Peace. That calm, quiet, blue feeling of understanding we look for when chaos surrounds us. That edge of darkness with a sliver of light on the horizon drawing our gaze eastward and our thoughts upward in search of answers to questions in the book called Our Life. I have a lot of questions.
So I stand, feet firmly on the ground, waiting for a stiff breeze to sway me. Even a stiff drink would help.
Some days the wind of change doesn’t blow hard enough. Seasons will change and we can feel the difference, but does it make a difference? Time keeps ticking, but what time is it, really? Sometimes the best gauge we have is our gut. We surely wouldn’t lie to ourselves, would we? So I stand, feet firmly on the ground, waiting for a stiff breeze to sway me. Even a stiff drink would help.
I often fan the pages to this book of mine instead of appreciating each and every word printed upon them. Rather than a quick glance or skipping pages altogether, I should allow myself the time to absorb the story as its told. After all, it is about me.
I’m not sure if it’s the age of which I find myself or if it’s that point in the year when I need the annual kick in the pants to bring me to my senses. But its time. Time to turn a few pages, stop looking at just the pictures and get busy. As the weather changes in favor of riding motorcycles, we will soon forget about all the days we didn’t ride.
Have you read a good book lately?
Road trips can change you. The more time you sit in the saddle watching the miles go by, the horizon change and the sun move from one spot to another, you realize you are getting closer to something as you move further away from where you started. As the scenery changes so does our frame of mind, and as we stop and mingle with the locals, we realize we are all the same no matter where we’re from, and they are just as curious about us as we are of them. “Where are you from” is the universal question, but it really means “I wish I had a motorcycle like you.” We know deep down we will probably never meet again, so we say our goodbyes until the next gas stop where we start a new conversation about our origination and destination.
Reflections about days gone by and past trips come to mind, as well as images of people we’ve known our whole life and those we’ve met along the way. They become clear as the sky above us. Who we are and who we want to be is a constant knot in our head but it all seems to untangle on the road and sort itself out. The greater the distance we ride, the longer we have to sort the dirty laundry we call our life. It’s easy to say that when every trip ends we are neatly folded, with a clean and fresh outlook on each and every day. At least until the clothes hamper gets full again.
” The greater the distance we ride, the longer we have to sort the dirty laundry we call our life.”
We are determined to make each mile count because as all trips start, they too will end. “If only I had one more day” or something along those lines always seem to escape from our lips. No one hears it so it just seems to get lost somewhere on the way home. Where does the time go? A week at work lasts what seems like two weeks in non-motorcycle time, but a week’s vacation is like a weekend off. Every road trip takes us through a time warp where clocks stop and days disappear right before our eyes, only to reappear during the work week. Ah, so that’s where they go.
So as we get closer to whatever it is that is pulling us away from the everyday life we live, we know, that at some point that everyday life will win. We return to a normalcy we so tried to outrun; to a place where time didn’t matter and the water tasted different. Boy, do I need to do laundry.
The need to get there. You know…over there. Someplace you are not. We bikers are real bad about that as we are constantly searching for the “new” perfect road. Even as we travel the same old boring rides over the years, there is a pit in our stomach that there might quite possibly be a more perfect way of getting there. You know…over there. Better trees, curvier curves, more scenic bridges and more hilly terrain. I think you get the idea. And so the search continues.
Just when we think we’ve found our utopia, we realize it’s just not enough. Like a kid is to sugar, we bikers are to scenery. Our drug of choice is the feel of the wind and the sound of our bikes as we ride down another less congested highway to somewhere we’ve never been. Sounds easy right? Right. But life can be that way. We should always be searching or at least looking around with our head up instead of walking in circles looking at the ground. We should be wanting to discover things and places we have never experienced. Some people do and others…well, do not.
I must admit when I take on a new day I’m just as much in a rut as the next person. But once in a while I do wander out of my little world and take life on. It’s exciting to be somewhere new and to talk to new people, experience new things and make some new memories. But the searching I speak of is different. It is the horizon that we just can’t get to. It’s always just over the next hill. You know…over there. It’s that constant drive and curiosity that keeps us in motion. And besides, what would we do when we get there?