Rolling Under

If I'm as still as the road will let me be, there'll be a moment when the lane, the cars, the scenery roll under me and I no longer move as I fly down the road. It's disorienting, but in a good way. I'm still and everything else moves around me. The bike sucks in each stripe one after another and what's behind me is gone, what's beside me is trivial and I move motionless. Me and the motor, a nuclear powered vacuum sucking the world into into our machine.

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