Life Behind Glass

More rain is coming as I ride into the brightening eastern sky. It's spring in full swing here.

The ride this morning in the brisk early air is responsive despite the wet streets from an evening and night full of rain showers. Sunshine and I are really loving these new Pilot Road 5 tires, very solid wet performance. The Road 4's they replaced tended to slop around on wet paint and tar snakes, but the Road 5's have "some" hold on even these nasty surfaces. I park and find a quiet spot to kick off my work day.

Sunshine looks good, even behind glass. But life behind glass ain't all that - life is about living, not watching. Sunshine was designed to integrate with her rider and move through challenges. She was definitely not meant to sit still!

I want to say something meaningful here, something about living versus watching life go by, but I really am forced to check myself after the long dinner and post-dinner conversation we had with friends/neighbors of ours last night.

Life is what you make of it - and what you think of it.

Each and every person gets to decide for themselves what makes them happy or sad, how they live or how they don't. That amazing freedom of thought and expression are privileges which this great country of ours exemplifies and promotes. It's something no other place in the world really has or promotes anywhere near as much as us Americans! Nowhere else, really, not like here.

But even so, most people choose a limited view of themselves, and then go on selecting reason after reason why that limited view is valid. "I'm afraid" or "sick" or "allergic", "too old" or "too young", "too weak" or "too strong", "too big" or "too small", "too pretty" or "not pretty enough", ... "I'm too important for THAT" or "I'm not important enough for THAT", ... "I'm too rich", "I'm too poor", "too classy" or "not classy enough", .... On and on.

On and on the people all around me (a) give themselves limitations and then (b) spend the rest of their waking hours in an ever-steady effort to justify them. It's like some horrible feedback loop of limitation and justification, of wound and wound-speak, of disfunction and validation. Everywhere I turn, people are boxing themselves up into countless labeled boxes, and then complaining about while also being comforted by their self-critical cardboard cages.

For a guy with (a) no fear and (b) no limitations, it's absolutely maddening to see the world around me and the people in it spending their waking hours this way. What a waste of human potential.

But I'm just a guy on a bike, not a wizard and not a fortuneteller. I don't know how people's lives are 'meant' to work out, or even if they are 'meant' for anything at all. And nobody knows best for me either, that goes without saying.

I just need to check into my and only my life and let others sort themselves out ... or not ... I guess I just have to learn to step back a bit.

Lovely Finish

Spent the evening hours carving seemingly endless turns on various country roads through the eastern border towns. Amazing riding, and an awesome finish to a long day and even longer work week.

Happy Friday to all.

Knowing When

Beautiful orange sunrise this morning but chilly again. I wore just a t-shirt beneath my gear and I instantly regretted it as Sunshine's speedometer indicated 60 mph and beyond. The cold actively siphoned away heat from my hands and core quicker than my body could replenish it, and so I aborted my 50 mile ride out to a new coffee shop in favor of a near-city favorite and called it.

Time enough for the rest of that ride later today, I thought to myself. The coffee warming me back up as I write this tells me I was right to call it for now.

Yesterday, I faced a similar decision but for a different reason - exhaustion.

Every muscle in my body ached from having been up north doing demolition work on an old farmstead home and barn. From sunrise to well past sunset for the 2 days I was up there, outside of working hours as a software developer, I was moving or ripping out or hauling the entire first floor (furniture, appliances, built-ins, ...) of the home out to the barn and, there, organizing and sorting a lifetime of leftovers from the previous owner(s).

Although the sun was shining yesterday and the sky blue, my riding felt "off". Sloppy clutching, twitchy steering, missing traffic cues, ... I put myself on the bike for a ride to a coffee shop and change of pace in the afternoon, especially as it had been 2 days without riding. But everything about riding failed to "click" yesterday, and so ... I called it, filled up her tank and headed for home, even though there was plenty more riding to be had.

So knowing when to call it - glad I have that instinct. It's good to be bold, but only the smart get to be both bold and old. :-)

Sundays and Sunrises

To be sure, yesterday was a perfect spring day. Windy, warm, sunny, and perfect. Everybody in the entire state, it seemed, was outside doing "something", and we were no exception.

