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...

Power

Carving through traffic this morning at speed, I wondered at the amazing design of this bike. Agile, nimble, and very, very powerful, and it's all right there, just waiting for me to flick the throttle open and pick a direction.

Without the bike, and I am good for (at best) a fast sprint for a mile or two before my resources are exhausted. But with the bike, being on the bike, its power transforms me... With the Bandit, I can fly and dip and turn and take myself almost anywhere I want. Its powerful design supports my journey - enables it.

Alone, I am a sole traveler slowly working my way across the landscape around me. But together with my bike, I am something else entirely, empowered and free to roam and ready for adventure.

Something about this rings true about my relationships with others these days.

I (personally) feel strong and capable these days, ready to take on the world and any challenge in it. And yet the more powerful and centered and capable I become, the more I seem to be given the challenge of helping others who are not where I am, or are not yet capable of what I am capable of.

I'd like to think this is just how life should be - the strong helping the less-strong through periods and in ways they cannot help themselves. The powerful helping the less powerful.

But looking around, life is actually quite brutal and unfair. The strong take and pillage and leverage from those less fortunate. The deceitful prey upon the trusting, and the wicked prey upon the weak. In my opinion, it's an epidemic failure of humanity to use power appropriately.

In stark contrast, my bike is also powerful. Very powerful. And although the Bandit sits quiet and still when it doesn't need to be anything else, she readily lends me her power anytime I need it.

In that same way, I try to lend strength to my friends and family to help them move through life's difficult periods. I care about people. My wife is an amazing woman, a reservoir of quiet strength and beauty, and I watch her do the same for her friends and family. And actually, as a former firefighter, I've been privileged to know a lot of people who use their strength to help others like that.

To me, at least, this feels like the 'right' use of power - and all of us moving through life, at one time or another, needs that kind of borrowed strength.

Mission-oriented

Well, I was having such a great riding day yesterday, right until I wasn't.

Rode early morning, worked my work day, then took off late evening on a mission to find a nice spot for us to have dinner out. I ended up cruising past several options, but the city's rush hour was in full swing and all the highways I would normally cruise up and down on without concern were then stop-and-go. And every route I tried, and tried, and tried - I kept hitting thick stop-and-go traffic.

But I was on a mission. So I rode onto and right back off the interstate as soon as I got to the next exit and ended up in downtown, and the traffic was still jam packed, with lane closures and traffic stops keeping everything crawling.

So now I'm distracted and very mission-focused, and I motored on until I could get a little breathing room between me and the line-ups of cars behind me and on either side and then turned down a cross-street that leads to a local wood-fired pizza place we like.

I never saw the oiled pebbles, freshly dropped and a couple inches thick in spots.

There were no "Loose Gravel" signs, no "Fresh Oil" signs, in fact no construction signs at all. Nothing warning me that the street I was turning onto wasn't just like the downtown street I was already riding on... I leaned in and started to turn the bike onto the connecting street at speed and within a half-second the Bandit started sliding sideways and tipping to the left.

As much instinct as desperation, I throttled back and started to bounce the clutch (I was in second gear) trying to regain some traction on the back tire to keep the bike upright while the Bandit sunk left onto my increasingly strained knee, my left boot dragging through the gravel and spraying me and the left side of my bike with pebbles. After a few tense seconds and a lot of left-leg pressure to keep the bike upright, I managed to regain control enough to fish-tail my way through the rest of the gravel and turn into the parking lot for the pizza place ahead of me. Thankfully, the car behind me slid to a stop as soon as they saw I lost traction. Only a few seconds after that, the Bandit was safely in the parking lot and I was filling my fountain drink with a shaky hand.

So life is like that - get too focused on the mission, you risk losing perspective on the big picture as well as other important details.

Sure, a street sign may have helped me but it's not the city's fault or anybody's fault but my own. I know full-well the risks I take when I try to navigate public roads on two wheels, and frankly I wasn't paying enough attention to the details to notice the change in street color/texture. My fault entirely, and I'm just glad I didn't have to set the bike down or pick oiled gravel out of my skin that evening.

