![](\"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/11\/Harley-summer-copy-kopio.jpg\")
As a father for two wonderful adult sons I am blessed with my first-born,
\nwho has a matte-black, nicely curving playmate with an almost iconic name.
\nHe could realize his dream due to a 6-month maritime service in special forces
\noff the coast of Somalia, an undertaking in which he was risking his life.<\/p>\n
I am lucky because he had requested me to take care of his dear baby \u2013 The truth is also I used to have a dream of two wheels when I was 16. So my teenage dream was efficiently killed and, after all, I did not mind. Until my dear son\u2019s request, \u201dPa, I will spend the summer in Madrid, how \u2019bout What a nice responsibility to fall into my arms from the blue sky, I smiled! But there are more than one poetic, precious moment in the fine art of biking. The longer I rode, the less traffic did I encounter while I watched behind the goggles as the sun descended behind the pines and the road turned into gravel. I had to watch the grains of sand on the surface as sliding was a real danger When I passed a lonely farm house I could smell someone grilling steaks, The only comforting sound in the stillness was the strokes of the V2 engine \u00a9 Martti Korpijaakko, July 2017<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" As a father for two wonderful adult sons I am blessed with my first-born, who has a matte-black, nicely curving playmate with an almost iconic name. He could realize his dream due to a 6-month maritime service in special forces off the coast of Somalia, an undertaking in which he was risking his life. I […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-137","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-yleinen"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=137"}],"version-history":[{"count":7,"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":147,"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137\/revisions\/147"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=137"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=137"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=137"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\na Harley-Davidson Sportster<\/em> powered with the famous 883 cc V2 engine \u2013
\nan iron horse on two wheels with a distinct sound from its double pipes.
\nThis is the musical background to my story about the fine art of biking,
\na symphony to a father-and-son relationship that spans over three decades.<\/p>\n
\nMy reasonable dream machine was a light 125 cc twin-cylinder Honda,<\/em>
\nbut both my old man and my mom feared the risks of letting their son ride
\na motorcycle and they kept reminding me of all the young men in wheel chairs.
\nAs a result, I only saw these small Hondas with whole families riding on them
\nin black-and-white news films from the bustling streets of wartime Saigon.<\/p>\n
\nYears passed, I got used to bicycles and four-wheel motorized transportation,
\nbut my rebellious teenage dream never surfaced, not even when I reached 50,
\nyou know, that age when a man buys a sports car or starts fooling around.
\nI was satisfied in my bourgeois role as an old fart middle-class family man.<\/p>\n
\ntaking care of my bike for the summer? How much trouble would that be?\u201d
\nI said, \u201dNo problem, son, there is nothing I wouldn\u2019t do for you sake. You bet
\nI\u2019ll take care of your wheels as if they were my own. After all, I\u2019m your dad!\u201d<\/p>\n
\nHow strange that my caring, well-meaning parents\u2019 old denial turns into a \u2019yes\u2019
\nby my dear son who \u2013 I dare to assume \u2013 would not wish to have me killed.
\nNo, I am not denying the dangers of motorcycle driving \u2013 while I do admit
\nthat the danger creates excitement and increases the adrenalin in your blood.<\/p>\n
\nLike the other night, after midsummer, when daytime lingers into late hours
\nI started the black girl, guided her out of the gate and off we rolled west-bound,
\nbeyond the bridges, past a tiny place called East Village, all the way into the
\nwinding country roads following the long bay of my summer town, Eken\u00e4s.<\/p>\n
\nIt followed the undulating terrain in a pleasing way, the curves were in right places like on a good-looking woman, and I felt like the king of the road.<\/p>\n
\nand there would be nobody the help me out had I found myself in the ditch.
\nHowever, Ms. Harley followed my still pretty inexperienced commands nicely
\nand I felt confident and very pleased in the midst of the sights and aromas
\nduring this enchanting white night when all dreams were meant to be fulfilled.<\/p>\n
\nas I did drive across a field I could smell the earth and the roadside flowers.
\nCutting thru a bit of forest I could hear the midsummer birds still singing
\nas if they were welcoming a lonely rider into their secret world in the shadows.
\nI was discovering a forgotten country road I had never set my foot on before.<\/p>\n
\nresembling my heart beat, a sign of life as I rode into the heart of darkness.
\nI felt the machine was fully alive and beating ceaselessly, very much like myself
\nbreathing in the chillier air and feeling gratitude for being so much alive.
\nThere was none of my fear left and I felt, years before, this was meant to be.<\/p>\n![](\"https:\/\/www.smartcommunication.com\/blogi\/wp-content\/uploads\/2017\/11\/Harley-ride-copy-kopio.jpg\")
<\/p>\n