Sunshine and I were out early amongst the morning bustle. Sunrise to sunset, I was on bike and loving it, putting on nearly 265 miles before calling it a day. We left the big city and Minnesota behind and rode well into Wisconsin before turning north and making a great counterclockwise loop back into Minnesota and then back towards home.

In Wisconsin, we found unending stretches of windy and open roads, and the road got close to her pegs on more than a few occasions. :-)

Rural Wisconsin is beautiful. Old barns, silos, churches, and family farms. It's really the definition of "a picturesque countryside", very Norman Rockwell.

On the loop back into Minnesota, I found myself at a cafe surrounded by other bikes and bikers. I ate one great egg sandwich with literally half of an onion sliced onto it when I asked for "some onions". Love it, thanks Chef Jeff.

We also passed a ton of bikes on the ride down the Minnesota side south and west back towards the city. I honestly got tired of doing the "biker wave" back to folks, but hell, we can't give up biker-to-biker respect, and I made sure I waved every time I got waved at.

In the evening, I took my wife two-up on a local run on Burt, my Honda Shadow Spirit 750dc. In all, I rode the heck out of yesterday, it was great.

This Monday morning, however, the cold wind bites hard and a storm is coming.

We launch into the open and empty road in the gloaming pre-dawn hours. The neighborhood is silent, too early for school buses and morning commuters, and everybody is still nursing coffees and sore muscles from all the "Spring-Is-Finally-Here!" activities that took place on Sunday.

The ride is fast out of the city on the big empty highway that leads into the glowing early morning sky. I keep Sunshine close to triple digit speeds as we head east, and she purrs and feels really good opened up for a bit. We reach the river's edge just as the sun starts to glow through the clouds now obscuring the eastern horizon.

A short while later, we take in the river boats and head into a local coffee shop to write this and reflect on yesterday's riding. The sky above continues to darken, now thick with the approaching storm. It's going to rain on me on the ride back, but I'm strangely looking forward to that, too.

These are the kinds of days that you always hope for... and that I hope I'll always remember.

Riding Life

Rode the sunrise yesterday, the world was icy and calm, a cold winter chill had bitten the northern reaches again. No snow like the day before, but cold nonetheless.

I slept yesterday under the full moon, with stars and planets all around - last thing I saw before I fell asleep.

This morning I'm riding again, out for a coffee with my lady.

Riding has become an ingrained part of who I am - how I am.

It is awesome.

Life on the Road

Seems like my life has been measured in miles the past week or two - up north, back down, relocating trailers and equipment.

I still manage to ride every day, but work and life are taking priority over riding exclusively, and so I've been limited to local rides to coffee shops to get plugged in for work or at night to get some fresh air. On the weekends, I a pulling a trailer and shuffling tools and equipment back and forth or doing demolition and construction work for most of the waking hours.

Still, the days are (slowly) warming up and although the streets are still quite sandy and debris-ridden and city traffic is as crazy as ever, I'm making the most of every ride... and enjoying the hell out of it.

Remembering the Sun

It was early morning, and Sunshine and I left home as soon as I could see water running down the alleyway. It was in the low 30's outside but the sun had already started to punish the remaining ice and snow.

I pushed her out and carefully walked her backwards pushed our way over the packed snow tracks running lengthwise across our driveway entrance, and gently and with legs out for balance, we rode down and out to the street.

Easing her into motion, and taking great care to warm her tires up thoroughly before attempting any kind of more 'sporty' maneuvers, we made our way to a marine-side cafe near the Wisconsin border where I intended to finish out my work day, 4 hours in, 4 hours to go. Avoiding the highways entirely and maneuvering from one "Trail" road to another, we wound through immeasurably beautiful sunlit and snow lined S-curves and deep bends and expansive views and hills and more...

The twisties today had their challenges, though. It was generally outstanding riding, but still a bit dodgy where the shade kept the road from fully de-icing and/or where salt and sand piles still dominated the centerline - Sunshine lost her backend in a couple of spots, but quickly regained traction as she passed beyond the yucky bits.

