What is the best motorcycle song ever? Steppenwolf’s Born to be Wild or Lucretia My Reflection by the Sisters of Mercy? The question arose because Brigid proved true to a promise she made the night before and turned up at my motel at 8am on her black Hog. She gave me a helmet and blasted me westwards to where the spires of Shiprock stood dreamily against blue sky and wispy cirrus. It looked more like a cathedral than a ship and dominated the land with ecclesiastical grace. Brigid’s machine pulled like a tractor but what it lacked in sophistication it made up for in raw charisma. It felt as if we could take off like an early barnstorming biplane and do a couple of aerial circuits around the mystical Navajo landmark.
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