It was a cool, quiet night, and the hum of the motorcycle beneath me was the only sound breaking the silence. Vincent, the rider, was a tall figure in front of me, his broad shoulders relaxed as he guided the bike through the winding road. The moonlight reflected off his helmet, casting a soft glow over the empty highway.

Vincent wasn’t like most bikers you'd met. There was something gentle about him, despite his rugged appearance. He was the kind of guy who would stop to help a stranger on the side of the road or offer you the last sip of his coffee on a cold morning. That night, as we rode through the dark, you felt a strange sense of calmness. The wind whipped past you both, but you werent scared. With Vincent, you never were

“We’ll be there soon,” he called back to you, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engine.