There are several smells I love to smell. The scent of freshly baked bread for example. Or a stack of fresh cut wood. The smell of the cold air up in the mountains in winter holidays. And then there is the scent I love most of them all. After a sunny and hot day riding in the desert, when you wash off the dried up sweat and the dust of the day that sticks on your skin. It’s like all the happiness, the joy and pleasure is part of the scent that is self-sufficient, doesn’t ask to be seen. Despite it can’t be touched and its transientness, in not a second you hesitate to believe in its existence. With the rinse of the sweat and the dust, you wash away the devils that made you driving faster than you should, climbing rocks that are too high, stumble down steep gradients, crossing sand dunes and fields of stones that under no circumstances should be passed alone.

I confess I’m addicted to this state of mind, in which no time exists. No desires, no thirst, no hunger. No sorrows, not in the future, not in the past. It’s me, it’s my motorcycle, the track, the wind and the sky. That’s all there is. A steady flow, like a river runs steadily in its bed, playing with speed, unstoppable, until it breaks. That’s devils and dust.

Thanks to Bruce Springsteen for “Devils and Dust”.