On every winding road I take, astride my motorbike beneath the open sky, there is one ritual I never abandon: I listen to music as I ride. Yes, I know — it’s against the law. But how does one preserve the thrill of the journey without a melody to hum, a chorus to echo into the wind?

I often tell people that if I could wish for one thing, it would be this: to become the freest soul to walk the Earth. To live unshackled by expectation, to chase only what stirs my heart, and to soar, unbound and unafraid, toward faraway skies, like a wild bird that bows to no cage. After all, what force in this world could hold back a man who longs to set sail?

And if there is one song that never fails to find its way into my ears when the engine roars to life, it’s Free Bird.

The moment those first notes echo through my helmet, something in me softens. The road ahead seems to open wider, the sky stretches just a little farther. That familiar guitar riff doesn’t just play, it lifts. It carries the weight of all the places I’ve been, and all the ones I still long to see.

“If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?” — the question drifts with the wind, not seeking an answer, only needing to be felt. Every time the guitar began to explode wildly, untamed, soaring like fire, I twisted the throttle just a little more, as if speed could bring me closer to the horizon, closer to the version of myself that was unchained, unspoken, and alive in every possible way.

If I leave here tomorrow,
Would you still remember me?
For I must be traveling on now,
‘Cause there’s too many places I’ve got to see.

Free Bird was written in 1970 by two of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s founding members, Ronnie Van Zant (lead singer) and Allen Collins (lead guitarist). Collins had written the music beforehand, but Van Zant had trouble finding the right lyrics. The inspiration came when Collins‘ girlfriend, Kathy Johns, asked him, “If I leave here tomorrow, would you still remember me?” — a question that became the song’s famous opening line.

I first stumbled upon this song when I was just ten years old, wandering through the endless corridors of YouTube with a child’s wonder, still captivated by a classroom lesson about the bird as a symbol of freedom.

‘Cause I’m as free as a bird now…

The ten-year-old boy didn’t understand the meaning behind the lyrics, not completely. But he felt the weight of the melody, the quiet poignancy of the verses, the soaring cry of the guitar, and that was enough. He followed every note of the song with wide eyes and a quiet heart, carrying a fragile dream that one day, he too could roam freely, unbound, chasing the horizons with nothing but time and sky ahead.

From that moment on, I knew with quiet certainty that I was meant to be a true roamer, devoting my life to the endless pursuit of all the places I felt I was born to see.

But if I stay here with you, girl,
Things just couldn’t be the same.

On the early roads of my journey, I met someone — someone I came to love, beneath skies so wide and landscapes so quietly breathtaking, they felt like witnesses to something rare.

But the truth is, not everyone we meet is meant to walk the whole path with us. Her footsteps slowly drifted in a different direction, while mine kept moving forward. I couldn’t stay, there was still so much road calling my name, so many places left unseen.

And even now, as the wheels keep turning beneath me, I sometimes catch myself wondering: who, if anyone, will travel all the way with me, to the quiet edge of the world, until we’re both too tired to keep going, and finally rest?

Bye-bye, baby, it’s been a sweet love, yeah, yeah,
Though this feeling I can’t change.
But please don’t take it so badly…

Finally, I was alone on my classic motorbike, my ears still ringing with the story of the ultimate freedom of the tireless bird.

In an interview that took place during a fishing trip on a boat with Gary Rossington (lead guitarist), Ronnie Van Zant was asked by the interviewer about the meaning of the song. Van Zant responded that the song is essentially about freedom, saying it’s “what it means to be free, in that a bird can fly wherever he wants to go.” He also remarked, “Everyone wants to be free… that’s what this country’s all about.”

“Me and Allen played all the time,” says Rossington, the only surviving original Skynyrd member. “Even when we weren’t practicing with the band, we would play together at his house.”

At one point, Collins showed up at the band’s sweltering tin-roofed rehearsal space — nicknamed the Hell House — with the early framework of a new song he had been working on.

“That was one of the first things he’d ever wrote,” says Rossington. “He’d only done maybe two or three things before that.”

He shared it with Rossington, who immediately liked it. But Ronnie Van Zant wasn’t so sure.

“Ronnie thought there were too many chord changes,” says Rossington. “He said: ‘I can’t write lyrics to this, there’s too much happening.’ He just couldn’t get it. He didn’t hear nothing.”

Ronnie, known for being stubborn, initially refused to back down — but that didn’t deter Collins and Rossington, who kept rehearsing the song repeatedly. In the end, their persistence paid off.

“One day, Ronnie went: ‘Okay, play it again.’ He made Allen play it a bunch of different times. And finally he got a verse or a melody in his head. And he started practicing that, playing Allen’s chords. He wrote the lyrics just laying on the couch.”

Ironically, according to Rossington, the band didn’t see Free Bird as anything out of the ordinary in the beginning.

“We didn’t even think much of it at first,” he said. But their perspective changed during the song’s live debut, when they sensed they’d created something special.

“It was at a place called the South Side Women’s Club in Jacksonville,” he recalls. “We played that song, but just the slow part. We didn’t have the jam at the end then. We ended it before the guitars came in, but everyone still got off on it. They clapped us so much.”

