The Ride

I forget how it is. Sometimes, it comes back to me. Why I Ride. The memories of old rides. The road itself.

The waking up in the morning, usually alone, sometimes with friends who can get away or have the nut sack to venture more than a couple hundred miles. It’s not that I want to wake up alone. It’s usually the opposite. I just don’t want to drag anyone there to appreciate what I think is beautiful.

I’ve had a few rides that i’ve shared. I took my daughter wendy on one. We rode though utah, arizona, new mexico. We found a moment that I’ll always remember and I hope she does too. Where we sat by a fire, talked and opened up. I learned about her. We rode home the next morning, beating the cold and listening to the eagles in the mountains, doing 80 and were home by 3PM from 2 states away. I’ll always remember that. I hope she will too.

An open sky is the best. You usually wake up early, sleeping by your bike, with daylight hitting your eye lids. I love that. It meant you rode hard yesterday, and camped when you were exhausted. Or couldnt find a town, let alone a room. You always have a plan of some sort, whether its a national park, a place on the map, or a tree for shelter up ahead in your headlight. Yeah, I love those ones the best.

but a planned ride isnt so bad either. Usually a KOA where you know you just need to find the tent spots, because the proprietor isnt going to be up and you know you just have to pay in the morning. You’re sheltered by the tent from the sun, so mornings are usually the habit of what you’re used to, only better better because you’re on the road. Unzip the tent, crawl out, sit on the picnic table and wonder where you’re going to find coffee while you admire the contrast between what you rode in on last night, to what you actually see as reality today. These are good days. They usually mean a full saturday of an adventure on the road, or the quickest route home. Either one, you know you’ll mozy as much as time will allow, and enjoy it the most.

The motel is good too. Sometimes its a hampton, with a continental breakfast. Sometimes its a long lost 1950s motor court that you need to use your imagination on. To imagine what it was, versus what it is now. The Hindu proprietor when you check in or out, who usually could give a fuck for the history must be overcome to complete the fantasy. Either way, you get a shower, some sort of continental breakfast, and a cup of coffee while you take in the local news on a TV you don’t completely understand how to run. Those are good days as well.

What happens after all of these things is constant. It’s the checking on the bike. If its a hampton, I’ve parked the bike in the light by the entrance. I usually don’t ask if they want me to do that. Fuck that. 20,000 dollars plus on a bike, I’ll park it where I want. The tent or open air camping my bike isnt more than 10 feet away. I make sure of that. No matter how you spend that night, you check on your bike first. it’s like your kids. You have to know its OK.

I usually go out and start her up. I know she’ll start. She’s locked, and ready for the day just like I am. It doesn’t matter if its august or march, the morning is usually brisk and cold. God I love that. I miss that. I pull out of the motel/KOA/side o the road and take a breather to decide my day. Sometimes hitting the kill switch to take the morning in.

Of all the times of the day, of the year, of my life: this is the best. I live to ride. This is usually a saturday. Riding hard on a friday, making time to get to a destination so I can have this moment. Riding all night, and crashing in a place that was decided on friday morning, or sometimes 30 minutes before the bike shut off. This morning moment, where I decide where my front tire is going to point to. I have googled this morning, to know some options, but its now I decide. I love this part of the day. Of all my life decisions…. this is the best. It’s all good. The consequences are mine, and not driven by what WONT happen, or what worries me. They’re driven by the ride that I know is going to fill up my soul. I’ve planned it all this way. For this moment and day.

God. Where am I going to go? I Can’t wait.

This is shit I can’t explain to anyone. This is shit that gives me a month, or a lifetime of mojo. I don’t know if anyone understand this but me. its why I ride. It’s why having a motorcycle isnt enough. It’s why riding around town isn’t enough. why I bought a bagger. It’s why the person who understands this is a brother or sister for life. I know some of you pricks are out there. This moment. If you tour, some of you know what I’m talking about.

I need to go ride.