The first thing I notice as the images Amber’s given me begin to fade is the subtle variations in temperature. Riding the Ducati—or any motorcycle for that matter—you’re essentially defenseless against anything the elements throw at you and feel every nuance of weather that can affect you. I catch the scent of water—salty ocean—and feel the temperature drop in that tiny micro-climate. I lean with Channing as we round a curve on a tree-lined section of the road and the scent of pines and the contrast between the dappled areas and those in the full sun echoes in touch the meditative cycling sound of the engine.
I start focusing on the things at hand—the heat of Channing’s body against me, the wind blowing fresh on this otherwise empty stretch of road. It makes me feel like I have some cont
