Bonding with the Machine

Little did I understand I would be so obsessed with the roar of the machines until my father introduced me to his Honda CDI 100s back in 2004, perhaps.

My love for the machines can be traced back to my father's affection towards his powerful possessions, powerful in a sense I find it hard to tame them on the roads while he has never found it challenging enough.

However, we share different definitions of taming the beast and have a subsequent attitude toward how we treat it on the go— while I am always in a hurry and ranting continuously about how slow his bikes are, he finds them unattractively overkill. Therefore, any of us do not like each other as a pillion or the rider.

But one thing he never ignored and hesitated to mention how fascinating those beasts are— the power they produce, the thurst they apply to the rear wheel upon releasing the clutch— man, he undoubtedly enjoys those horses running under the fuel tank, caged into that cast iron cubes. The thrill you will feel as soon as the accelerator is pushed to its limit, it's beyond expression.

Words don't have the COURAGE to describe the adrenaline rush the rider feels when the beast beats another rider trying to overtake or the sudden speed it gains with a back-to-back downshifting and upshifting in a chaotic traffic situation.

It’s an ejaculation long-cherished after being captivated by the pleasure your partner enjoys while you hold tight.

Well, it all starts with the fuel—injected through carb or an electric component. The fuel, mixed with oxygen-rich air makes the combustion compartment wet with cold, ecstatically smelling gasoline whereas a tiny spark starts the revolution by setting fire in a blink of an eye. Now the combustion chamber is burning, the stage is set; warming up for the rider and waiting for his signal to go crazy.

---

my lost friend

---

Every time I hit the road on a bike, be it as a pillion or the driver— I feel the machine breaking through the air and overcoming the resistance of the ground with little to no chance of falling behind. I can feel the raw power of the engine passing through the pistons as they move up and down, rotating the crankshaft that set things in motion right from the rear wheel.

I can feel the pistons moving fast— faster than anyone can breathe or that heartbeat of a lover who is touching the bare breast of his beloved for the first time.

It’s unbelievable how fast this thing can move— starting from 1000 times per minute to 14000 or higher— yet, you do not feel any substantial shaking of the engine, nor does it lose its balance for extreme vibration. That’s how machines are prepared— how come I won’t fall in love with this beast?

I can feel the gasoline getting burnt every second and moving through the exhaust pipe, getting filtered in the process and remaining invisible upon being released into the air— all happening simultaneously while you are revving it hard, demanding the machine to go beyond the limit.

Going beyond the limit— eh, I once asked a serviceman why my bike is not running fast, faster than it is now which was considerably deadly given the road condition of the country. I remember him giving this look and almost shouting you are lucky it ain’t busted yet— when you are going at that speed, the pistons are moving like hell— be thankful to God that they haven’t revolted and come out of the compartment.

How come I won’t fall in love with this beast?

I was satisfied— ear to ear I smiled and gave a pat on its back— you are doing great, just don’t fail me when I need you the most. And trust me, it never did— but it was me who failed to keep it with me. I will never forgive myself for that.