I take it as a reminder to always keep the big picture in mind, even when I'm headed towards a goal. Pay full attention to everything and (like Jason Curdy at Full Throttle Academy taught our MSF class): "NEVER stop trying to make a bad situation better!"

Good advice in general, thank you Jason.

Beautiful Places

The rain broke late yesterday, leaving the roads mostly dry this morning save the occasional puddle. I topped off oil and sprayed a little chain lube and was out the door with the sun hanging low in the sky. No place to go, no destination, just exploring the world today hoping to run into experiences along the way.

As I moved through my ride east, then south, then east again, zig-zagging across patches of big-city metropolis interspersed with the occasional park or other green space, I started to notice the raw beauty of the 'tucked away' places. A large oak tree tucked under a bridge that has somehow survived the merciless tree trimming of city officials. A quiet meadow beneath the growing growls of traffic on the six-lane slab above. A still pond teaming with life jammed between two city lots. On and on, examples of life squeezed into the mayhem of what everybody actually calls 'life'.

Beauty is a funny thing. 

Raw beauty, a sweeping mountainscape with snow-capped peaks running off into the distance, is easy for anybody to appreciate. It's there. It's huge. It is what it is. But "subtle beauty"... you know - the soft kind that comes to you as much as a feeling as it does a place or person or thing in your view ... that almost seems worth something more.

Rain

I rode the Bandit morning, noon and evening yesterday in the sweltering heat. The burning sky never let up, it was in the 90's all day, morning through evening. I rode to my favorite coffee shop in the morning, finished my work day, and rode back in the evening to listen to a local Minneapolis band (The Nighthowlers - rockin' awesome). The heat made my sticky sport tires even more sticky. I was tilting her over to the pegs at every opportunity (just because I could :-) and never once felt the slightest "give" underneath me.

But today it's raining, and the morning ride out to a country coffeeshop was wet, wet, and more wet. My jacket and pants are soaked, my bike got a good rainwash, but I'm otherwise dry underneath. Made it to my next stop and will be continuing my work day here until the continuous soak slows down a bit...

Riding in the rain makes everything harder, and "sharpens" the ride. What yesterday was sticky as hell I can no longer take for granted. Wet tar snakes all over the road and the wet painted lines and crosswalks all refuse to let my tires stick to them. The constant rain on my visor dims my crisp view of potential deer crossings and road hazards, and in general, the whole ride becomes an exercise in focussed hazard avoidance.

Only after I loosened up the reigns and relaxed near my next stop, knowing I had made it through slick roads and a whole lot of wet and windy blind curves, did I realize that I was challenged by what I just road through. I felt that telltale tension/ache in my hands from holding onto the bike too tight and not riding in relaxed form.

What's more, I realized that a lot of my life is just like that ride - full of challenging periods that I only see after making it through. Sometimes, you can see them coming. I could have stayed home or turned around when I saw the dark clouds looming above, but I choose to take on whatever comes. Life gives us the same choice - sit and do nothing or take action and move on through. It does that with everything.

If (when) we make it through, the rewards really are instant. Relief. Perspective. Joy. Wisdom. Experience. Confidence. Being better prepared for future storms. But we only get those things if we take ourselves into uncomfortable situations and trust in ourselves enough to make it through.

Sometimes (but rarely) we have no choice at all. But honestly most of the time, we have to choose to ride in the rain. And most of the time, it's well worth the risk.

Partnership

Wet morning, roads a bit slick and a rainy start to the day. By the time I finished my long ride out to a new coffee shop I've been wanting to try, the morning sun was burning through the last of the rain clouds and pushing its way through, filling the whole east-facing shop (which is all windows with yellow and orange and white furniture) with this kind of over-enthusiastic-sun-shiny start to the day. But the coffee I'm sipping as I write this is great, with good background tunes and nice folks.

I spent my ride wondering about partnership. Life is about partnering with things, like this bike humming beneath me. Sunshine (my Bandit 1250S) fits me pretty well, but she's a spitfire for sure and still a lot of bike for me to handle. Factor in the EFI-overrides she came with from her previous owner and she's like an angry redhead, still surprising me a lot. I'm not sure we'll ever be completely compatible, but we're getting to know each other enough to make the partnership work for now. Familiarity and shared experience is bonding us together even if she's not the 'perfect' bike for me.

