Hello, friends! Welcome to my blog! I’ve decided to create this space to share my four main passions with you: Motorcycles 🏍️: I’ll be offering tips, sharing experiences, discussing races, and presenting ideas for the “Renegade Race.” DIY 🔧: Here, I’ll showcase both small and large projects that I tackle myself as a mechanic and creator. Lifestyle 🌍: I’ll share moments from my life, highlighting the balance between work and my passions. Music 🎶: You can expect to find songs, lyrics, and the stories that accompany them. This blog is a blend of urban culture, motorcycle passion, and art. You’ll discover articles, photos, and maybe even videos—above all, a glimpse into my life. 👉 I invite you to follow along, leave comments, and share your thoughts. This is just the beginning! — ✍️ Deny D
From Ali Demi to Llogara Valley: A Ride, a Tribute, and the Biker Code
I began my journey from my quarter in Ali Demi, Tirana, carrying with me the memory of my friend Shpendi, lost to the grip of alcohol. His absence was a heavy reminder of what indulgence can take from us.
Riding Together
On the other side stood my friend Erjon, our “Ambassador” of Monster Energy Drink. His presence kept our spirits alive. Yet even the strongest—winners, leaders, or oracles—can lose their path under the spell of drink. The feast was spread before us, fit for kings. But our way of life is not the path of thieves, drunkards, or the greedy. This way of life has kept us from the culture of drunkenness, teaching us discipline on and off the road. On that day, together with my friends Denis, Eraldi, Erjusi, and others, we climbed toward Llogara Valley, Vlorë. The engines roared, carrying us higher into the winding roads, as if the mountains themselves welcomed our passage.
Because of wine, rage arises; woe to those who rise early in the morning to chase strong drink. But besides, we ate and drank together, sharing laughter, food, and stories, binding us as brothers. The industry of some who dwell on earth intoxicates them, but we had chosen a different path. Later, the nakedness of the motorcycles—stripped of all but their raw power—served to show the brothers who we were: riders bound by loyalty and respect. It seemed as if hearts had been brought to a furnace, glowing with fire and strength. On the seventh day, when we rested and found ourselves in good health, it was as though life had been given anew. Yet Shpendi fell again that day, proof of the war some cannot win. Still, others rise against us: there are those who cling to the teachings of commercial teams, liars who live for the applause of men, not the truth of the road. I approach to be judged and to testify without delay against the liars, against those who pretend to ride but do not live by the code. They all grow hot like an oven and devour one another, but we will rise and travel through villages and across three hilly regions. Acts of treachery belong to the fathers of foreign drivers, but still, they cannot take the turn. Otherwise, they burn like fire. These cracks destroy the chosen ones who act as mediators of falsehood. By carefully following the rules of the road code, we find ourselves entangled in all these violations. In vain we are struck, for they refuse discipline. The engine devours predictions like a lion bringing ruin. The face is strong as a rock, because kindness holds us fast and loyalty to drive lasts for life and time. Praise the riders! Tirana mixes itself, while those who dwell in Vlorë cannot be driven out. Do not be deceived: bad company corrupts useful habits. Detestable ways follow disgusting idols, and lovers who act shamefully go after those who give them rides in fast cars. But we—brothers of the road—ride differently.
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