Long ago there was a boy with my name. On the road he was baresark… a 200km/h blade driving itself through the metal-bound sheep, with no need for comfort or shelter, ecstatic in only the thrill of speed and the cunning switchbacks made to dodge virtually immobile behemoths.
Today I rode the same route as that boy took for years on his 600cc machine. My fireblade shares the same soul, surely. The road was smooth beneath me, and the ride made my body flush with fresh blood as it came alive, and was renewed, and the engine roared the savage story of the boy who was as a warning to an uncaring, beautiful world.