The wind blasts my face and rushes past my ears in a deafening whoosh.
My long brown hair streams behind me in a tangling mess.
I move my head close to yours so your words are audible but for the most part, we don’t talk.
Sight, sound, smell, sensation, inundated by our ever changing surrounds.
Past tropical jungle, where the wind cools our skin and the earth perfumes the air.
Upon cliff tops, overlooking the Andaman Sea with row after row of waves rolling into the sandy shore, innocently inviting but dangerous to the naive.
Up hill, down hill, around bends but barely ever in a straight line as the potholes create an inverted obstacle course.
Always, the bitumen blurs under the wheels.
By day, the sun intensely kisses every inch of bare skin on my body, my face, my arms, my legs, my chest, the back of my neck.
By night, our movement witnessed by our only constant companions, the effervescent stars and the moody moon.
We ride. We ride. We ride.
And I always wish that our destination is forever slightly out of reach
So we can continue to ride and ride and ride along a never-ending road of bliss.