hppants
Well-known member
During my recent Arkansas tour, on the last morning, the campground on highway 60 was desolate - it was just me and some old timer and his wife who were fishing on the lake. I had a nice quiet night by myself and as is usually the case, I slept peacefully and was very well rested. I had camped alone and was afforded plenty of time to think, reflect, and rejoice in my own peace. I do my best work early in the morning, and this morning was no exception. The caffine from my coffee was kicking, all of my senses were hopping as the daylight was intensifying. I packed my bike fairly early and left the campground under blue bird skies and wonderful sunshine. I taxi slowly out of the campground, and I'm watching the birds popping around unobstructed as my helmet visor is open and I am enjoying the wonderful smells of the forest.
I'm feeling a little meloncoly about the fact that today is the last day. This inevitably comes on the last day of every trip and for a short time early in the morning, I get mixed feelings. On the one hand, I'm kind of bummed out at the realization that my vacation is basically over and before I lay me down to rest, the real world is going to remind me of the price I pay each time I leave. But on the other hand, I feel blessed and happy that I was able to enjoy myself for whatever time I had. Invariably, I saw some nice things, shared fun with friends, and at the very least, put some quality miles on my trusty steel horse. Without fail, the good feelings prevail as I approach the stop sign at the highway. Out of habit, I flip my right turn signal even though I know that no one can see it, and the birds could care less which way I was going. I imagine that they are ready for me an my noise machine to be gone, so that they may resume their own peace on this beautiful morning.
Creeping to the turn, the MP3 player goes quiet for a split second and then this song appears in my ears:
I get a jolt of adreniline and it hits me that there are still some 500 miles of adventure left. I checked both ways, and then release the front brake, lean her over on the right side, and generously twist the right wrist, staring happily well into the distance on the lonely road.
I am not dreaming about my life. I am living my dreams. Stay thirsty, my friends.
I'm feeling a little meloncoly about the fact that today is the last day. This inevitably comes on the last day of every trip and for a short time early in the morning, I get mixed feelings. On the one hand, I'm kind of bummed out at the realization that my vacation is basically over and before I lay me down to rest, the real world is going to remind me of the price I pay each time I leave. But on the other hand, I feel blessed and happy that I was able to enjoy myself for whatever time I had. Invariably, I saw some nice things, shared fun with friends, and at the very least, put some quality miles on my trusty steel horse. Without fail, the good feelings prevail as I approach the stop sign at the highway. Out of habit, I flip my right turn signal even though I know that no one can see it, and the birds could care less which way I was going. I imagine that they are ready for me an my noise machine to be gone, so that they may resume their own peace on this beautiful morning.
Creeping to the turn, the MP3 player goes quiet for a split second and then this song appears in my ears:
I get a jolt of adreniline and it hits me that there are still some 500 miles of adventure left. I checked both ways, and then release the front brake, lean her over on the right side, and generously twist the right wrist, staring happily well into the distance on the lonely road.
I am not dreaming about my life. I am living my dreams. Stay thirsty, my friends.
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