An early demo of the song, recorded in 1970 and later featured in the band’s 1991 box set, runs only four minutes long. That was how Free Bird originally sounded for a time. The band would perform the first half, carried by Ronnie’s emotional vocals, and wrap it up within four or five minutes — until Collins and Rossington gradually started extending the song with a brief guitar outro.

“Just a minute or so,” says Rossington. “But one night we were playing a club and Ronnie said: ‘Play that a little longer, my voice is hurting, I need a break.’ So we played two minutes or three minutes. Then two days later his throat was all sore and he could hardly talk, and we ended up playing it ten minutes at the end, just jamming.”

Collins and Rossington refined the outro, while pianist Billy Powell contributed a soulful intro. The band then headed to the legendary Muscle Shoals studio in Alabama in 1973 to record what was intended to be their debut album, ‘Pronounced ‘Leh-‘Nérd ‘Skin-‘Nérd’. Shortly afterward, Billy Powell officially joined as the band’s keyboardist. And on tour, the band played most of the time with Al Kooper’s organ playing.

In later interviews, Gary Rossington revealed that record company executives initially thought the song was too long and “wouldn’t get any airplay,” insisting it “needed to be shortened to 3 or 3-1/2 minutes for radio.” The band was also told, “Why would you ruin a pretty song like that with a wild ‘LSD-type’ ending?” Rossington said the band stood firm and refused to alter the song’s length, stating, “We weren’t changing our ways, hell no.”

Now, we have an almost flawless 10-minute version of Free Bird, featuring nearly five minutes of exceptional, endless-sounding guitar solos. In addition to Allen Collins and Gary Rossington, the band also had Ed King on guitar, which gave the band the freedom to have long guitar jams. And it’s true that when I listen to Free Bird, I feel like the bird will fly away forever and never stop.

Free Bird eventually became a hit in 1974, more than a year after its initial release. Today, more than decades after the tragic death of Ronnie Van Zant in a plane crash and since Allen Collins, the song’s original writer, died in a car accident, Free Bird remains Lynyrd Skynyrd‘s defining anthem — a timeless pillar of classic rock. What could be more romantic than roaming the streets like a free bird flying to faraway lands?

The song was dedicated by the band to Duane Allman (the founder and original leader of the Allman Brothers Band) during their live performances. During their 1975 performance on The Old Grey Whistle Test, Van Zant dedicated the song to both Allman and Berry Oakley (the bassist of the Allman Brothers Band), commenting that “they were both free birds”.

Free Bird has traditionally been Lynyrd Skynyrd’s closing song for their live shows. After the death of Ronnie Van Zant, his brother Johnny had difficulty performing the song because it was so emotional. At first, he sometimes didn’t sing and the band played it as an instrumental while the crowd sang along to the lyrics. Johnny Van Zant first sang the song during the 1991 Lynyrd Skynyrd tour in Baton Rouge, where the band had been in 1977 when several members had died in a plane crash.

And the bird you cannot change,
And this bird you cannot change,
The Lord knows I can’t change,
Lord, help me, I can’t change.

For a long time, I didn’t really understand what “the bird you cannot change” meant. But now I do. I’ve realized that once I choose to live like a free bird, nothing in this life can truly hold me back. A free spirit can’t be tied down or controlled. Even in love, even with deep connection, that longing for freedom doesn’t fade. It’s not just a refusal to change — it’s also a reminder: don’t try to change me, because I won’t.

Obstinate or not, perhaps time will tell.

This verse follows the G – D/F# – Em progression, which gives it a soft, introspective feel. The unexpected appearance of the F chord (outside the main key of G Major) adds a touch of bluesy color, making the melody stand out in a subtle yet powerful way. And the more I return to it, again and again, the more the song begins to reveal itself, not just in sound, but in meaning.

Everything seemed to fall apart as Ronnie Van Zant’s vocals died down. Then suddenly, the guitar burst forth, not gently, not slowly, but with a ferocious force that grew faster and more intense by the second. It wasn’t just a solo, it was an emotional explosion, a storm that lasted nearly four minutes and never let up.

That final solo is more than just famous — it’s unforgettable. A flawless blend of skill and soul, weaving together alternate picking, hammer-ons, pull-offs, and the wailing slide guitar. But when you’re caught in the middle of it, you’re not thinking about technique. You’re swept up in the chaos. Every instrument seems to collide, twist, and rise together, stretching your ears to catch every thread of the melody.

I could barely breathe. The momentum was overwhelming, but instead of draining me, it filled me with something fierce and alive. It was like being handed pure energy, as if I could walk forever, no matter how far, with this song as my heartbeat and the world wide open in front of me.

I just want to scream Free Bird at every music show, even if it’s not a Lynyrd Skynyrd show, like everyone else did.

Nothing can stop me from burning through the miles with Free Bird playing in my ears. Not fatigue in my legs, not the weight in my head. Even when everything feels clouded, that song keeps me moving, like it knows the road better than I do.

I’ve told the people close to me, only half-joking, that when my time comes, I want certain songs to be played. The Man Who Sold The World by Nirvana (cover from David Bowie). Down In A Hole by Alice In Chains. And now, without a doubt, Free Bird. Let them express me the way I lived, fueled by sound, conveyed by something greater than words.