A few weeks ago, I decided to sell my motorcycle. It wasn’t an easy decision, but due to increased demands on my time at both work and home, the bike has mostly been sitting alone in the garage gathering dust. Yesterday afternoon I agreed to meet a potential buyer in Topeka, and took off around 3:30, burdened by a mile-long list of pressing items at work.
I got home, changed quickly and headed out. The weather was nice – a little warm, but much cooler than the sweltering weather we’ve had lately. Minutes after hitting the highway, work receded a little from my mind, and I focused instead on my surroundings. On a motorcycle, going through downtown KC on the interstate at rush hour requires your attention. A mantra – given to me by a safety instructor years ago - goes through my mind as it does every time I ride: “Ride like nobody sees you, and everyone is trying to kill you.” After a while, this traffic-target-tracking becomes second nature, and while you don’t notice it consciously, it still precludes you from total relaxation.
Regardless, as I head west and leave the city behind, the traffic thins and I begin to unwind. The difference between being alone in a car, and alone on a motorcycle is that only the latter provides the true opportunity to be alone with your thoughts, whatever they may be. Even with a little bit of glass and metal around you, you’re still cut off from the world, the smell and sensations of the environment around you. Not many people ride along without even the mild distraction of the radio.
I roll into Topeka, and head north for a few miles to my meeting. Afterwards, I decide to avoid the interstate and instead head back on Highway 24. I’m instantly rewarded with a pretty stretch of road, with a few wide sweepers and virtually no traffic. As I opened the throttle, the tension from the past week just got lost in the wooded draws, cornfields and pastures I was riding past. My senses opened up, as they usually do when I’m riding alone, and on the back roads of middle America.
A lot of the sensations brought back memories of growing up. As the sun began setting, I passed farmers still working their fields of corn and soybeans, smelled the fresh-cut smell of hay and watched balers gather the grass in rows, and passed small-town kids hanging out at the local convenience store, trying to keep themselves entertained during a small-town summer. Riding along the rolling hills, dips in the road, and river crossings all brought a noticeable drop in temperatures, along with the smell of cows, water, wind and grass. Hard to explain, but on a motorcycle it’s not hard to imagine why dogs like sticking their heads out the window.
As I continue taking the long, slow way back KC, the stresses of work and raising kids evaporate completely, and I‘m in a serene, peaceful place as I motor along. Getting hungry, I finally spot what I’m looking for - an established looking, small-town café with lots of cars in the parking lot - a sure sign of a good place to eat. As I sit and eat, I overhear the discussions of who was recently arrested, who’s child is a star athlete, how the crops are doing, and who has been disrespecting who.
As I leave to head for home, a little sadness hits me. While I’m looking forward to seeing my wife, and sorry I didn’t get to see my boys before bedtime, I don’t know when I will get this opportunity again, to find this kind of peacefulness on a bike. Motorcycle therapy has been a good thing for me, and after 14 years, I only recently got Mandy to join me on a ride. I still don’t think she is comfortable with it, but she gets a little of the appeal. But, it was definitely a good note to end on.
