Spray smacked my arms, legs and helmet so fiercely it was Poseidon cursing my voyage with an evaporated ocean now angrily seeking my demise. Cars pass close and blindly. Water pounded my windshield and helmet visor, splitting off left and right and over. Riding for hour after hour, mile after mile, a full tank of gas gone, through vexing storm and hydroplaning highways, senses maxed. Hurling along in 43 degree cold that slows my hands despite heated grips, and finds the smallest weakness in my armor. Never do I feel my wheels slip, but at every turn I anticipate a fresh oil patch that will send me side long.
I've read Ulysses and of adventures old, and find much to compare to this morning on my Connie. So much less exotic than the high seas and cyclops, and yet no drama higher than a jam packed highway in torrential rain with death knocking on your helmet. Like at sea you lean side to side. You find you are focused fully on only the task at hand. I don't actually worry that much, and don't feel too anxious, but recognize the reality of chance.
We who ride for long put odds in our favor when we can, how we can. Today I shouldn't have gone, but did, and felt myself in the midst of an exciting, gripping existential challenge. And yet, all I did was ride my motorcycle in the rain, which I do all the time.
Do you know what I mean? How some rides take on realities beyond their observable, rational state? Like the beauty of the women you love, there is transcendence. I wrote once here about a transcendent joy of riding out to the coast this winter. Today my trip made me feel like Ulysses on the high seas, vexed by gods.
I've read Ulysses and of adventures old, and find much to compare to this morning on my Connie. So much less exotic than the high seas and cyclops, and yet no drama higher than a jam packed highway in torrential rain with death knocking on your helmet. Like at sea you lean side to side. You find you are focused fully on only the task at hand. I don't actually worry that much, and don't feel too anxious, but recognize the reality of chance.
We who ride for long put odds in our favor when we can, how we can. Today I shouldn't have gone, but did, and felt myself in the midst of an exciting, gripping existential challenge. And yet, all I did was ride my motorcycle in the rain, which I do all the time.
Do you know what I mean? How some rides take on realities beyond their observable, rational state? Like the beauty of the women you love, there is transcendence. I wrote once here about a transcendent joy of riding out to the coast this winter. Today my trip made me feel like Ulysses on the high seas, vexed by gods.
