In a word: perfect. That’s how I would describe the weather in downtown Cleveland tonight. It was well past dusk as I chatted with fellow classmates at a local watering hole, but the day’s heat lingered and I found myself altogether comfortable sitting outside in a t-shirt and khakis, residual clothing from the long work/school day. Walking back to the bike around 9:30, I heard a song that never fails to lift my spirits, and I mused that it should be a crime to be in this good of a mood. I could think of only one more thing with which to top it off…

I leaned into the hairpin loop ramp connecting Prospect with I-90 Eastbound. My path straightened as I came about even with traffic and an irrepressible smile spread across my face as I cracked the throttle with the familiar flick of the wrist. I was GONE. The bridges overhead began to pass quickly, their resident lights reduced to glowing streaks of amber. The night’s warm air grew angrier as it rushed past the outside of my helmet; its mounting objection was overcome only by the mocking scream of 600cc’s roaring past 10k as they hurtled me toward Cleveland’s infamous Dead Man’s Curve.


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