It's cold out but I'm leathered up and leaving anyway, it's a long way and until the day warms I'll stop often to get coffee and warm up a little. I've packed two bags, my clothes in one, and some toys in the other.

Warmed up, the motor throbs, screaming it's pleasure at being released to straighten the curves as it climbs the first of many hills to get to the flat lands of the north. The air is so crisp and cold, the wind-chill making it all the more intense. There is nothing like this feeling in the world, the freedom, being a part of the world as you ride through it, but damn it is cold. The voices in my head are awake and telling me to shut up so they can hear the motor and I wonder why I'm doing this when it could wait for spring, easy answer, almost scared to admit the answer may be that you are the 'one'. That we will fit.

As mile after mile goes by, I think of what I'd like to do when I get there. How I'll start things. I know I'll collar you almost immediately....

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