Motorcycle Madness, or, why I can’t even sit on a motorcycle anymore

Motorcycle Madness, or, why I can’t even sit on a motorcycle anymore

If I ever see my bike again, I’ll have to bring it back home By Maurice Crossfield   Every now and then I see one. Maybe in a parking lot. Maybe out on the road, chrome glistening in the sun, engine thumping rhythmically. And I get that old feeling. I miss my motorcycle. The drive to ride kind of ambushed me in the fall of 1986, in the form of a three-cylinder Kawasaki owned by a distant cousin who would soon become a close friend. Being of the …