Life Goes On...

Well, it's been a week since my slide on the Bandit. I am leaving her parked until I have time to read up on diagnosing blinking "FI" (Fuel Injector) lights and riding Burt, my 2003 Honda Shadow Spirit VT750dc, instead.

Anyway, it's very cold and wet outside, but riding in mid-November weather around here seems to bring quite a few smiles and waves from the folks around. Funny stuff.

Having been riding the Suzuki Bandit 1250s for so much of this summer/fall, putting on nearly 5000 miles in just a few months, has made me really clutch and throttle "shy". I got so used to her super-sensitive chip-boosted EFI throttle response and her hydraulic clutch, that I kind of forget what a basic 2003-era carbureted bike with a manual clutch and 500 fewer cc's is like.

In a word: FUN!

With Burt the Shadow, I don't have to worry so much about cranking the throttle open and then holding tight with both knees as the bike tries to throw me off. I also don't have that weird "clutch-hop-thing" as I do with the Bandit, when her hydraulic clutch pulsates and surges repeatedly after she's been sitting in warm neutral for a while.

In brief, it's a lot less work to ride this bike. Obviously Burt's just not as powerful and is also a bit heavier than the Bandit, but that also kinda makes him a bit more fun. Because I just don't have to be as thoughtful about throttle and clutch response, riding becomes a lot more about what's going on with the road and the environment and traffic. I can just crank on the throttle and he zoom's up to a respectable 70 or 80 mph pretty quickly, but it's not like the Bandit, where anything near full throttle opens her up and simultaneously lighten's up the front tire and puts me into triple digit speeds in the blink of an eye.

Given the slippery roads and crosswalks and tar snakes all around right now, and the piles of leftover salt and such from the last snowfall that I'm trying to avoid while riding, moving around with the Shadow is probably the "smart choice" anyway.

[ For what it's worth, I now find myself posting my inside leg subconsciously whenever I take a sharper turn or see any kind of questionable road surface, even with this much-tamer Honda... I guess one low-side (ever) is enough for me, thank you very much...  :-]

First Low-Side...

OK... I almost low-sided on the oiled gravel this summer, and thought to myself for a long while afterwards 'Hey, I'm keeping this bike upright forever!'

Well, so much for that idea.

I know they say, if you ride long enough, you're gonna crash, but I was hoping to get at least a couple years of riding under my belt before my first wheels-up moment. Was not meant to be, I guess.

First, the good - it was a pretty 'easy' low-side accelerating from a stop onto a mall-area street off a coffeeshop driveway. Since I was accelerating, the bike and I traveled quite a ways together until I kicked my trapped right boot out from under, then we both slid to a stop, probably 25 feet of 'sliding fun' in all. Luckily, I also didn't have to contend with traffic, I accelerated into a blank traffic 'pocket' and no cars really threatened me until I could pick the bike up (my Bandit 1250), mount, and paddle-walk to a nearby bank driveway - she wouldn't start back up on the street, I tried and tried.

I was also lucky that I was fully kitted out (ATGATT-promotors will smile) but really mostly because it was in the low 30's outside and I had layered up for a cold day of riding, not because I was planning any long trips or going any kind of distance on unfamiliar roads. I had ridden this same coffeeshop and mall run probably at least 50 times earlier this spring/summer/fall and I was only a few miles away from home. Those fancy new riding jeans (Bull-it SR-6 on clearance from Revzilla) now have a big hole ripped into them, and my riding boots took quite a grinding.

But again, all that better than my skin and bones doing the work of slowing me down. I got a mild road rash underneath where the riding jeans and "Bull-it" lining finally wore through to the skin, but nothing worse than if I had been sliding into home plate.

As for the Bandit, my favorite bike and the one I ride probably 75% or more of the time - she was thankfully sporting both her steel cruising pegs (engine-guard mounted) and her soft bags, so she came away with nothing more than a shredded and twisted up right peg and a busted right turn signal, even after grinding away on the asphalt for a solid 25+ feet.

Phew.

I'll diagnose what happened a bit later on, but honestly I still have no clue. One second I was accelerating onto the (clean/dry) street and starting to lean into an easy righthand turn, and the next second I was on my side with my right boot dragging me along for the ride until I managed to kick out.

I do know that as soon as I kicked out from the bike and was sliding to a stop above it, I could see the "FI" light blinking. I don't believe the motor ran at all during the whole slide, I just saw the back wheel spinning to a stop. I did eventually get the Bandit started after a whole lot of tries (full power-off & power-on tries) and then rode it home without further incident, so really, I have no clue why it went down at all.

Snowy Fall Riding

So much going on now. The bike calms me down and centers my attention, and any patch of roadway that isn't ice covered is going to see me riding that day.

Fall Up North

It's been a couple weeks without riding spent living in the mountains of Colorado. We just got back two days ago, so yesterday I decided to take a long early ride way up north and spend my workday on the north shore of Lake Superior. I missed everything about riding a motorcycle. Being in a car no longer seems "fun", no matter the ride or the road.

I'd rather be on a bike, that simple, especially on days like these. I loaded up, dressed the part, and steered the Bandit north with the sky a dark grey.