I've got two other bikes (yes, I know I've only been riding for a few months, but hey, they were inexpensive and I got them used), Burt (a 2003 Honda Shadow 750DC) and Lucy (a 1982 Honda Nighthawk cb650sc) and I like riding both of them, too. One is comfortable, the other a classic, but neither are the Bandit.

It seems we spend time, however long or brief, with all kinds of things just like we do with all kinds of people. And just like our people-partnerships, some things fit better into our life than others and some require a change in attitude in order to work right or get along with. And sometimes it's worth it, and other times it's not. Comfort and familiarity and acceptance are concepts that squirt grease onto our relationships with both things and people, but it doesn't really mean they were meant to last forever in our lives.

I know Sunshine and I are going to put a lot of miles on together (hell, we already have the past couple months). We will see a lot of pretty sunsets and sunrises and also face a lot of exciting mountain passes and bad weather and bad roads and getting lost and getting found, ... But is she 'the one' for me? Do all our miles together make that true, somehow, or are they just a bunch of shared experiences..?

Is there that bike out there that I'm just going to get on and ride and say 'wow, this bike totally gets me - this is the bike I've been waiting for!'..? Or am I just kidding myself?

Zen?

Early rides are the best.

Before traffic wakes up. Before people start to fight with each other for turning lanes and passing lanes and rights-of-way. Before life really starts. As a rider, you get the best of it all then - the gloaming sky, cracked open just enough to see well without cooking in your gear or being blinded out, the benefit of a big empty road, and the freedom to explore in any direction while the world still sleeps.

I like the sky this morning, still and overcast and brooding. The road's mostly dry, the bike feels rock solid and sounds great, and the new way I am trying out is sufficiently twisty enough to bring an instant smile to my face as the bike and I slip through the trees.

I remembered this line as I'm riding this morning from "Point Break" (the original) - '... it's that place where you lose yourself and you find yourself ...'. Sometimes, not always, riding brings you to that place for a few seconds. It never lasts, but when you're feeling that 'connected and present and lost' feeling all at once, it's unmistakable.

Is that Zen..?

That Riding "Thing"

OK, so it's been about 4 months and I've ridden one of my three bikes nearly every day possible since late February, logging nearly 3000 miles since then. It's been a whole lot of city riding but also some longer trips into the countryside and up north and lots of rides along river-tracking twisties near the St. Croix river valley in Minnesota and Wisconsin.

I didn't grow up on a bike - hell, it's always been "out there for me to try someday...", and someday turned out to be age 47. That said, I love it. Love everything about it. For road travel, it really is the only way I ever want to get myself from point A to point B again. And again. Again and again... :-)

Riding a motorcycle has a 'thing' that you can only get once you get competent enough not to worry about managing the motorcycle under you or dealing with the texting teenager driving 90 mph just inches away. You really have to get comfortable knowing that you can handle the bike and the traffic and road hazard thing, and when that finally starts to happen, riding seems to transform from 'a process' to 'an immersive experience'. I'm still getting there, but it's definitely feeling a whole lot less like work and more like... well... flying. Maybe that's the riding 'thing' I'm trying to get at. 

It really feels like the bike somehow straps invisible wings on your body and immerses you fully in the environment around you. The bike kind of disappears, the road and landscape and wind and rain and smells of trees and mud - everything - EVERYTHING becomes part of how you are moving yourself through life for a little while. Other cars begin feeling like stones in a stream, slowly tumbling along while you swim and dart whichever direction you want. Their form of travel feels heavy and labored. My travel feels light and like an expression of free will. Somehow as a rider, you start to become acutely aware of gravity, inertia, tilt angle, and it all just feels both natural and supernatural at the same time. I think this must be something like how a bird feels, able to launch itself into space at will and just go wherever it wants to go while taking whatever line it wants to.

By comparison, I have jumped (a lot) from airplanes and I fly them too, and yet, carving a powerful motorcycle through a curvy road at sunrise across a scenic landscape while the world sleeps exceeds all of that in so many ways. 

Not to take away from skydiving or flying, those are awesome experiences in themselves, and I love doing them, but riding is a whole different thing.

A riding thing...