One of the hardest things about a trip to the gap is the 12 hour drive in the truck to get our bikes down there. In preparing for it, I loaded my computer with videos, podcasts. I brought a book to read, my journal to write in. As it turned out, the drive down and back was just as fun as the rest of the trip. It’s where the camaraderie started.
When I was learning to ride a motorcycle, it was an all-consuming endeavor. I'd had very little practice with a manual transmission. I stalled the bike or sat atop it unmoving, the engine roaring if forgot to release the clutch. Each time I climbed on the bike, I reviewed all its parts: rear brake, front brake, throttle, clutch, blinker, horn, kill switch. It was a way to get my mind to remember what my body did not. In that first year, it took all my attention, learning to ride. I could think of nothing else while doing it. To stop: break, clutch in, down shift. To go: clutch out, roll on the throttle. Every action was first a thought. When the bike was put away for the night, I felt clearer in my head and relaxed because it took so much energy to think then act, think then act. Each ride was a vacation from my thoughts, my worries, my obligations. I loved that about riding. I loved the freedom I felt from daily life.
Now, after 10 years of riding, when operating the bike is second nature, I don’t often have that same feeling of “getting away” while on a ride. Too often, I ride home from work on autopilot. I make grocery lists, review my day at work, make plans for the weekend. Now it takes some aggressive riding to hold my attention while on the bike. Or some really great roads.
Trips to the Gap ensure a focused, intense ride. There are long sweeping curves, hairpin turns, switch backs. The camber of the road and its grade add further calculation to each maneuver so that every ride, in this part of the country, is a technical ride. Each ride is absorbing, a meditation. One particular stretch of road wound down and through the mountains, with the mountains to the right and a valley stretching out far below us like a sea of trees, to the left. We continued winding round and round, curving this way and that. Trees and brush grew so dense along the mountain’s edge they hung over the road like cliffs as we passed under them. There is a rhythm to a ride on roads like this. A swing and sway to the bike, the group of bikes together. From the rear of the pack, sixteen of us move like one animal machine riding a rail, swaying back and forth. It’s mesmerizing. It feels, during rides like this, that we are one organism, one humming being.
This year I didn't drive with Joe but instead hooked up with three others who were going down. Basically, 3 days before we left, Brian agreed to give me a ride because Phil asked him to. We had some marvelous conversations, the 4 of us. We talked about God, faith, sin, the nature of man, of relationships. I like thinking through these kind of questions and I like hearing others do the same. There is no right and wrong in this realm of questions, in this kind of seeking. We all have our own road to ride, our own map for the journey. And for awhile, we got to see each other’s routes. It was like what some people must get out of Sunday service, these conversations.
There was no superlative on this trip- no best moment, no one great thing. That’s what keeps me reflecting back on it. I met new people about whom I knew two things only: we love motorcycles and we love to ride. In my world at home, this isn’t much to go on. But after this trip, I think maybe it should be. What better place to start with someone than sharing what I love to do? It can lead to talking about the best trip of all.
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