The early morning climate was bitingly cold at our give-or-take 90 mph, and what remained of the night air still held enough moisture in it to wick heat away from my many layers of protection. I bit down hard and bore the sting in my fingertips and the cold on my neck until the sun crested high enough to bring warmth back into my world.

The Bandit hummed along reassuringly on the northbound interstate, and we quickly found our 'scenic' route (route 23) about a hundred miles later, taking us in at a northeast angle to the lake and immersing the both of us in early morning fall colors and a landscape beyond description.

Reaching the lake brought a change in tone again, Duluth is an industrialized harbor city near the southwest corner of Lake Superior. Large superstructures and winding urban-jungle-worthy roadways dominate the harbor scenery. Long gone were the twisties through falling oak and maple leaves leading up to this point. Once past the harbor town, though, the road quickly returns to scenic, with hundred-foot maples, elms, and pines on either side of scenic 61 as it follows the coastline towards Canada. Just lovely.

I spend my workday in a small harbor cafe talking to the locals about life up north. They are happy and excited that fall is here. They talk to me about the beauty of this day and bemoan the long snowy winter ahead but the corners of their mouths turn up as they do, reflecting a kind of silent smile that the commotion of the busy spring/summer/fall will soon be supplanted by the calm, inward, reflective time that winter brings here.

On the ride back, the Bandit and I stray from the interstate for a while and find a long grassy path to nowhere that is pointed in the right direction (due west) for us to take in the looming sunset. The Bandit's smoothing street tires are really not up for the grass and mud, we are still very far up north, and the rest of the ride back to the city will be a 140 miles of dark and moonless interstate. But none of that matters right now. I feel like I want to soak in all the colors of the day I've spent up here while I still have the chance.

The sunset doesn't disappoint, its changing and bursting oranges and deepening blues slowly hue the sky into a dark sleep. A biting wind starts up with the sunset, and I take long swigs from my thermos of lukewarm coffee. I spend the next three hours riding back home on dark roads, avoiding deer and road hazards, leaning into the growing crosswind and fully satisfied by the day.

In Motion

In motion the world seems to make sense. People moving. Animals moving. The sky and wind and rain and stars, all moving. The planet itself. And me and my bike.

As I ride today, both the Bandit for an early morning run to the downtown farmer's market, and later on the Shadow, cruising to a nearby park to think about and write this, I have to wonder - I really don't understand why our world has been allowed to become this way. Why as a species we can't or won't develop a more harmonious way to deal with one another, the planet, our environment, and other species.

Everything is such a struggle today, but being in motion this way is effortless. The bike and I take deep long breaths and growl at the wind as we carve our path into the various highways around this city I currently call home.

It's all such a crazy mess, but being in motion calms me, and nourishes this meaning-starved existence in no small measure.

Challenging People

Life is hard.

It's easier with a bike under me... The ride makes me center myself in the present moment despite the whirlwind of emotional tornados hurling and whirling around the folks in my life.

Despite my best efforts, I cannot fix or help other people, they have to do it themselves. Deer in headlights, some people cannot or won't help themselves, they'd rather freeze and crawl into a small hole alone and die.

The ride reminds me to just concentrate on me. To just be in this moment.

I find a park at sunset and call my dad. He's happy to hear my voice and I his. It's been a very long week and I have fielded a LOT of other people's hostile and frenetic emotional output.

The helpless need to help themselves for a while.

I'm tired.

Riding Days

Life on a bike - it's days like these, sunset rides to pretty places, that make me glad I'm traveling this way. There is something "effortless" about riding on days like these.

Parking the bike at a nearby park in the setting sun, I step off and give her fuel tank a strong pat of appreciation.

"Thanks for the ride", I say quietly to the Bandit.

City Sunset

Nice biking days yesterday and today. The heat of summer is back, the streets are sticky again and the riding is crisp and enjoyable. Watching the sunset directly ahead as I ride the city streets on a grocery run, I have already decided to ride as much as possible into winter this year.

Except for a layer of snow or ice on the roads, I don't see a reason to stop riding, especially for quick milk runs like these.

World View

I left at sunrise this morning, headed nowhere in particular though I did suit up for an adventure ride, backpack, thermos, laptop, full kit.

As I rode into the sun, I worked my way east through many stop signs and side streets, eventually wrapping south as the sprawling suburban scenery clashed with the northeastern boundary of the six lane. In that surprising corner, I found an industrial section with some very nice s-curves, six in a row, and I took them at speed and smiled the whole way through. Back in the suburban landscape and back on my route to anywhere, I thought about heading further towards the river valley, only a few miles east now, but decided instead to head towards a midtown lake I know well. I parked for a bit to take in the sunrise.

Joggers and strollers, a quiet morning, and still as the lake around here.

Curious about the contrast, I cut south towards the city again, working my way through an ever-converging urban network of roads into downtown St Paul. The Sunday morning traffic had started to come up by then, and I was competing with busses, church traffic, downtown taxis, and more. From there the Summit area, then University, following the bisecting trolley line, and then onward we explored, my Bandit and I, for another hour or two.

