Cold Starts (Warm Hearts?)

The past couple days have once again dipped down into the 20's and 30's. Spring seems to have woken up the animals and the budding poplar and maple and elms are not being shy about their urgency to see the days grow warmer as they also grow longer.

Although it feels like it should be spring, there is still a lingering cold start to each day thus far that feels like tentacles from a long winter, refusing to let go.

Still, I am on my bike again, and my wife and I took a very cold evening ride two-up on Burt (my Honda Shadow Spirit 750dc) on Saturday. Warm days are coming for sure. We just have to believe that nothing unwelcome ever lasts forever.

The positive that seems to have come from all this is that every one of these good country folk seems equally haggard by how long and trying this winter has been. The temperaments I'm encountering as I wander about town are unexpectedly mellow and kind and warm. People here seem generously engaging with their smiles and concerns, but a lingering tiredness shows through chapped winter faces. 

Spring is about renewal, so maybe a deep winter challenge has made that overdue renewal that much more worthwhile..?

Regardless, another unexpected win from a motorcyclist's perspective: my ride into the coffee shop in downtown Ely to start my work day was completely bug free. 

That is one VERY welcome side-effect from these still-frozen nights. :-)

The Importance of Reflection

I left early this morning so I could start my work day at a coffee shop in the small town about 20 miles down the road. I park the bike on the gravel when I see one of our neighbors walking his dog, and we get caught up on the latest. His dog, it seems, took himself on his own 'ride' yesterday while his wife was busy transplanting garden asparagus. Ten hours later, an exhausted ghost of a dog showed up again on his doorstep, and this morning, she certainly seems all smiles and tail wags, no worse for the adventure.

As I say goodbye and fire the bike back up, the back tire spits gravel and spins out a bit as I rapidly accelerate onto the asphalt highway towards town, hoping to avoid forcing any traffic to slow down if they should round the curve and, surprise, find me entering the blind intersection. Up to speed, my attention immediately shifts to concern about deer. Multiple bikers have been killed on this very road in motorcycle-vs-deer accidents. I've studied these accidents and learned as much as I can from what I could gather from the media reports, but I'm still very acutely aware of the increased danger this particular backwoods-twisty-road-plus-forest-full-of-deer combination represents.

Quite contrary to what a lot of people who read these words may believe... it's not the 'thrill of danger' that keeps me riding here, it's a solemn respect for it, as well as a feeling of privilege that I am able to do what I chose do, ride where I want, despite this objective risk.

Of course, it's hard to think about any of that in the middle of the tire-screeching braking that happens when deer have (and continue to) run in front of my bike. It's only afterwards, upon quiet reflection like this, that it all makes sense again.

So I write this blog for myself, mostly.

One of my daughters may occasionally read something I write (usually because I send them a link), but mostly, this blog is for me to reflect and write about things in a way that I understand, and maybe only me. And that's ok.

My 'ride', whatever the vehicle, is expression in motion. It translates thought and presence into a linear trail (literally one of time and position), whether those miles are covered horizontally on a bike or flying a plane, or vertically on a skydive or climb. Any ride is, at least in part, a way of getting things out. And in doing so, it also becomes a life journal of sorts.

And then comes reflection.

I cannot imagine living life without sitting back and reflecting on what I learned along the way. Whatever your form of expression may be, look back on how that played itself out, and reflect on what you left behind, what it meant to you, each second of the way. Only then can your next ride be as good or better than the one that came before it. Each will always be different from the one before, but it'll also always then be better in some important way.

That is hard-won advice, if ever I had any to give.

Remembering to Live Again

I woke up listening to the early morning loons on the lake by our home. Our dog pretended to sleep at the foot of the bed while I got dressed, but as soon as I clicked the handle on the door he came running out, ready for our early morning walk in the woods.

We live in the Northwoods now, not far from the Canadian border and surrounded by one of the most pristine wilderness areas still in existence. Our dog drags his tongue out and he smiles in readiness as I tell him to wait, and lace up my boots. We both bolt out the door. 

The crispness of the day is not lost on me, and soon we are walking up the national forest (cross-country ski) trail just a few hundred yards from our front door. Bald eagles soar above the dog and me, and the lake is still and reflective of the budding poplars and pines in every direction. Loons swoon their morning song and song birds of every kind chirp and trill, as our part of this forest is in the middle of a primary songbird migratory path.

So I decide on the walk back that this would be an excellent 'first day' to ride. 

The weather this winter and spring has been rough, even by Minnesota standards. We spent a good month in January hovering around -40℉ lows, and -20℉ highs. And even though spring is here, and (at least on the calendar) it has been 'Spring' for a while, last week we woke up to 3 inches of snow (the northern Minnesota town of Duluth about 2 hours south of us got 10 inches).

Really, though, any of several days in the past couple weeks would have been good 'first days' to ride, but neither my heart nor my head would have been fully in it, so I kept the bikes parked and waited until both would be fully engaged. Not just for safety (though partly for that), but also to not take anything away from the ride ... to be able to fully enjoy the the exhilaration and the experience.

The thing is... I've forgotten somewhere in the past year, with the continuous stress of relocating and rearranging and moving our lives up here, and accommodating the very demanding needs of my mother, and planning and as yet being unable to go see my father again. And working like crazy, and... the physical toll all of this took on my health and general feeling of wellbeing... well, all that was a bit too much. 

I feel like I'm just now waking up from a dream, remembering who I am again, so that I can keep being that person.

I feel like I'm remember how to live again.

The bike is definitely helping. :-)