The engine roar is the first thing Leo hears when he wakes, a resonant echo in his chest before he even turns the key.
Leo was thirteen when he joined the local riders for his first rally. The air was thick with the scent of coffee, tobacco smoke and gasoline and the the deep, throaty rumble of different bikes. As a pillion, he felt the vibration of the machine between his thighs, the adrenaline-fueled power it offered. Leo discovered a new untethered freedom, a visceral rush when the throttle opens in a calculated dance with danger and speed - a state of flow, a hyper-focused, meditative calm where nothing exists but the black ribbon of asphalt and the next corner.
As they rode through a winding mountain pass, Leo felt the profound connection with his environment. He felt the temperature change, smelled the pine trees, and heard the world around him, a sensory overload that made him feel intimately connected to the earth. The brotherhood was tangible; they rode in a formation, with trust in one another that is deeper than words, looking out for each other, sharing a mutual respect that ensured everyone rides within their limits while maximizing the fun.
It was only natural for Leo to accept his first Marlboro that day, a way to escape the pressures of his young adult life. He chases the feeling of being fully alive, the feeling that his life is his own. Smoking provided him confidence and purpose in the community of brothers who understand him without judgment.
Now Leo has his own 900cc sport bike. He lives inside it, a symbiotic entity where the machine’s power binds him with the risks and joys of riding. To Leo the identity of a rider is in the Marlboro Reds, the leather, the helmet, and the scars.
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