From this bike, it seems I can blend into the landscape of anywhere and visit for a while without their sometimes-harsh realities having the time to 'stick' to me. Poor areas, rich areas, in-between areas. My ride took me through all of them, and left me feeling privileged to have such a 'world view' from this saddle.

Joy

Since getting back from Colorado, most of my days have been filled with a lot of local riding in and around the city, running errands and where I can, doing longer rides between coffeeshop venues to get my work done. As a contract software developer, I work remotely, which is great. It means I can do my job anywhere. But on very busy days, it also means I am literally always carrying my job on my back, wherever I go, any time of day.

On my many shorter rides this past week, what time I had to reflect was spent on the meaning of life and joy. Really, if you've read any of my earlier blogs, you know that the motorcycle is a perfect vehicle for this type of reflection. This week's riding has not been any different. Many of my thoughts have drifted to this one underlying question: is joy the meaning of life? I keep getting that same message from many different sources, but really, is it that simple..?

I have talked a lot to both my parents this past week, way more than usual. My mom and dad are both in their 80's, getting up there but still mentally active and alive. But they are also tired, both of them. They have lived long and very adventurous lives themselves, together and apart, and I love to hear them both recall all their many stories, of life abroad, of travels to strange places that I will likely never see and seeing them in a way I may never see them.

I heard one of my favorites last week, of how they ran out of money in Germany, got evicted from the bedroom space they were renting, and moved into a campground and tent and ate sausage scraps until my dad got a good paying job. They both tell the story differently, but in both their voices I hear wanderlust; that same tone that says: "I was there, I lived then, I made it happen... I was alive then!"

And there is joy there also. A not-so-hidden smile in somebody's voice for the memory, and all the emotions that memory evokes.

Nowadays, their advice to me is exactly the same: seek joy, let things go, be alive and live your life well, do good, have fun, vibrate positively. All advice I readily accept as true. After all, they've been there, they've seen the world in a way and for a stretch that I haven't yet.

Joy it is.

The Ride

I had high hopes for this morning's run, a little on the chilly side but still a warmer morning than we've had for a week and still quite dry. Although I've been on my bike daily, responsibilities have kept my rides short. But this morning I was getting a pre-dawn start, and really looked forward to a long riding day ahead.

I put my helmet and skull cap on to break the lingering morning chill, grab my summer gloves and riding jacket but leave behind the thick riding jeans. I expected a hot weather day once the sun comes up.

That was a mistake, it seems. No sooner did I get 25 miles from home before the sky shifted into a light mist. I stopped briefly on an overpass to watch the morning traffic swell. Then I notice my face mask dotting up quickly and feel wetness through the tops of my Levis. Hmm. I move on.

It was a full-on downpour by the time I reached a local coffeeshop. The Bandit's torquey engine was breaking traction and the bike fish-tailing every time I shifted out of first with any hurry. Everything was slick. The streets had not seen moisture in a couple days and were a lot more oily than usual. I forced myself to slow down.

Although it was still a half hour before they opened up, the very kind young woman behind the local coffeeshop counter, who knows my familiar face, let me stay. She even delivered me an espresso as soon as the machine warmed up. "Thanks," I say to her, now very cold from the watery wind-blast. Soaked to the bone and add, a bit sheepishly, "it's a little moist out there."

She smiles a pleasant enough smile, but "Who in their right mind would ride in this weather?!" is the thought her smile says back.

She's right, of course.

Sometimes, though, the best place to work out everything from irksome thoughts to big life decisions is (at least for me) in motion. In fact, if I were to pick a gravestone slogan for my own immemorial, it would be just that, in all capital letters:

"IN MOVEMENT IS TRUTH"

The "ride" is that place where each bit, each second of travel, and each acceleration, and every shift, and every lean and angle... where all of that is both expression and reflection. It expresses my mood and effortlessly explains it back to me. It becomes a moving meditation and a "life mirror" of sorts, like a wave stirred up on the silvery smooth surface of an otherwise still pond. It blends man and machine and situation and thought into one fluid train of movement and expression.

The more I ride, the more I understand other forms of how I've been seeking this reflective state over the years. Climbing brings me to that same meditative place. Running, skydiving, flying, and other activities I've been involved in do also. The "ride" that I'm talking about doesn't mean just on a bike.

So far as I can tell in looking back, my life has been mostly involved in the never-ending pursuit of this truthful space that defies a better explanation or even a reason why. For me, and for a few others I've met along the way, it's about living life expansively forward, and finding meaning along the way.

Rainy Eclipse Day

Back in the city again. Weird energy today, almost like the air is hard to breathe. It's been raining on and off, and we're supposed to have the solar eclipse later this afternoon.

I miss the mountains - not the mountains themselves, but the fresher air and cleaner water.

I know I'm riding a machine made of rubber and steel and plastic and powered by decomposed ancients. I know none of this is 'natural' in the real sense of that word. But having so much asphalt and concrete and power lines and towers and buildings in my view - I miss the green and blue.

Time to leave the city. It's been that time for a while, now.

Big Picture

Every so often, life grants us an unlimited view of the ground below. Maybe that's the appeal of climbing mountains - it's not just the challenge, not just the height or thrill, but also the perspective it lends us for a while.

