Its a strange thing

The feeling of a cold metallic object grasped firmly between your knees,  you can feel the pulses of the engine, the coldness of the fuel sloshing around, gallons of the stuff inches away from your most sensitive parts. Maybe that is one of the reasons we like to ride?

Or is it the pulses running through your hands, the way the bars twitch, the downward motion of the forks ? creating that thrust forward and downward, again bring them closer to the tank, again highlighting the motion of the fuel.

Or maybe the squatting of the rear under power, which throws the top half of you backwards, your arms extend you try to get closer to that feeling but find that you are already riding the tank.

You wrap your arms down and around the tank, shift your toes onto the pegs as your favorite set of bends start to appear, but this time you move backwards along the tank, until just before the moment you glide into the corner when you lift your arse out of the saddle and over to one side, again they are against the tank, the inside of the outside thigh pressed tightly to the tank the fuel sloshes inside , you can feel it, you swap sides on the seat the other thigh is now pressed against the tank, your elbows have a death grip on the tank, your hands are rapid movements of fine adjustment, caresses the levers, tweaking the throttle.

The bends end you are thrilled, the tank is one again doing the business on the area, the knees are again hugging the tank, you breathe a  heavy sign with satisfaction maybe even utter a small cry of delight. she has pleased you. her job is done. for the length of time that you rode her you were as one.

You wasnt riding the bike, you was loving her in the only way you two can do it.

thats is the reason why we ride.