During that weekend ride my mind kept wandering. I was daydreaming about splitting off from the group. My mind kept flashing to an image of me riding off by myself, back towards home. I’d been riding for a few hours by this point and I was feeling what I’ll call, “the pull of my own ride.” At the time, I thought it was a sign I should set off by myself, and head north back to Grand Rapids. Looking back on it though, I think it was like many other daydreams I have; it was telling me to be mindful of my own ride in life.
Sometimes I don’t give myself enough time. I schedule myself from one activity to the next, one group to the next and before I know it, I’m restless and antsy. That’s when I start daydreaming about breaking off from the ride. Some part of me is asking to break off from the desires of others and start listening again to my own. Recognizing my own needs has been a long time coming. I’m used to listening to what others need. I’m comfortable with that. Sometimes it feels selfish to put myself first. I try to remember that when I’m saying no to someone else, I’m saying yes to me.
During our ride, Phil’s hand went up to alert me and I realized our last two riders were no longer behind me. Because of my daydreaming, I’d lost sight of them and I couldn’t remember how long it had been since I’d looked back. I slowed, checked my mirror and when no bikes appeared from around the last corner, I turned around and headed back to find them. When riding with 8 bikes as we were, along winding roads, you don’t always know when someone goes down. What you know is that suddenly, there’s no one behind you. This recognition is often accompanied by a pang of fear – it means something happened to stop the ride. When you’re the one turning back, you hope someone lost a glove or needed to adjust his gear. But sometimes it’s more serious.
A few miles back I found Ashley and Andrew standing along a curve, bikes parked and gear scattered. I could see dirt and grass on the pavement and tall grasses matted down at the edge of the road. Within minutes, the rest of the group joined us and began assessing the scene. A few kept their eyes toward coming traffic, someone looked Andrew over, a few others scanned the area for gear and parts while another examined the bike to see if it was ridable. It’s a terrible feeling when someone goes down. It’s frightening for the rider as well as the one who sees it happen.
When someone is injured on a motorcycle, it makes me think of other accidents. I have good friends who have experienced life-altering injuries from their motorcycles. One friend can no longer ride, another chooses not to and a third has lost his excitement for the same kind of riding he did beforehand. Every rider knows someone who has gone down. Most riders know someone who didn’t survive the ride. One Summer our ride club had 8 members injured in separate incidents. I nearly stopped riding then. Each time I even thought about getting on the bike, dread heaved in my gut. Bile rose in my throat, my breathing came thin and shallow. That Fall I rode only a handful of times. If I didn’t feel like riding, I didn’t. I decided to delay any decision-making about riding until the following Spring. I decided to let my body make the choice.
Andrew's injuries weren't serious. His arms were pretty scraped up and he found some nasty bruises the next morning. He wasn’t too hurt, because a few days later he hitched a ride to the BMW dealership to pick up the brand new bike he’d been planning to buy. And I wasn’t either. Andrew’s accident was the first that didn’t make me question riding. I’m not sure what was different this time. For awhile there, whenever I heard about a motorcycle accident, I had to decide whether to continue to ride. The Spring following those 8 accidents, when purple blooms of crocus appeared among patches of melting snow, my desire to ride returned. I was eager to ride, excited for the roads to clear and daydreaming about the next journey on the motorcycle. That is how my body talks to me. It tells me if I’m on the right path. This time, with Andrew’s accident, I’m no longer questioning if I should continue motorcycling. I am finally giving over to the purity of the ride.
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