Some would surmise a mirage, born of the shimmering black top, sired by the blazing Texas Sun.
Heralded by the Harley's throaty roar, he appears, flashes past, disappears into the horizon.
A fleeting apparition.
Well into his seventh decade, weathered by life's storms,gales and triumphs he rides on, the Earth eaten by the spinning front wheel of his steel steed.
In midnight's gloom he chases the iron rabbit that is the headlights arc, riding ever onward toward the morning Sun's rise.
The machine and he are one, rocketing down life's highway, onward, onward toward the fate of all men and machines.
The roar of the engine, the easy seat that is his, propelled though the ether, past all Earthly cares and travails, onward he rides.
Chasing eternity, the lonely rider speeds on.