It was a long week here in the mountains of Colorado and, although I accomplished most of the things on my to-do list, I am ready for home. The Bandit and I have gone exploring every day we've been here. Still, in keeping to these mountain-locked river valleys, the people and the scenery have all started to blend into the same predictable landscape.

It's my final afternoon here. It was time for something different.

The Bandit and I were going to climb - as high and as far as we could go until we ran out of either altitude or met the halfway point on our fuel tank. We pick a random road leading from a tiny mountain town that seems to head skywards, and begin our long journey. No maps, no GPS, just fuel and the windy twisty road ahead and gravity, the roar of my engine, and the occasional ear-pop to let me know that we are still climbing hard.

I absolutely loved the twisties that lay ahead. Bending deep into each one and savoring the fluidity of motion, the finely balanced motorcycle beneath my seat, and feeling the delicate play of inertia and momentum, we blur past scary-looking drops and switchback our way up to the inevitable mountain pass.

Eventually, we run out of high places to reach for and I pull off onto a gravel trail that seems to run the ridge line that we are now skirting. I take in the incredible views, still stirred to excitement from the adventure of the fine road, behind and below us now.

As I marvel at mountaintops and at life up high, I think about how hidden this 'grand view' is while stuck in the day-to-day rummages of life in the valley far below. I also consider how different this grand perspective on everything below really is, and how important.

Without perspective, we are no better than fish, lost to our immediate surroundings and immersed in the tumultuous river of daily living. We may make some forward progress that way, but will lack direction. We may solve problems, but their scope and scale will be diminutive compared to our unspent potential. And the meaning of it all will stay, like the ever-distant horizon, just out of reach.

Some folks throw their hands in the air and leave life up to God, to fate or destiny, or random luck. Some grab and greed after every last dollar. Some are so afraid of unknowns, they turn themselves into miserable control freaks. Really, all that bother and barbarism is just coming from a lack of perspective - not knowing about or caring to see the bigger picture.

Having the right perspective, even striving hard to achieve it... I think it's worth the effort. Then, although we will still find ourselves buried in the turmoil and trudge of daily living, it's easier to figure out what's really important (or not) to us. We'll also have a pretty good idea where all that effort and struggle will lead, and if it's really worth it.

My advice - go climb a mountain every once in a while, metaphorical or otherwise, and take in the view.

Mountain Biking

The Bandit and I started our morning on a nearby mountain, waiting for the sun to come up high enough to take the chill out of the cold morning air. We had just climbed up past 8000 ft and got to a nice trailhead stop, but the air kept getting colder up high and, in the shadow of the looming treetops and mountains, it was a losing battle to stay warm.

Still, it's a nice way to start the day, with views like these.

Once we begin feeling the warming effects of the sun's morning blaze, we wind our way down the mountain again. As we approach 'civilization', with Euro-style street lamps and No-Parking-Anywhere signs (alongside million dollar mountain huts), I park for a moment to wonder what it would be like to live here full-time.

Only a few seconds later, the Bandit's engine roars to life again and we descend rapidly towards the ski village below.

Even if I could afford to live here, the price would be too high.

Human Doings

The Bandit and I took several rides early this morning. We ended up at a local mountain coffee shop where I filled my thermos with good coffee, and then headed out to put a few more miles on. I rode out again just as the sun was brightening the backdrop of mountains and sky. A very cold start today, in the low 50's. The coffee was a welcome addition to my ride.

I stopped several times to take in various aspects of gorgeous scenery and to sip warm brew. The summer gloves I have on are barely keeping my fingers warm enough to ride, but I tolerate the cold bite of an early fall to keep riding through this pictoral landscape.

Around noon I take another ride around, staying within the valley confines this time and avoiding the roaring interstate that cuts this place in half. Even so, I quickly tire of the constant smell of diesel and gas washing into my helmet off the four-lane buzzing above me, and descend down a gravel road and into a local camping spot by the river.

As I leave the Bandit and my gear parked on the gravel and work my way up an invitingly-obvious bouldering route, I consider the difference between 'being' and 'doing'.

Everybody runs around this place doing everything they possibly can and treating the mountains like their own personal playground, a thought I've heard from many locals, many times now. But really, for all that running around, people just don't seem a lot happier here than in any of the other city or rural places I ride back home.

I don't think happiness is a by-product of doing - it can't be. Doing something you love can make you happy while you're doing it, but that just doesn't stick. Happiness is a state of being, not doing. It's the who-you-are-when-nobody-is-looking that makes you happy (or not) and keeps you happy (or not).

As humans, we all get so focussed on doing. We forget that we are not our work, our hobbies, nor any other 'activity'. If you don't do the inside work needed to be happy - really happy... well, then all the running around you do isn't going to mean a damn thing, and you'll still be a miserable cuss of a human.

Putting the 'being' back in human being takes a lot more guts than jumping off a cliff or climbing any mountain or riding any trail, but it's worth it.

The "High"

The Bandit and I are getting along famously here.

