It was by pure chance that I encountered them. One early morning, bored with the monotony of my daily routine, I decided to take a different route for my jog. I was running along the coast. The sun was only just beginning to bleed its light from beyond the horizon, and the surroundings were still draped in a faint darkness. Since it was a holiday, my only plan was to go home, have a drink, and go back to sleep. That was the only thing I was looking forward to as I ran… or so I thought.
Suddenly, a thunderous roar erupted. Startled, I stopped in my tracks. The sound grew louder, drawing closer. A national highway ran parallel to the coast, separated by a stretch of planted forest. It seemed the roar was charging down that highway. The noise was so ear-splittingly violent that I decided to stay put and wait for it to pass. But the sound grew even closer. I had a bad feeling.
My premonition was right. But by then, it was too late. A gang of bikers emerged from between the trees right in front of me. There was a hidden path there connecting the highway to the beach.
About fifteen young men were perched on their motorcycles. They looked to be in their late teens or early twenties. I wasn’t well-versed in makes or models, so I couldn’t tell one bike from another. The young man in the lead, riding a particularly striking machine, dismounted and approached me.
“Hey, old man. Out for a stroll all by yourself this early?”
He was clearly the leader. His bike wasn’t flashily colored; it gleamed a deep, solid black. I stood there in disbelief, staring at them. I couldn’t believe groups like this still existed.
The young man continued in an exaggerated tone. “Running is always about the moment. Whether it’s the bike or being a lackey. We’re young and ‘blue.’ That’s why we pile up those moments. What about you?”
I was dazed, but I managed to snap back and ask, “What about me?”
“Are you going to run on your own two feet? Or are you going to be run by someone else?”
Despite his theatrical way of speaking, the young man’s eyes were sharp. “Sorry. I think I’ll keep running,” I replied.
Internally recoiling, I resumed my jog. As I hurried away from the spot, the young man’s words wouldn’t leave my head.
—Are you going to run on your own two feet? Or are you going to be run by someone else?—
I cut my jog short and headed home. As soon as I arrived, I began packing my things. Was I moved by his words, or did I simply want to get as far away from them as possible? Or perhaps, it was a desire to escape the unchanging everyday life. I threw away most of my belongings and left the house with only the bare essentials. Running on my own two feet.