We found our parking spot next to a huge pile of leftover snow. It's colder down in the river valley that borders Minnesota and Wisconsin, and so even with the bright sunshine, there are still piles all around here that may take a few more days or so to fully melt away.

Jeff, the proprietor of the awesome Marine Cafe, cooked up a special batch of his chili (vegetarian with corn chutney and a strong dash of heat + red pepper) to warm up my chilled bones and I ate, grateful at this opportunity and full enjoying the day.

Jeff and I talked about motorcycles and barn finds and I remembered what a good life and genuine warmth and rural hospitality felt like again.

Awesome day.

Spring Thaw (and the Elated Many)

... at long last, got back from a ten day visit to see my mom in Colorado (drove there) and no sooner was I back than the entire southeastern portion of Minnesota got hammered with nearly 2 feet of fresh snow in 48 hours! I got exactly one ride in hours before the snow started flying. Ugh.

It was winter overreaching its welcome and stay, and it sucked in every way for a guy who was looking forward to riding a lot when he got back from a long, cage-bound road trip.

So... we started digging out again and I started my countdown clock before I could ride again.

That was six days ago.

Thankfully though, as I write this, Burt is parked out squeezed in between a bunch of cars at a music cafe. The sun is shining, the snow and ice are giving way, and there was just enough asphalt for me to make it to the street. In truth, I was forced to chop away at the ice-covered alleyway enough to fishtail the Shadow out past and over and through all the wintry junk. Still, worth it.

Once I got to the actual edge of the road, I tucked in, pulled the throttle hard, and never looked back. Phew... it feels so good to be on a motorcycle again!

Still slick out, still icy and sandy and what-not but I know enough to be careful about those things. We point north and west and south again, and make our way, long way around, to a coffee shop on the other side of the cities that I really like.

I know it seems trivial, but the coffee shop is at least twice as packed as I've seen it, especially for mid-afternoon on a Thursday.  But after all the snow and depression (around having to shovel tons of snow and ice in the middle of April) gave way to the 40's-degree sunshine of today, I am surrounded by the happy sounds of "nothing-in-particular".

People are talking about random bits of triviality. Laughing at aimless jokes. Smiling at blank walls. It's the kind of real relief you can only experience if you've been through a challenging time and, judging by the expressions and discussions going on all around me as I type this, this damn winter has been challenging for all... probably in many more ways than just the weather.

I take the long way home, stop by a lake, and ponder when all this white stuff will melt away, and I'll really be able to sink into corners again...

: - )

Glad I Was Out (aka Winter Marches On...)

... and I do mean winter ... woke up to this crazy white landscape again, with a thick crust of compacted ice and slush beneath and 3 inches of the fresh stuff on top.

I am really glad I got so many March riding days in - rode every day this past week, even did a short WI border run.

Ah well. All this snow will be done & done soon enough. For right now, it's time to enjoy the snow with a warm cup of something by a crackling fire.

Wishing a Happy Easter to all.

No Saying No

OK, so I got done with the work day and I needed to ride... it's freezing outside and more snow is forecast, what's a guy to do?

Find a twisty, snow-lined road and... well... RIDE, of course. :-)

Out to the river valley we rode, Sunshine and I, freezing my ass off but hell, it was worth it and nice to dip into some twisties again and feel the rush of the bike and the ride.

Made it. Frozen numb. Life is good.

More Cold, More Snow

So I've been out riding, almost every rideable day between several snowfalls and excluding only those sub-zero days where I didn't feel safe out on the frozen meltwater.

But this spring seems to be going in the wrong direction. It's actually getting colder, not warmer, and there's more snow on the forecast for this weekend.

I really was hoping to get a March road trip in, a couple thousand miles to loosen up and feel the ride again and really spend some quality 'bike time', but I'm not sure that's going to happen any time soon...

Bummer.

Roadtrip Weather?

Still March, still snowing (yesterday the morning was a white winter wonderland again), but I'm getting geared up for a long road trip anyway.

Trying to stay warm is my biggest concern. I can work around bad roads and bad weather...

Looking forward to it.

Mountains of Snow

Sometimes, just the sight of the snow all around me makes me wonder, what the hell am I doing out here...? It's still cold. Really cold.

