radman
R.I.P. Our Motorcycling Friend
"This is why I ride.
Days when, as I'm riding down US Rt. 1 at a spirited clip, following a new Cavalier LS Sport Coupe and remembering my old one, and how well such an inexpensive car ran and handled, weaving the traffic perfectly, exploiting every hole, every lane change, as though the Universe made it just for me.
This is why I ride.
Days when, as I turn onto Old Rt. 100 I see no traffic at all, and I feel only a beckoning from the road before me. Riding down Rt. 100, feeling the chilled morning air after last night's rain, flow into my helmet, into the vented jacket, lightly prickling my skin with chill and humidity, fresh and clean. Feeling the slight sting of water drops against my fingers protruding from my fingerless "cruiser" gloves, as the trees shed their cache of last minute hangers-on of rain drops, and feeling the sting turn to a chill, feeling every molecule of water and air working together causing evaporation and its cooling effect on my skin.
This is why I ride.
Smelling the clean air, the wafting of freshly cut grass from some unseen but close by lawn, the smell of hay at the horse farm. Relishing the memories, fresh and new, old and disjointed, each smell triggers. Summer weekends spent at my uncle's farm, running through the corn field and hiding from my brothers. Picnics and walks in the park as a younger man, newly in love. Dirt bike riding in open fields as a child. And everything in between. All because I chose to ride my bike again today, as I do most days, and experience what the elements have to offer.
This is why I ride.
Turning the ninety degree left turn, carving a line that just feels right, then accelerating past the horse farm and pastures, slowing to bend into another ninety degree right turn, then onto the cement bridge the DOT is rebuilding, only to find the bridge bereft of flagmen or cement workers, leaving before me a few hundred yards of straight line, bending into a series of turns after the bridge, all the while smiling because I know today might just be, finally, My day and the universe is finally complying. At long last.
This is why I ride.
Throttling up to a comfortable, slightly faster-than-normal pace, cruising by more horse farms and pastures, riding along the winding road, paralleling the rail road tracks, alert for the deer that I already know are no where to be seen, trusting my situational radar, my years of riding, my comfort with the machine and my own skill level, smiling in the moment.
This is why I ride.
Still, without cars or incumberence, turning the bike into the two and a half "S" turns, following the line in my mind, feeling the bike dive in and out of each turn, feeling just a little lighter, just a bit more flickable today, cutting the turns in such a way that a surgeon would be proud, then emerging from the canopy of trees, into the sunlight, turning onto Smithbridge Road to enjoy the hills, dips and sweepers, before finally joining up with more residential and business streets.
This is why I ride.
All the while, during my trek, my mind is clear and clean and open, with any of the day's problems, the issues at home or work, all neatly tucked away in the woodshed in my mind, feeling the peace and ease that only a nice country road rolling by under my motorcycle's wheels can offer me. As the cliche goes, if you need it explained, you wouldn't understand. But I understand.
And this is why I ride."
chornbe
reprinted w/o permission, but he probably doesn't mind.
Days when, as I'm riding down US Rt. 1 at a spirited clip, following a new Cavalier LS Sport Coupe and remembering my old one, and how well such an inexpensive car ran and handled, weaving the traffic perfectly, exploiting every hole, every lane change, as though the Universe made it just for me.
This is why I ride.
Days when, as I turn onto Old Rt. 100 I see no traffic at all, and I feel only a beckoning from the road before me. Riding down Rt. 100, feeling the chilled morning air after last night's rain, flow into my helmet, into the vented jacket, lightly prickling my skin with chill and humidity, fresh and clean. Feeling the slight sting of water drops against my fingers protruding from my fingerless "cruiser" gloves, as the trees shed their cache of last minute hangers-on of rain drops, and feeling the sting turn to a chill, feeling every molecule of water and air working together causing evaporation and its cooling effect on my skin.
This is why I ride.
Smelling the clean air, the wafting of freshly cut grass from some unseen but close by lawn, the smell of hay at the horse farm. Relishing the memories, fresh and new, old and disjointed, each smell triggers. Summer weekends spent at my uncle's farm, running through the corn field and hiding from my brothers. Picnics and walks in the park as a younger man, newly in love. Dirt bike riding in open fields as a child. And everything in between. All because I chose to ride my bike again today, as I do most days, and experience what the elements have to offer.
This is why I ride.
Turning the ninety degree left turn, carving a line that just feels right, then accelerating past the horse farm and pastures, slowing to bend into another ninety degree right turn, then onto the cement bridge the DOT is rebuilding, only to find the bridge bereft of flagmen or cement workers, leaving before me a few hundred yards of straight line, bending into a series of turns after the bridge, all the while smiling because I know today might just be, finally, My day and the universe is finally complying. At long last.
This is why I ride.
Throttling up to a comfortable, slightly faster-than-normal pace, cruising by more horse farms and pastures, riding along the winding road, paralleling the rail road tracks, alert for the deer that I already know are no where to be seen, trusting my situational radar, my years of riding, my comfort with the machine and my own skill level, smiling in the moment.
This is why I ride.
Still, without cars or incumberence, turning the bike into the two and a half "S" turns, following the line in my mind, feeling the bike dive in and out of each turn, feeling just a little lighter, just a bit more flickable today, cutting the turns in such a way that a surgeon would be proud, then emerging from the canopy of trees, into the sunlight, turning onto Smithbridge Road to enjoy the hills, dips and sweepers, before finally joining up with more residential and business streets.
This is why I ride.
All the while, during my trek, my mind is clear and clean and open, with any of the day's problems, the issues at home or work, all neatly tucked away in the woodshed in my mind, feeling the peace and ease that only a nice country road rolling by under my motorcycle's wheels can offer me. As the cliche goes, if you need it explained, you wouldn't understand. But I understand.
And this is why I ride."
chornbe
reprinted w/o permission, but he probably doesn't mind.
