Chris K: “It’s not like you’re going to wake up one day and say, ‘I’ve got it!’ and be a master at this. You’re always learning. Each day on the bike is a lesson.”
A group of 16 people on a range of bikes- dual sport, sport bikes, touring bikes- arrived in Tennessee via truck and trailer for our motorcycle getaway. We pulled into our weekend home midday after riding through the night. We unloaded bikes, gear and luggage then suited up, climbed on and headed for winding roads. That first day, and each day that followed, we began our ride with a few passes at Deal’s Gap. Also called US 129, “the Gap” is a stretch of road in Tennessee that crosses into North Carolina. It’s a favorite of motorcyclists all over the country because it curls around on itself again and again creating a remarkable 318 curves in just eleven miles. This winding road is etched along side a mountain range where its path darts and dodges around the edge of each peak so while on a motorcycle, patches of rock jut high into the air on one side of you, while on the other, the tops of trees growing up from the valley far below flit by. This was a ritual, these Gap passes, like warm up stretches before a run. We ran the Gap before we headed out for the longer sweeping curves of other local roads like the Charohala Skyway and the Blue Ridge Parkway. Living in a large city in western Michigan, I often feel “held up” on a ride until about 15 minutes into it, until 4 lane roads are behind me and cornfields and barns are in view. It’s like intermission before the next act of a play; I’m waiting to find out what happens next. In Tennessee though, there is no delay- the trip begins the moment our tires leave the gravel driveway. There is no such thing as a bad road in this part of the country.
On a trip like this, life chores are left behind. I’m on my bike, focused on the ride. That’s not to say that while on the bike, I’m without a care. In fact, this particular trip found me focused on cornering. (The mountains of Tennessee are a fine place to practice these skills.) With each corner I was thinking, am I entering it too hot? Braking too hard? Rolling on the throttle soon enough? That first day of riding, I had a lot of hesitation running in and out of the corners; I was covering my front brake and making adjustments midway through the turn. I felt like I was constantly calculating and maneuvering. The ride was painstakingly deliberate. I was exhausted after riding, not rejuvenated.
One of the things I’ve come to enjoy most about group motorcycle trips are the conversations that happen after each ride. We discuss the tactical approaches to certain roads, what line to take through corners, various theories and styles of riding. After the first day of riding, one of these discussions took place in the garage with two other riders. Brian was kneeling on the cement floor, his Husqvarna TE510 propped up while he changed from smooth supermoto tires to knobby dirt tires. He was preparing his bike for trail riding the following day. Aaron was sorting and cleaning his gear- at that moment, polishing his face shield. Both Aaron and Brian have been riding and racing bikes for years. I value their expertise and was hoping for some advice on how to corner more smoothly. I started asking detailed questions about corner speed and braking. Aaron waited for my questions to subside and said gently, “I could break this all down for you step-by-step, but first and foremost, you just need to relax.” As simple as it sounded, it was also profound. I have a tendency to try to make things happen in my life. I over-think, get worked up and struggle to make the right choice. I knew that this pattern in my life was showing up in my ride. Brian’s tip was equally profound. He advised me to “orient toward the turn” and with this direction he rotated his upper body and leaned forward slightly. In his depiction, I saw my yoga teacher demonstrating “open the heart” for his posture was indeed opening the heart in the direction of the turn. In this posture, there is a willingness to approach what’s coming. An acceptance of what lies ahead rather than a fear of it.
The following day we road toward Georgia. We wound through the Nantahala National Forest passing hillsides covered in creeping vines, along the river filled with boulders worn smooth by the churning water. As we eased through the landscape, I became acutely aware of my body on the bike. I could feel the muscles in my forearms tighten, noticed my gaze drop to the ground 20 feet ahead of my front tire, followed by tentative front braking as I questioned the corner. I watched this same pattern through a couple more turns – arms taught, vision shortened, hesitation. I decided to experiment with the next corner and as soon as I felt myself tighten, I immediately relaxed my shoulders, faced into the turn and lifted my gaze through curve. Without thought, I rolled on the throttle and felt strong and sure as I pulled through the corner.
Lately, I’ve been trying to figure out how to navigate some relationships. There’s one in particular involving a woman who reminds me so much of myself I can only look at her with awe. Her expression is open and friendly, inquisitive. When she listens, it feels like there is nothing I can say that will alarm her. I like that I can tell her what scares me most and she just nods understanding. I can share with her my darkest self and still she just sits alongside me steady and sure. This steadfastness is amazing because it contrasts with my own response to what I’m telling her. When I share with her my fears and frustrations, I feel so anxious it’s like I’m ready to jump out of my skin. With her beside me, I’m anchored somehow. I can be still.
My friend had become that blind corner that I just couldn’t see around. Like that first day riding through corners, I became absorbed, lost my focus and couldn’t figure out what was coming next. During this trip, I realized I wasn’t seeing her in those moments, I was seeing what I want to be. I realized that I want to be steady and solid in my own life, accepting of even the scariest stuff. I want to feel tenderness and compassion towards myself.
When Aaron and Brian offered instructions on how to ride, they reminded me of what I need to do in life: relax and orient toward the heart. I don’t know how many lifetimes I’ve been searching for answers, or how many motorcycle rides it will take to find them, but I know that with each ride, I’m a finding a few more, and getting a little better at navigating the blind curves.
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