I was twelve years old on one of my favorite kind of days in summer. It was the ideal temperature, the sun had just retired until morning, there was a slight breeze, and the sky just above the mountains surrounding the trivial town of Ukiah I call home was painted with retro strips of hot pink and candle light orange. The medley of the two colors set a lazy tone for the rest of the day, a Wednesday, with a thought in my mind that there was neither school to attend in the morning, nor any commitment for the next afternoon. The motorcycle ride my dad had offered to take me on was then weighing heavily on my mind. My anticipation to get on the road was growing as vast as the anticipation of the stars scurrying to cover the whole night sky. I put on my helmet and my dad did the same. Both of us had long hair; mine was light, his dark. He said "You ready to take off Bee?" I said "Sure pop". For reassurance, he reminded me that the sissy bar on the back of my seat was there if I got scared. I told him it wouldn't be necessary; I was a fearless twelve-year-old. The engine started, my heart sank for a second, as we began to accelerate down the road towards Lake Mendocino. The wind played with my hair twisting it and tossing it. There was warmth that the sun had left lingering in the air that was being soaked up like a sponge by my bare shoulders. My dad's new favorite toy on two wheels joined the rest of the vehicles on the freeway, the wind started to tie my hair in knots mischievously, goose bumps formed on my once warm arms, and my dad was pushing eighty on the speedometer. An old couple in matching leather jackets pushed past my dad and I on a motorcycle probably going about eight-five; the old lady extended her arms into the relentless wind, I released both hands from the sissy bar and did the same.