Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I would get through this and set motorcycling aside just like Old Mom predicted on the
way to the airport that sad day long ago—set it aside with gratitude, all things considered.
I didn't want to drag my sorry ass off the thing, so I reached for composure, coordination
and a lively step, like a man in the morning on a walk in the basil. Making the ranch and
easing in and showering out and pounding enough beer, ibuprofen and reefer to trade one
buzz for another and calm the wobbles made sense with a sizzling piece of red meat and a
puddle of ketchup front and center—not something a man dove into by choice but rather fell
into by sheer, raw momentum no less than gravity accumulated on that long stretch down.
Top that with some sipping grade tequila to take the edges off just as so many edges had been
beautifully honed, and available insights didn't only include the meaning of life but tapped in-
to some impressive pleasure centers too, from which additional profound meaning could be
drawn. That would be meaning on the spiritual plane beyond rationale or logic or the well-
worn 20% of the human brain most often used—in most cases carelessly. That feeling was rare
and needed savoring and development. It went beyond omniscience or presumption.
In those golden moments of perspective—those moments earned by whatever time was
necessary to hone those edges—a person could see and know. Whatever was questioned could
be known, not so much by way of an answer that seemed to fit in the conventional sense but
by transcendence. We had arrived. That was not to say that it didn't mean shit, but as a matter
of fact in that time and place . . .
It felt odd to realize that I'd come on that trip against better judgment, in denial, to use
the popular jargon. But it felt right, because unique perspective often carries a price. I came in
order to be in that place of knowing a thing or two, because I wanted to feel again like I'd done
the right thing. A day up on two wheels for a few hundred blazing miles, a crazy mountain
pass and a friendly race along the river topping us out at a hundred-five seemed fair. Monks
meditate for days on end to gain similar states of consciousness—or at least consciousness as
elusive and hard to come by. That was the long and short of it. That was why I came.
For all I know, which seems like so much and nothing at all, I came for an old feeling—one
of those feelings that must change as the physical being changes, yet with age the appreciation
is so much greater. You come to realize that knowing a thing often begins with immersion in
that thing, and it's been a life of immersion.
Good flavor, good feeling and good company made it a rare evening to savor. Well, we sur-
vived, and every man among us knew without speaking it that the odds on surviving day six
had lengthened severely over day one. We'd loosened the bindings and added sail in a freshen-
ing breeze. That's why I imbibed with no constraint, because I could, because the day was
done, the miles run with no crashes or skids, and a swerve or two or near miss in the passing
lane can shake up a beginner who doesn't understand the meaning of marginal clearance or
the difference between high speed wobbles and incremental wind sheer, but we understood.
I promise that I won't ride like that again.
