Get your motor runnin’ with a bad case of helmet hair
OPINION: One of the experiences on my bucket list was to go for a ride on the back of a Harley-Davidson and while researching an article on anti-association laws I was given the opportunity.
I don't know why I was feeling a bit nervous, but I was.
Would donning a black open-faced helmet and riding pillion with a group of bikers irrevocably change me?
How would the public perceive me?
There were six of us.
Pulling out of the carpark onto Alice St, engines piercing the air, we glide down the road.
It was something akin to a plane taxiing down a runway and I couldn't wait to get out onto the highway and take off, so to speak.
As we round a bend and join the highway, excitement increases with the speed.
Flying along in the open air, unprotected, watching the world whiz by.
Shooting through the air like an arrow.
If a feeling could be delicious, for me, this was it.
On arrival in Howard, I was praised unanimously for having "helmet hair" - a small price to pay for the opportunity of one of the joys of the motorcycle culture.
On the return trip into the 'borough, I had the feeling of being conspicuous. Eyes on us, waiting at the lights.
The pounding rhythm of the bikes attracting attention.
Sideways glances from motorists - or was that my wild imagination in overdrive fuelled by the adrenalin rush of experiencing a Harley ride for the first time?