Every morning, either Burt (my Honda Shadow Spirit 750dc) or Sunshine (my Suzuki Bandit 1250s) would launch into the pre-dawn gloaming. Usually it's Sunshine and me, and also usually, we point our noses east so that we catch full view of the delicate hues in the lightening sky as the sun crests higher. The show starts around 4AM these days, and every morning saw us on a different route, purposely launching into unfamiliar territory, just seeing what's out there for the sake of being out there.
By the time we leave the big city in our rearview and find ourselves immersed in countryside along twisting river-hugging or hill-hugging views, the "oranges" start. A faint burnt umber glow emphasizes the underbellies of any cloud, the striking contrast complements of the sky's big, blazing brush as it comes into view on our side of the planet again. Winding through turns on a bike and watching it all, it feels like a privilege to see the world wake up like this, as the experience wakes up my mind and body along with it.
On all days, slowly, the throng of traffic starts. Other vehicles begin merging into the flow, headed every-which-way. The sky puts away the morning show and drapes itself in blues and whites, and the day is officially "started" again.
On Tuesday, I used the morning to ride into Wisconsin and check out the flooded river valley. They just had a dam break and most of the other dams in the area are flooded over. The dam at Taylor's Falls had floodwaters moving right over top of it, at least a couple feet over it. The entire St. Croix river valley I rode across was flooded.
Trees living on the low-lying lands that pepper this part of the river were completely underwater along with their grassy island homes. Interstate and Wild River parks were flooded as well, and parking lots and buildings were partly or fully submerged.
I take in the beauty and the crush of too much water and marvel at the power of nature to do what it's going to do. I start that work day in Taylor's Falls, MN and finished it in Osceola, WI, and ride back with thoughts of floods in my head.
Yesterday, however, I spent the morning hours from pre-dawn to the start of my work day riding due north. I was headed to our farm in northern Minnesota and planned to spend my work day in Ely, a charming northern town on the border of BWCA.
Although I wanted to make it a slow-and-lazy 250 mile trip and come back the following day, there was an urgency to my ride. My father, 85 years old, who lives alone in California, has been sick, and my instincts are telling me I need to go check on him.
Although I could take Sunshine west and south to Los Angeles, from where I live about 2000 miles distant, I'm just afraid it would take too long and I'd need a lot of days to get there on bike. And so the morning ride up north was to a purpose: fetch my reliable old truck from the farm, park the bike, and continue west in a vehicle that I can sleep and work in.
I wrap up my work day in Ely, park the bike at the farm, and drive the truck back in the middle of the night. It's going to be a long trip to California, but worth it to spend time with my dad again while he's still around.
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