Japan... spring 2025 ride!

I don’t know where it starts. Maybe it never did. Maybe it’s always been— Something deep in the marrow, A restless thing gnawing at sleep.
I come to Japan, Think I’ll find it. Whatever it is. And leave knowing less than before.
Kyushu. Oita. A road winding, carved by time, Harley growling through bamboo hush, Crows calling from mist and memory.
Days before— Denim looms hum in Okayama, Needles carve ink in Tokyo, Now— Samurai land, monks and ghosts, Old friends, familiar laughter, Rice steaming, fish on the fire.
The road bends. I bend with it. Seeking, chasing, A ghost of an idea, A pulse of inspiration— Grasped, gone, laughing in the wind.
Jacket worn, scarred like me. Jeans stained with dust and rain. Varsity jacket, stitched with past lives. A map, a story, A record of the ride.
And today— A new page. The fire feeds the ride, The ride feeds the fire.
No destination. Just the road. Just the ride. Just the spark of what’s to come.
Maybe I never wanted to find it. Maybe I just wanted the chase.