A Horse of Iron and Steel: The Motorcycle Saga

IMG_20190909_164827At long last, the blackened lungs of my new horse, Freyfaxi, breathes a draught of the late summer air, and accepts the mount of a new rider on her saddle. At first a stamper, then a tolt, and before long she picks up to a full charge, riding off into the backcountry roads of marlbank, ontario, to dry lake for her first circuit, followed by a swim the the clay white waters.

She came from the praries of Manitoba, and carries a back history of previous riders, with only 36grand on her in km, she’ 37 years old but rides like 25. I’ve had women this age, and she suits me well. I found her in Belleville, waiting to picked up and with a cache of extra parts, I own her twin almost fully, making it simple to trade out as needed. Makes me think, assembling the other beast for my brother, would be a good idea. She’s not fancy or shiny, but looks like something Che Guevara or an Army vet may ride. It’s rugged, and will handle the dirt or the asphalt without complaining. She has six speeds, and holds her own on the road.

I polish the leather of my blundstones, throw on my helmet and vest, and bring the motor to roaring life, and take this girl on the ride back home to the our stable in the backwoods of Lyndhurst. I patched in with the Old Bastards Vintage M.C. this morning, and feeling riled up for some road time before the frost and snow comes makes the roads one giant ISA rune.


After being felled down by a hard marriage, the bike comes like another lover, just like a woman, she is temperamental, beautiful, vocal, and will carry me for hopefully many years in this life.

She needs some work, and that is part of the new relationship. There will be much to learn, great work to do, hiccups along the way that remind me to stay patient, and keep the wheels turning, while we forge a new path together. A few health problems are concern; tight calipers causing me to miss out on miles, cracks in the back tire, headlamp blacked out the other day on a gravel road at night, and there is a slight rattle in the lungs. I’ll be taking care of her as I go, cause I admit I don’t know a hell of a lot about bikes. It’s the zen of riding and the art of motorcycle maintenance that I am looking for in this marriage with iron and steel. She looks pretty sitting in the shade of towering ash trees. Metal ammo carriage cases, military green paint job, harley windshield, and some Runic :Galdastafir: painted on the sides, along with some riders affirmations “Freedom is Power and Unrestrained Movement”, ATWA. It’s uniquely mine, and no one else on the road will have one the same, she turns heads in both ways, attracting and repelling.

I rode her to the vineland in Westport to put in my work, cruising on the country highways early in the morning wild cold numb hands before the sun rose. Felt lighter and invigorated from the vibrations of the engine going through my axis mundi, shifting and shaking things out of sleeps stasis. A kind of high without caffeine filled me, and I parked her near the chicken coop on the farm, to prepare myself for the day.

I look forward to taking her by the Old Bastards and getting some in motorcycle talk. I’m already thinking about and Eastern pilgrimage to the sea next spring, but for now I’ll keep her in the county and get my footing.


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