I don't know if it's because she was a used Colorado bike when I bought her, or if she just likes these roads and breathes better up here, but she is really comfortable to ride at this altitude. Her TFI-tuned EFI overrides don't feel nearly as ferocious.

As I ride, I keep wondering about this place, what draws people here.

Interstate 70 is a constant thunder, a roar in the backdrop of "the valley". I see nameless hoards of yoga moms and avid bicycle folks in matching spandex and fleece. I ride past countless climbers on roadside crags and lots and lots of look-a-like fly fisherfolk casting away. I also see a disturbing number of (mostly empty) million dollar mansions pasted onto a once-pretty mountain, just like lookout towers. And every third car I ride past has either an ethnic work crew or an airy price tag.

And yet, with all this activity and all this wealth here, nobody seems happy except the simple folk. The ones who serve coffee or make sandwiches and get high every night they can afford to, they seem just fine. All the rest (and I do mean ALL the rest) of the folks who live here seem like they're stuck somewhere between a nightmare and a daydream.

That's saying something about this place, I'm just not sure what yet...

Colorado Rockies

Riding Colorado. Sweepy canyon runs and red cliffs and views and twisties galore.

High Colorado is not a place I would ever live (awesome geography but I'm not a fan of the attitudes around here) but still, it's one hell of a place to ride.

Adventure Is

Adventure is where you find it.

The Bandit and I just put over a hundred miles on of incredibly beautiful travels. We launched into Wisconsin while the sky was still dark and wound through very sweet country roads, filled with gas and coffee at a local station, and then launched again into the deep overcast gloaming of the morning sun.

By the time we got back into more familiar reaches and crossed the St Croix, I felt alive again and ready for the daily grind. Our morning adventure across immeasurably beautiful country landscapes, back county dirt and gravel roads overhung with old trees, and the occasionally surprising bit of windy country tarmac... well, it filled both our tanks full.

Sitting here by the river sipping coffee, listening to gulls call out and watching the rising sun and clearing sky, I am very aware just how much adventure is... is as essential to me as breathing.

Sunsets

The sun sets on everything.

As I see my old husky dog getting older and weaker, as I watch both my mom and dad wither with age, and even as I feel my old bones tired from the adventure-filled life we've lead and my beautiful wife with her face and her smile, I feel privileged to have risen with the day and be here now, in this moment, writing these words.

I have no idea where the road of life will lead me next. I have no idea when either of my parents will move on to their own next-great-adventures. I enjoy each conversation with them now, each recalled moment, every story they share, every laugh we laugh together.

All I know is that I am honored to have shared the road with some people, and will miss them when they are no longer riding alongside.

City, Country, Other...

We currently live in the city. Not quite the downtown area but a couple rings removed from there. The downtown is maybe 10 minutes down the road, so is the university, so are the various ethnic areas, etc.. It has positives and negatives.

But riding in the city and out to the country and covering lots of the ground in-between this past summer has really given me a lot of perspective on the way this part of America is put together and what kind of folks live here.

Downtown, for all its pollution, noise, and crime, is also home to the elite set and young go-getter types who just don't care. The university district just outside downtown is like Land of the Lost, with young hopefuls ranging from serious and studious to painfully pierced and tatted. Their stories and hopes and dreams are all there, etched in their "sidewalk faces" as they power walk the city streets.

Riding out from there are a nested series of concentric rings of increasing wealth, like some kind of dress-pants-required gladiatrial suburban combat arena. Lexuses and Range Rovers and a slurry of rageful Beamer types occupy these spaces, and they daily fight it out for slots in the ever-growing crawl of traffic, driving like they're always 'late for something very important'.

Finally, riding out, the landscape starts to flatten and the good country folk take over (or they never left :-). Simple people, simple lives, but even here the class system seems divided among congregations and acres owned and old family names. The "simple" life doesn't seem so simple anymore, as small towns try to balance high taxes and low incomes and keep things going. Lots of meth and drugs and drugged-out types around here, and I ride past lots of bank foreclosure stickers and run-down farms, and feel lots of hidden agendas.

The failing rural economy also seems like it's pushing anybody with a patch of land into government hand-holding programs and corn production. Or maybe it's just greed. Insanely, our government plants and then buys back corn that nobody can eat just to add ethanol to fuel that doesn't need it while using more energy and doing more environmental damage than the whole process is worth. And non-food GMO corn has literally taken over the entire rural landscape. It's crazy and it's planted everywhere I ride.

In short, the world (everywhere) is kind of a mess right now.

Nobody has it "figured out", despite how much they claim to the contrary. Sure, some areas may appear on the surface better than others, but every spot has its plusses and minuses. From richy-rich suburbs to big-city slums to piss-poor rural towns, and everywhere in-between, I've noticed that life and people seem to collect and live in "pockets". Some pockets are bigger than others, but they are all not without good and bad to varying degrees. And no place is "best".

As I ride now, I guess I'm more of an observer than a passer-by. I travel more intimately through these pockets of people and places, and I see and interact and feel a part of them in a way I didn't before. I'm starting to pay more attention to the world now that I'm focussed more on the journey than the destination. Or maybe it's just an age thing...

