Brooklyn, Baby!

I finally got the kahones to take Daimon into the big city. Really, what's 250 miles? I knew the ride was gonna be beautiful and fun. It wasn't the first 245 miles that scared me. I can't even describe the feeling as I exited the Holland Tunnel and spilled right out into the madness and mayhem that was Canal Street. It was a rush like no other I'd had on the bike. Feeling so small made the experience so big. At any second, I knew I could've become the filling in an automobile sandwich as I maneuvered in between traffic. Shit, if a guy on a freakin 10-speed could do it, I sure as hell was gonna try with 1200cc's between my legs. I wanted to take it all in as best I could, so I lifted the visor of my helmet and took a deep breath. Honestly, it smelled so bad I almost wanted to vomit a little, but all I had to do was get to the Manhattan Bridge and into Brooklyn only a handful of miles before arriving at my destination. Even though I was completely focused on the road and the cars around me, I could feel the weight of the city and the density of the crowds scavenging through cheap sidewalk knock-offs and gawking at sign after sign cluttered with characters I only wish I could read too. I'd been to the NYC many a time, but never like this. There were cops at almost every intersection attempting to direct traffic, and just about every one of them gave me a respectable nod as I cruised along my own personal lane marked by the dashed line that cars are intended to be governed by. I'm not gonna say I was going much faster than 10 miles an hour, but the truth is I did manage to take out a couple of rearview mirrors that protruded into my lane. It's a damn good thing those were designed to fold back.

Finally, I had the Manhattan Bridge in my sights and the intensity of the traffic became a little more bearable. Okay let me just say first, there's this thing I do every time I cross a state line. It's something sort of like a battle cry, but more like a vocal expression of joy and accomplishment. I think I can describe it as something between a "Yee-haw" and a "Woo-Pig" (for those readers from Arkansas, you may be able to understand completely). Anyway, the very moment that my front wheel went past the first bridge support, I just belted out a huge holler, bigger than any single state line crossing battle cry I'd ever allowed to escape my lungs. It felt incredible! And suddenly the cars around me were insignificant to me and my own experience. I wanna say my shout lasted about a quarter of the way along the bridge, and I remember looking around at the city thinking "Damn, I did it!" Now it's important to note that my usual battle cries are never really heard by anyone but me, seeing as how they generally happen on state highways. This time, being in traffic on a warm day in New York City didn't make my screams of joy quite so private. And it wasn't until I looked at the car on my right, that I realized just how loud it must have been. I must say though that there is something extremely poetic about being a newbie biker in the big apple getting a thumb's up from a very large man literally stuffed in the driver's seat of a mini-cooper. At least his carbon footprint was small :)

Driving through New York City on a motorcycle really is as intense as a phat breakbeat!