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I’m the rock, I’m the mud, I’m the slope, I’m the land. I’m the frost and the heat, I´m the river and the stream. I’m the fall, I’m the dust, I’m the dryness and the damp. Wind, rain, fog, air. The flow and the break, the laugh and the pain. Hardness, strength, endurance, yell.
I am you, you are us, we are bikers, we are lives.
«La vida es un río, eso es lo que el abuelo solía decir, un comienzo, un final, un millón de diferentes caminos. Él siempre solía metaforizar mi vida, cómo viviría y terminaría, siguiendo el camino con menos resistencia, atravesando lo imposible. Claro como el aire y negro como la noche, y sin importar qué dirección, o cómo se mueva, o cómo se vea. De acuerdo a mi abuelo, el punto es que el río siempre se mueve hacia adelante. ¿Qué fue lo que lo mantuvo andando hasta que fue viejo y gris? El misterio, yace a la vuelta de la esquina. 