No place is perfect or has it all figured out, at least none that I've found. It's just like Buckaroo Banzai said: 

"No matter where you go, there you are." 

Onramps

It's a quiet Sunday ride this morning.

Whereas the ride yesterday was surrounded by big city frenetics and buzz and noise, this morning the whole world seems silent and still.

The Bandit and I launch into a zig-zag route east and north and east again, just winding into and feeling the unending asphalt beneath us and breathing in the moist morning air. The onramp for the highway soon beckons and so we launch onto it...

The sun is cresting now, burning its way into the eastern morning sky against a backdrop of leftover scuttle and cloud from yesterday's rains. The ramp and sky combine into a huge glowing mass of orange for a second, and I think about what this onramp represents.

It's both the end of one path and the beginning of another. It offers a gentle but sure transition, an opportunity for a gradual shift in direction and perspective, and yet it also represents a certain kind of commitment. Just like any major life change, it will cost some amount of time and fuel and effort traveling in that new direction before being given the opportunity to pick another.

Sometimes life's onramps lead you in a direction you never intended. At times that onramp is exactly timed and placed to take you to untold surprises and adventures, positive changes and beyond.

And, sometimes, that onramp leads you exactly where you wanted and hoped to go - to a place you knew you were headed all along.

May you always learn from the ride and may your destinations be worth the effort...

Changes

Art mirrors life. Life mirrors art. I've heard it said both ways, and I think both ways it's probably true.

Riding is kind of like art and life combined into one fluid activity. It feels like an expressive motion, driven by free will and the forces of nature, and carved into the landscape of commotion and calm. It is your signature left on the scene of life - the unique path your brush takes on the canvas of road and trees and traffic and turmoil - and it's unlike anything else I've ever done.

This morning is moody, and I feel the brooding sky just waiting to unfold again.

I park by the water's edge for a while, looking over one of the many lakes in this state and feeling the strange temperament of the day ahead. The darkening sky envelopes the morning sunrise, and a few sprinkles start down again. Although the water and wind are both calm right now, I can tell it's going to be a fight later to decide which of the weather systems above me are going to rule the day.

Big change is ahead. Big change.

Growing in the Rain

Wet start to today - it was pouring so hard by the time I got on the road. Then the sky opened up and gave me everything it had. My helmet visor was impossibly wet and my vision of the dying rush-hour traffic was reduced to blurry glimpses between the squiggles and runs of water streaming down my face shield.

Even so, I felt a growing sense of comfort in this chaotic moving mass of wet metal and rubber and steam. Strange as it sounds, it felt a little like home.

And when I got to my morning coffeeshop destination today, I was actually a bit sad the ride was over. I overheard the coffeeshop girl, it's supposed to rain the rest of the day - guess I'll get my chance to ride the rain soaked streets again shortly.

But, for now, the coffee is hot and fresh and my riding jeans and gloves are saturated, so it's OK to stop for a while.

Riding in the rain is still challenging, but I'm kinda looking forward to moving through it... and to learning and growing from the ride.

Second Chances

Amazing riding this morning - sun shining and cool breeze on my way to the Northwoods, a place I like to at least start my day.

I heard a good story from my neighbor at National Night Out yesterday...

Our block "does it right", with fireworks, a candy piñata for the little ones, free drinks and chips and dips and brats and dogs for all. It's a celebration for the whole community, and something that brings nearly everybody out of their boxes for a bit.

As the evening turned to night, one of our neighbors I hadn't seen in a while told me how he died, several times in fact. He had just survived the famous "widow-maker" heart attack (a Left Anterior Descending / LAD coronary artery blockage). Not only that, even though he hasn't quit drinking or smoking, he's still lost over 40 pounds, and he came out of comma to find he had won the lottery and was going to be receiving a tidy sum every year for the rest of his life. No kidding.

Talk about a second chance!

Now the funny thing is, even though he swears he never saw "the bright light" or the "tunnel" or "any other f**king thing on the other side", ... even with all the tough guy talk, there was definitely a twinkle in his eye that said otherwise. There's a reason why he's still around, not just dumb luck. I really hope he gets that message clearly and really maxes out his second chance on life. 

I have worked (CPR, cardiac arrest protocols, etc) a lot of VERY dead people, and I can tell you, most folks don't get handed that kind of (re-) opportunity. It just doesn't happen very often.

Live it large, amigo - make it count.

Cheats and Scoundrels

Bikes don't lie.

Gravity doesn't tell fibs. Inertia - momentum, both very honest. Fuel and spark and wheels make magic happen - all very straightforward.

But people... unfortunately... people bend the truth and people lie. People make up shit. And it never ends well for them, but they continue to do it anyway. They spin webs and get caught in them. They say shit and end up smelling like it. They weave complicated stories and scream and shout when those stories collapse. They lie and cheat whenever it suits them and point and blame when those lies leave them exposed. They do all this because they don't have the one thing inside of them that counts the most. Integrity.

Truth is simple. Truth has legs.

Being straightforward and honest and having a high degree of integrity in everything you say and do. Meaning what you say, saying what you mean. Some folks may not like it - hell, they may judge the crap out of you for it. But that does NOT matter. You can still build mountains on that kind of predictability.

