My neighbour Gavin had only moved in six weeks earlier, but we were already great friends. He was a weekend biker, owned a Yamaha R1--nice piece of kit. At only twenty-four; ten years my junior I wondered how he could afford all the boys toys he owned.
Needless to say, he proved he had money to spend when he told me that he was going on a three-week holiday to Europe. I asked him if he wanted me to carry his luggage during the holiday, but just he chuckled and told me he needed me to look after the house.
The following day he left, dropping the house keys through my mailbox. I pondered what to looking at the keys, but my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to look around his house.
Inside was a geeks dream, gadgets everywhere--it was like being in a candy store. I walked from room to room, finally coming to a utility room that adjoined the garage. Inside was Gavin's motorcycle leathers, and through a window I could see the bike. I'd had one myself a while back but when I changed jobs I needed something more practical and traded it in for a car. It was always something I wanted to return to; the open road, the speed, the 'oneness'.
I looked at the leathers, discarded and crumpled on the floor next to the boot. On a table was a Simpson helmet, along with some gloves. I was taller than Gavin but close enough that I think the leathers would fit. I pondered on the fact that if I dressed in all his gear, with the visor down they would think I was Gavin. I glanced at the bike again, "Fuck it."
