A few years back, just before cracking 50, I decided that the time had come. Suffering through the usual midweek sleeplessness, I watched John Travolta in “Wild Hogs” for about the sixth time and promised myself I was going to learn how to ride a motorcycle. My wife, concerned in equal parts for both my safety and mental health, went along with it, so long as I just got the license, not the bike. I got both.

Particularly in this miserable winter weather, I don’t get out as much as I would like but it’s easy to put your finger on a few great reasons to ride:

1. Excellent excuse to pick up a pair of badass boots.
2. Even better excuse to buy a badass leather jacket.
3. No one talks when I’m on my bike.
4. 600 pounds of muscle between my legs.
5. “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, I am free at last.”