always a plethora of activity to catch your eye, or at top speed, avoid. Bicycles, horse and donkey carts, motor rickshaws, big trucks, small trucks, military trucks, buses, and oh the motorcycles. When locals tell me weekly I drive too fast, but I have yet to have even a fender bender, I know I am doing something right. The bane of driving here are the speed bumps. I had my first real NDE, with one. I was driving, at normal speed, when one snuck up on me, they are camouflaged you know, and popped my front tire, I didn’t realize it at first, but then, the flat tire started trying to buck me off the back of the bike, great times for sure.
There are certain moments in life where it seems everything is perfect as it should be, the temperature is perfect, the light and colors surrounding you are just the right set of tones and hues, shadows are long but not dark. There is a sense of urgency, but all the time in the world to accomplish what ever needs to be done. When being relaxed in the midst of chaos is common. When life is fluid. I find those times most often on these streets. The back of a motorcycle is my comfort zone, a place I know. The vibrations of the engine, the smell of exhaust, the sense of balance on two wheels, I can direct my machine with the slightest shift of weight. I am vulnerable; there is nothing between me and asphalt, other than a little space, and my skills. I can fly through the chaos. Perfect moments on these streets…