And the people that really count will love you for it.

Riders and Passengers

I've covered a lot of ground riding early mornings and evenings and lunch hours, and I've taken a lot of new roads to a lot of different venues in which to do my very cerebral day job. And yet, even with all those roads and all those miles, there is still something about the 'unexplored rest' that keeps me wanting to ride. Ride. Ride.

Every mile in the saddle, even if I've traveled that same mile dozens of times before, seems somehow new - reborn to me. Maybe it's not about the destination, it's about the present moment - about the ride itself as it unfolds and, with it, my experience and my own 'present moment' gets unfolded along with the ride.

Somehow riding parallels life, and with every ride I get to see that more and more. It's starting to make sense to me.

You can choose never to go anywhere. You can be a passenger or a driver. You can be a driver or a rider. At each level, life takes on an intensity and the penalty for deciding poorly becomes all too clear. But so do the rewards.

Some folks accept going nowhere, being stuck or anchored down by the prison of their own mind. Some crave adventure but prefer to be passengers, living life in the back seat. Now both driver and passenger can be on the same open road. But really, the passenger is still only a passenger, being driven forward by the whims of others, unable to contribute meaningfully to either the process or the outcome.

What about the driver behind the wheel? Sure, the driver gets to decide a direction, but stays entirely removed from the experience. Now I'm not talking about the elite race car driver or track racer. I'm talking about the other 99.9% of humanity, motoring along in glass and steel cages. Like all the overpaid corporate middlemen of today or trust funders living matchbox lives on mountain tops, most stay stuck in their head, stuck experiencing life while fully removed from (and often afraid of) the realness of it all. They look in rear view mirrors to see who's behind them, in side view mirrors to determine the competition, and through a windshield wondering when it'll rain.

Only the rider has both a say in where the open road takes them *and* is fully alive along the way, saturated by the experience in all its richness. Riding is independence and freedom embodied by an activity that empowers the will and liberates the mind.

Riding is not about the pursuit of happiness - it *is* happiness.

That's the difference. That's living. And that's also a lesson on how to live, regardless if you own a bike or not.

Even With ALL The Bad Drivers Out There...

... I'd still rather be riding than not riding. :-)

Blind to Motorcycles

I am learning a LOT about riding safely these days. Thankfully, the lessons haven't cost me anything but a little squirt of adrenaline. I hope they never will.

As I was taking a roundabout, a red 1990's minivan approached from the righthand side, just as I was midway through.

I made (or so I thought) eye contact with the driver and turned my head back towards my line of travel and started to straighten out when, quite to my amazement, I saw a flash of red paint and the hood of the minivan (a Dodge Caravan) out of my peripheral vision moving up on my right side about a foot behind the seat of my bike.

Instinctively, and purely out of self-preservation not conscious thought, I threw my right leg out of the way as its front driver's side quarter "rolled into" the soft saddlebag on my right. The minivan pressed the Bandit's saddlebag hard enough that I felt my rear tire "hop" a couple inches to the left, but I was otherwise balanced and managed to keep moving forward. The minivan screeched to a halt midway through the roundabout, I'm sure just as surprised as I was.

Now for the irony - I am waring my brand new Scorpion Exo-R710 florescent high-viz helmet with a florescent yellow high-viz Triumph jacket as well. How that driver didn't see me after looking right at me is completely beyond me. The whole incident left a bad taste in my mouth.

But honestly, before I could say "what the f**k?!", I was shoved and then rode out of the roundabout and continued along. The minivan and its driver didn't follow, don't know what happened to her.

Lesson learned: even though they are looking right at you, who knows whether a driver ACTUALLY see you or not. I was taught about "inattentive blindness" by Jason in class - now I've experienced it firsthand.

Not fun.

The Used-To-Be-A-Deer

Wanted coffee with a view this morning to take in the sunrise. Bandit and I picked our way through heavier-than-normal (for this time, anyway) traffic until we found a long empty stretch of highway and then followed that all the way to the river valley, watching the sky lighten and brighten and take on different hues as the sun crested the scene ahead of us.

Filled my thermos with coffee from a riverside cafe that I like a lot, then rode to a marina just north of town. The view was great and I let the rest of the sunrise unfold while sipping the warm excellent brew.

I sat for a long while, sun warming the morning chill away, legs dangling over the quiet river. I finish two slow cups before continuing the ride northward through about 25 miles of tree-lined two-lane to an area we've been considering moving to. A perfect morning by the river.

The ride to the north after that was mostly uneventful ... mostly.

I was riding third behind a large dump truck that had everybody blocked. The show was cruising along fine and I was patiently waiting my opportunity and turn to pass the truck. Without warning, the small Toyota hatchback behind the dump truck suddenly swerved directly into oncoming traffic, and sent the three oncoming cars reaching for the gutters and grass. Idiot. Behind him, the large F-350 pickup slammed on his brakes and I did the same, convinced that there was about to be a head-on collision. The dump truck never flinched.

Amazingly, nobody hit anything, but I was only about 50 feet from the F-350 at this point and still doing about 55 MPH. Then I saw why the hatchback swerved like a maniac.

