Rides

I've never fancied myself a risk taker.  In fact, I've spent most of my life watching others take risks and learning from their recklessness.  For some reason riding on the back of a motorcycle with Evan doesn't feel like much of a risk.


Maybe it's because he's been riding for 50 years now.  I figure if there is anyone on the planet to trust with your safety it's him.  I think he's risked his own well being enough times to know how to avoid it in his advancing age.  And really, the fact that he's survived it all makes him seem a bit invincible to me.

There is something exciting about suiting up.  The layers to stave off the cold and the leather to protect us in case of an accident.  The helmet strap is tight beneath my chin and I am ready.
 
It's strange how the wind caused by forward momentum makes you feel encapsulated in a way that keeps you from focusing one the fact that you are perched on a small seat with no straps to secure you.  The wind blows life into you.  It smells of earth and fresh water from the creeks that run beside the country roads.  It smells like sun warmed manure and sweet grass.  It smells like motorcycle exhaust and the menthol cough drops Evan eats like candy.

The scenery flies by in flashes of greens and browns.  Unadulterated tree-covered mountains off in the distance, fenced in fields gone fallow.  Wild flowers line the streets and make me want to stop and cut them for the dinner table. Red, yellow, and orange day lilies, multiple varieties of daisy, and many others I have vowed to learn the names of.  Signs pop up here and there warning of alien things that an urban Florida girl like me is unaccustomed to seeing:  Loose rock, dear crossing, seasonal road, snow mobile crossing.

Evan knows where all the cool roads are.  The seasonal roads are like driving straight into the forest.  All we see are green trees and all we hear when the engine cuts off is silence.  The sun peeks through in patches here and there but for the most part we are blanketed by the trees. We stop periodically along the way to trespass on the dead.  Cemeteries have become our new thing.  There is no more peaceful place to roam for two self-proclaimed hermits.  Company with no conversation required. There is beauty in their disrepair.  So much more history than I'm use to.

Traveling through the countryside on a motorcycle allows for total immersion in the landscape.  Nature is so close I can reach out and touch it.  Time flies by so fast.  We lose hours because when we are out on the bike it feels like time has stopped to let us absorb every second.  The wind noise becomes a comfort and the rumble of the engine soothes the soul.  I have to pop my ears periodically because I'm still getting use to the mountainous terrain.  Bugs smack our legs now and then as a gentle reminder of how fast we're really going.

When the ride is over and my butt is no longer numb I sit and reflect on how alive I feel. I can finally understand the draw of speed and risk.  Even if it seems on the outside to be unnecessary, I know it is as important as breathing.  These rides are life affirming and allow me the opportunity to bond with someone important, in a place unlike any other I've ever seen.