But I just had the good folks at Midwest Cycle do some basic service as well as mount some brand spanking new Michelin Road 5's on Sunshine, and I just want to get that "new tire slime" worn off as soon as possible.

Or at least, that's the excuse I used to get out here and ride!

The reality is, I just feel like life in motion is better than life standing still, at least it is now. I can think better, breathe better, and express myself better in motion than standing still.

Everything that was in flux with both my parents at the start of summer last year is still going strong, amplifying and demanding more and more of me, in every respect. Both my mom and dad are quite elderly, and both are slowly but surely closing in on that final appointment with "the great mystery" as their bodies and minds fail them. It's hard to watch, but that's life. Getting old is hard.

All the more reason why I'm out here. To live.

Getting old is inevitable, but living life to the fullest is something we have to choose to do (or not do), moment by moment.

I choose life.

Winter Riding and the COLD

OK, riding again even though the air temps are still hovering in the 30's.

Now that I know how to watch my tire temps, and I know to avoid making any sharp or "friction-demanding" maneuvers until the tires have had a chance to warm and soften, I actually feel pretty comfortable crossing short ice and snow patches, riding confidently, and keeping my mind focused on the road and hazards and, well, basically staying upright.

Road to a coffee shop today for the first part of my work morning, and the one aspect that riding in winter cannot easily avoid - the COLD of the wind blowing across your body at 60+ miles per hour.

That wind chill just bites through my many layers and my winter gloves and nips at my bones after any longer amount of time spent riding. So, even though the asphalt isn't ice-covered and the flakes aren't flying, just the bitter bite of winter keeps my rides necessarily shorter than I'd like.

Still, it's nice to be out riding in March in Minnesota!

After 3 long snowy cold months...

... it's finally here, on this early March day - the ice and snow have finally started to give way and I could see and smell the early signs of spring.

It's still freakin' cold (30's and 40's, with more ice and snow in the forecast for tonight). Really it's too cold for any kind of long rides... but for a couple hours around town with my full winter kit on, I figured I could manage it.

Anyway, with "that much" asphalt finally showing through the snow and ice-covered roadways around here, I decided to make it the first riding day of 2018. The riding is fine, just have to be careful. There are a bunch of meltwater puddles that are really quite deep, some obscuring a thin layer of ice still underneath. The potholes are out of control, though not as bad as some years. Also a lot of the shady spots (behind buildings/garages and under big trees) are still sporting a thin veneer of glare ice.

Everywhere I go, big piles of snow still dominate the neighborhoods around Minneapolis, but what the hell, I'm out and it's an awesome first day of riding... Everything I remember about riding my first year came back to me in a flash. Having low-sided in November due to too cold tires and a total lack of awareness about tire temps, I am riding and being especially careful about keeping my tire temps up with extra maneuvers and engine braking, and also making sure that I take every corner less aggressively and with smooth control of power. 

A couple of rides through unavoidable "snow patches" here and there gave me a pretty good test of my confidence as a new rider, but I kept the bike upright and fishtailed my way through them without incident.

I just love riding - glad to be back.

November's Low-side, Revisited...

Well, after a long discussion with my neighbor Don across the alley, and I'd been reading a lot of blogs in the meanwhile, we came to the obvious conclusion that my tires were ice cold when I started up the bike and rode into a sharp angle on a 31 degree day right out of the coffee shop parking lot.

Man, I feel stupid, but at least educated. The bike had been sitting there for hours. I'm sure my tires were close to zero at that point, far from the 135+ degrees needed for 'sticky magic' to happen. For anybody's benefit who may be reading this and considering cold weather riding, here's the best blog I found so far on the subject:

https://rideapart.com/articles/5-must-know-cold-weather-riding-tips

Happy riding, and I hope you all keep those wheels on the ground where they belong. For my part, lesson learned the hard way, that won't happen again.

We just got another 18 inches of snow dumped on the streets and next week it's supposed to dip into the negatives temperature-wise again. Winter goes on, but I can't wait until that first spring ride. It'll be such a good feeling to get out and move like that again.

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.