Out from underneath the pickup came a huge pile of used-to-be-a-deer spread entirely across my path of travel. Guts and skin and bones and blood covered the road and a large section of the deer was directly ahead of my front tire.

With only a couple seconds to react, I grabbed a handful of brake and picked a line of travel between a femur bone sticking out to the right and the head of the unfortunate creature now in the gutter and rode the bloody painted line between the two. No problem, I rode through without incident.

But it did act as a reminder to live every day to the fullest.

That used-to-be-a-deer, obviously only a few minutes from having once been a living breathing deer, probably had no idea that today was the day it would no longer joyfully roam the trees and fields, smelling and chewing tasty leaves and grazing on the greenest grasses.

None of us ever really knows when that time will come, or how numbered our days may be.

When I was a firefighter and paramedic, that truth was in my face on a constant basis. Without that kind of daily work, the lesson grays a bit in my life but is still just as true.

Anyway, as my (very wise :) mom told me many times...

"Live today as though you're going to die tomorrow, but plan for tomorrow as though you're going to live a thousand years!"

True. Very true. Thanks Mom.

Instinct

Another rainy morning.

The Bandit and I left early with the sky still misting but after the bulk of the lightening show had spent itself and moved on. The roads were slick and puddle-ridden for most of our morning ride out towards the river valley. We stay on the side roads and parkways as much as possible, and take the major eastbound highway only in the final stretch, since the Dunn Bros I am looking for hangs off it.

The road is slick and I skid around a bit and bounce off a few puddle-covered road defects. Only so much you can handle at speed, though. There is a LOT of information to take in when riding in weather, from cars to intersections to road conditions and other potential hazards, all while looking through a rain-speckled visor that doesn't clean itself. So I quiet my noisy mind and let my intuition tell me what to watch out for and the ride smoothes out.

I did notice, as soon as I let my gut guide me, that my riding location changed a bit. Instinct took me towards the lane center and kept me maximally inside on speedy wet curves. I was hugging the inside of turns without really knowing why other than it felt better to be there than anywhere else.

Then my mind starting making noise again (well really, it never stopped :), and I connected the dots...

We nearly lost it on a slick oiled-and-pebbled road the other day. The road is slick everywhere now between the water and floating oil spots and rain-hidden surprises, but it's especially slick at the painted line edging the roadway. Keeping the Bandit to the inside of the turns for as long as possible is giving me the most asphalt to deal with traction issues before inertia and I run out of room. Staying mid-lane does the same on the straightaways.

The lesson? Trust your gut, quiet your mind, and you'd be surprised what comes of it.

Tucking In (The Non-Riding Kind)

Big storm clouds above, sky going green. I'm in my full kit, Triumph jacket and riding pants, boots, and gloves, so the storm itself doesn't bother me. On any other stormy day, I'd just keep riding... But today, I'm just not feeling it. Instead, I'm sitting in a local chain coffee shop on a big leather chair with a hot cup of medium roast just watching the storm crackle and roll in my direction.

Some days, it feels great to just tuck in. No, not the sport-riding-knees-in kind of "tuck in". I mean a comfortable chair, a warm cup of something, etc.. Those kinds of inside-looking-out days lend perspective to the times when we're in the thick of it, fighting the elements and the world to keep moving forward.

If all we know is battling the elements, the battle becomes all we know. If all we know is a life without adventure, then our life is missing something important.

It's good to appreciate the calm as well as the storm.

City Twisties

Even in the most surprising places, you can find nice little twisties in the city landscape. Found a few this morning.

Leaning over the bike and turning in on a nice tree-lined bit of asphalt on the way to start my work day always makes me smile.

Colder out. It feels like winter is here in mid-July today.

Perfect

One of those mornings that makes it worthwhile just being where I am, doing what I'm doing... No words needed.

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Night Moves

Friday night at 10pm and I'm wide awake again. My mind won't let me sleep. What to do?

Ride, of course. :-)

The night air rams into my side as a high pressure system blows in to clear out the mucky weather of the day before, pushing against me as I accelerate down the darkened 2-lanes headed nowhere in particular. I glide up onto the highway towards the river valley for a bit but the wind-blast is pretty ferocious now and I drop off again about ten miles down the road, pondering the events of the day and big decisions ahead.

Aside from the occasional bars sporting Harleys and choppers and a couple cafe racers parked here and there, nothing on the city streets really catches my eye. The bike and I cruise through several small communities and outlying suburb scenes. Eventually, I've sorted through the thoughts in my head and I turn us back towards home.

It occurs to me that this ride is kind of like a perfect mirror of itself, both in purpose and form.

I'm riding in the dark with an incomplete view of the world, and heading "out there" knowing that I'm leaving the comfort of bed and home for a while. Both intuition and curiosity guide my way, and my performance on the bike and streets keeps me safe.

At the same time, I'm trying to decide big life things with incomplete information and a limited view while still moving forward. It's also uncomfortable, and my intuition and interests are still trying to guide my way. My knowledge and skills and hard-earned wisdom, I hope, will serve me the same way.

Moving. Work. Family. The midnight ride helps sort out a couple of these, at least...