Riding a motorcycle in summer, enjoying the passion for curves from a purely playful and carefree perspective, covering miles without a specific destination, no final goal, without thinking about the usual boring “And then…”; you do it just for the thrill of feeling embraced by the wind, because it makes you feel free, because if you feel like pushing it and lean with your elbows to the ground, other riders won’t judge you — at most, they’ll compliment you on your courage. You do it because every corner at the limit excites you, because when you feel one with the frame of your steed and hear it “sing,” you get that shiver down your spine and the adrenaline rising strong as you try to tame it, taking one curve after another, defying gravity.

In a way, riding a motorcycle can be compared to going to a trombodrome — after all, even in FKK Sauna Clubs, people go to enjoy a moment of leisure, for the pleasure of feeling embraced by naked ladies and taking on their curves with a carefree, purely playful approach — a pleasure in itself that doesn’t need any higher purpose or a pretentious “And then…”; but you do it because you feel free to be yourself, because other playboys won’t judge you if you feel like going all out and bringing three fillies to tame in your room — at most, they’ll compliment you on your courage. You do it because every time you take on a girl bent over like a sheep, you get excited and feel the adrenaline rising as you become one with the lady of the moment, who starts to “sing” while you try to tame her in every position allowed by the laws of gravity…

Thinking about it, riding a naked bike on a hot summer day and watching your peers stuck in traffic, crammed between luggage, wives, and kids inside a box that protects them from the wind but confines their small monotonous world and limits their view of the sky and horizon, while you glide effortlessly beside them, embraced by a warm, roaring, and slightly rebellious naked steed, is like sitting by a pool surrounded by young, hot, and eager naked girls, thinking about the poor souls forced to meet their partners’ demands just to maybe earn, after endless restrictions and sad compromises, a quick fuck that they already know where it will lead — because the road is always the same, it doesn’t allow detours, they must follow a precise path already marked to reach their destination. They can’t take shortcuts, they have to wait in line, stand behind the mother-in-law, behind the kids, behind the relatives, behind the headaches, behind photos of food and kittens on social media, and behind Fufi the dog who pooped on the carpet at home… They have to wait their turn. Because that car some call “love,” others call “marriage,” and still others call “family” is too big, too loaded with things to carry — things they probably don’t even care about but must haul if they ever want to get where they’re going. And that metal box filled with so much useless stuff is too bulky; it can’t fit down that little road leading straight to the big pasture full of sheep and fillies to tame. They have to rent a bike if they want to go there, they have to become bikers for a day if they want to reach where only proud centaurs with their bikes free of useless luggage and dead weight easily arrive. They — the tightrope walkers and curve tamers — they truly understand what Freedom is.

And now someone will say: “Yeah, BravoH, you talk and talk, but then you just do FKK tours in your Trombomobile…”

Well, I usually go to the trombodromes by car, that’s true, but the spirit is always that of a biker: a desire for Freedom, strong emotions, open horizons, adrenaline flowing like a river, and the immense pleasure of taming new exciting curves.

The point is, you remain a biker even when there’s no bike under your ass, and you remain a playboy even when there’s no girl in the bed.

Don’t forget it, and life will smile upon you. ^^

Bye-bye, “HardWheelies”!