Las Vegas, NV: The Yin and the Yang

Putting the key into the ignition and engaging the clutch, the ST comes to life once again. With fuel flowing through its lines, and air breathing into its chambers, mixing together and injecting into its cylinders, it pushes off like a race horse leaving the gates. The tread grips the road and I can feel all 1,267 cubic centimeters of displacement pulling beneath me, whisking me away, far, far away.

With a sharp twist of the throttle and a few quick shifts into third gear, my eyes open up and I take in a deep breath of air. Instantly, my heart pumps and I spring to life, eager to leave this place behind.

Slab is what slab is, and while I've traveled up and down this stretch many times before, often there just isn't a feasible way around it. The I-15 between Southern California and Las Vegas is a reality that you simply must face.

Like a Tale of Two Cities, it's a story of uprising, of downtrodden masses defying the odds for a chance at a better life, and the limestone walls of aristocracy slowly eroding away under the current.

I make the same pilgrimage, it seems, a couple times a year, but not so much to win money, but to pour myself over the masses and allow them to carry me wherever they choose to carry me. I don't care to think much in these conditions; I don't want to influence the outcome, I just want to see what cards I'm dealt.

There's a sense of truth in taking whatever comes your way and dealing with it. Whether the result is positive or negative, it's still a truth, and it's up to you to make something of the knowledge gained.

I often struggle to figure out if I'm in control of the ST or if it's in control of me. I may be twisting the throttle and turning the handlebars, but it doesn't necessarily make me the master. I'm ever so dependent on the ST to remain operational. With miles and miles of blazing of hot desert, it could simply fail to run and bring about my demise in a rather quick way.

Master is only as capable as its slave, and its slave only as existent as its master.

Who is in charge of whom is not always clear.

The motorcycle would never come to life without my turn of the key, and without the motorcycle, I might never come alive. Somehow, we're two halves who need each other to become whole, neither having an advantage over the other.

I leave Las Vegas not any more richer or poorer. I don't really gamble much aside for the opportunity to get a free drink. I'm just there for the convergence of energy, the cumulative hopes and dreams of millions who pour in. I'm just there to haunt the place, soaking up the excitement and sorrows, riding the humanity like a tsunami flooding down Las Vegas Blvd.

One thing's clear, Vegas wouldn't exist without these people, and these people wouldn't have hope if not for Vegas. The two are so intricately tied with the I-15 connecting the two. It's a symbiosis of organs feeding each other via arterial lines.

And I just throw myself at it like a leaf on the river, tossed in between the Yin and the Yang, wondering where I'll end up, and what I can make out of it.