As I finally finish writing this piece, Soul Eureka is parked next to me. Her engine is ticking away as she cools down. I still have

my riding boots and jeans on. Its like I never want that rush to fade away. But to fully understand this bond we have to go right back

to the beginning.

Crowded Silence.

I had just landed from a 10 hour flight to Melbourne, the first things I remember seeing out of the plane window when were

making our final approach was a candy red 1970s Chevelle SS cruising in the golden brown country side. It all clicked, everything

made sense. I needed to get out and explore this beautiful city as soon as possible but other commitments, such as accomodation

and acclimatization took precedence. Weeks and weeks went by, and I was feeling homesick.

More weeks went by, most of my friends were stuck back home in Sri lanka, and my homesickness was getting worse. The demons that

haunted me in Sri lanka, the burning questions and the what-if scenarios were returning in full force. Worse, I had noonne to talk to

about it, nor anything to do about it.

I swear I don’t have any bias towards Hondas.

Or so I thought, I had enough money saved up and was going to buy a means of transportation

anyway. I would rather go without using the internet rather than go without my own individual form of getting around. This is something

we need to touch upon. I hate being driven around or worse still to use public transport. Its not that I feel inferior using public transport

but I just dont like how everyone sits in close proximity to each other and just stare into oblivion. It doesnt feel natural nor does it feel

real. Its like some sort of poetic imagery being gradually portryed in the faces of rush hour commuters.

The choice of transportation in question was also something I was very peculiar about. I need whatever I’m getting to have

character. It needs to look good, and have an aggressive stance. Long story short, there was noway I was going to be rolling in an

old beat up Japanese econobox. So then hours upon hours were spent on Gumtree trying to find a suitable candidate. This quickly turned

into the topic of many jokes by my peers at my expense. It no-longer was abnormal to wake up at an unholy hour in the morning, where

you would find me in the porch with a cup of coffee, an old rock’n’roll playlist blasting in my headphones and my laptop open.

I was looking for something, I just didnt know what exactly. Moving on from an for-sale ad to to ad, hoping something would come into

the screen. I knew from the start that whatever I was going to buy had to be a Japanese V-Twin. Why Japanese? The Italian twins were

way out of my price range, the American Twins; even though a guilty pleasure of mine I couldnt possible afford the maintenance. There

is just something about a V-Twin engine at idle and when you open one up on a road the sound is just so glorious.

Fast forward a few weeks and I had found a potential seller with a potential motorcycle. I decided to then go see it. Prior to this

inspection me and a couple of good friends decided to have a few beers to celebrate our successful transition to Austrailia. I wanted

to started a tradition of sorts. Besides all good stories have a few beers involved anyway. I then got on the train and then prepared to

go see this motorcycle. I had been warned to not make any rash decisions as this would mean I forget any negative aspects and get cheated.

“Beer Goggles : used to refer to the supposed influence of alcohol on one’s visual perception”

The sellers shows up, the bike sounds amazing. He lets me start it . I press the ignition and the engine violently fires into life. I was sold.

“81000 km,” the owner probably said. I cant really remember, I couldn’t have cared less.

He could have said 200,000 and I would have said yes.

Anyone remember the scene from James Cameron’s Avatar movie where he does that wierd hair connection thing with the first flying dinosaur being.

(if you know, you know). Where they just click and he flies it using his mind. This felt exactly like that. No break-in period, no transition. Just one unit. I wired him the money later that day.

I named the motorcycle “Soul Eureka” after the Pacific Rim character. I shouldn’t really name my vehicles because then I cant get rid of them that

easily. But then I really dont want to get rid of her that easy though.

Helmet therapy

Its a rider thing.

Jacket on. Keys put in back jean pocket. Wallet and all EDC in other pockets. Check keys are in back pocket. Put helmet on. Put gloves on. Mount motorcycle.

Turn the ignition on. Listen to it idle. Close Visor. Silence. Peace.

Any problems you had on your mind, any disturbance in your inter sanctum. This clears it. Because first and foremost you cant afford to. Motorcycling is dangerous,

its harmful to your health. But its living.

I am done explaining to normal people why I do it. I just tell them to watch out for bikes and change the subject. They will never understand it. Never.

I feel physically better when I wear a motorcycle jacket. It automatically gives me a sense of pride and confidence. When I put on the helmet I become both hidden

and yet solitary. I never listen to music on a bike, that defeats its purpose and distracts me.

There is something magical when you leave the city and go to the

countryside and you can ‘Smell’ the difference. Its like the smell of freshly made bread from the local bakery or the soul food your grandmother makes, you know

its good for you.

I would like to say riding truly improved my travel from A to B, but we all know it improved things far greater than that.