Riding a bike is like expressing my youthful yearning for freedom and identity.

My father gave me a Ducati 160cc Junior Monza on my 17th birthday that fell short of the Ducati 851 Strada that I wished for. Actually, I knew little about motorcycle, much less about the venerable name that this bike quietly bore on its tank and its style. Anyway, it gave me mobility at minimal expense. When not in use, the bike languished in the garage like an unwanted pet.

As time goes on, I began to see this bike not so much as a means of transport but as a work of art. I became a bike enthusiast. There is now pleasure that I draw from it. Actually, I parked my Ducati in my living room as part of the furniture.

I never stopped dreaming of one day getting myself a powerful bike. Speed is my fantasy. With an unrelieved thirst for speed and adventure, at 19 I bought my dream Ducati 851 Strada, with a bright red tank, bullet black wheels and a trellis frame. I bought this bike not for sheer utilitarian reasons but for the thrill of living dangerously. The pleasures that I draws from it comes not so much from its utility but the ride.