In 2013, a chance internet encounter with an American motorcycle enthusiast afforded me the absurd possibility of a three month tour of the western United States on an ex-race motorcycle. In return for the prepped GSX-R, my benefactor got some not very good helmet art. (Hi Conan!)
Maybe these are banal images? I feel like all the transcendent moments happened so quickly they were over by the time they registered. I remember thinking often at the time, immersed in the GSX-R's significant intake howl and pushing back at the air pressure on my body as I passed through redwood forests and high deserts and along the pacific coast, how nonsensical it was to have ever felt sad in my life.