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Saturday, December 13, 2014

Harley Dreams

Greenwich Village, 1958.

Who wouldn't want a Harley? Roaring down the road with nothing but wind and sun all around you. Ruby says she's saving up to buy me a magazine about motorcycles, but I don't want a motorcycle. I want the real thing.

She's kinda sweet on Marlon Brando in The Wild One, but that's not where I'm at. I just love the freedom of it, moving from town to town and sleeping in a field. 

People around here dig the poets like Kerouac, but he was in a car. I want a Harley because you're really part of the world around you--I mean when you tool around on a bike.

It's also so much cooler to get around on a bike instead of a car. And you can go at least as fast as a car, especially if you're out on the open road. 'Course, you need a motorcycle jacket and a hat. Don't know if I'd want to hit the road with a gang of bikers. Probably not. Maybe with my dad, I think that would be all right.

Where would I go? Everywhere and nowhere. California. Could I get there on Route 66? Or just take all the back roads and stop in the towns that looked good to me? 

Or maybe I'd just go up and down the eastern seaboard, take my Jo-Jo with me, Boston, Vermont, or down to Virginia. We'd come up with a new plan after breakfast every morning. 

Jo-Jo says I'd have to save up a lot of money or we couldn't go. She wouldn't want to work -- just travel. I can get behind that but what if we ran out of bread? Maybe I'd play some gigs now and then with my dad's group. But if you've got a bike with you, you're golden. No hitching. No cars.

Just me & her, you know? My bike and the open road.


--Ray TaBeata

Motorcycle jacket: porcupiny