Because the solar started to set on the horizon, a biker household of three rode their bikes alongside the winding roads of the countryside. The daddy, a rugged and weathered man with a powerful jawline and a decided look in his eye, led the best way on his glossy black bike. Behind him, his son sat proudly on his personal motorbike, a miniature model of his father’s with a shiny purple helmet and an enormous grin on his face.
The 2 have been silhouetted towards the colourful orange and pink hues of the setting solar, their bikes and the street behind them a darkish and mysterious backdrop. The daddy’s arm was outstretched, his hand guiding his son as they navigated the twists and turns of the street. The son’s eyes have been mounted on his father, his face an image of focus and pleasure.
As they rode, the wind whipped by their hair, carrying the scent of contemporary lower grass and the distant tang of salt from the ocean. The daddy and son have been a staff, a unit, their bond cast within the warmth of the open street. That they had been driving collectively for years, and the son had grown up watching his father navigate the twists and turns of the street with ease.
The daddy’s love of bikes had been handed right down to his son, and now the 2 of them spent each spare second on the bikes, exploring the countryside and having fun with the liberty of the open street. They have been a biker household, by and thru, and their love of bikes was a giant a part of who they have been.
Because the solar dipped under the horizon, the daddy and son pulled over to the facet of the street, their bikes coming to a cease in a cloud of mud. They sat there for a second, taking in the great thing about the sundown and the peace of the countryside. Then, with a nod, the daddy turned to his son and mentioned, “Let’s do it once more tomorrow.” The son grinned, already trying ahead to the following day’s journey.
