After a 30 year hiatus, I am back on two wheels. Road wheels, too. I rode a dirty bike (as I called it back then since it was always covered with mud) on Maine logging roads when I was a young'un and rode pillion on the backroads with a male friend. We often rolled nuts, water, and dried fruit in blanket and tied it to the back rest on the fender, disappearing from the Universe for the day into the Maine woods and lakes. The motocycle was small, but it navigated asphalt and packed logging roads equally well. Those adventures are fond memories.

Now I have my own two wheels again, road worthy but humble. My new horse is a '99 Honda Shadow VLX D; red and black. Lots of chrome and she shines, but she needs some acne coverup in place. Although some of that blemish was there from the previous owner, I enhanced it. Not deliberately. Her name is Red Sonja, and I call her Red. Everyone calls her Red. It stuck; I added the surname in honor of Conan's female companion.

Red was a 'garage queen'. A husband who rides bought it for his wife and she rode it a few times, with reluctance. The story goes that as she was taking it into the garage one day, the bike went over. Scared, she never rode it again. Husband took care of it, taking it out for a spin every other moon or so and there she sat. All alone. Why he waited five years to sell it? That escapes me. Perhaps he was hoping his wife would reconsider, but she must not have had heart in it to begin with. It happens when you fall off a horse and don't get back on. You never overcome the fear.

When I sat on her; it was love at first feel. It fit just right. Started her up and she hummed. Sold. So now we are a pair on a long journey. We will part again, moving on to new paths. But for now, we are a Pair.

I have a motorcycle. I like to ride it. It takes me places in a way nothing else can, except for my horse. But my horse is getting old (like me), we can’t ride on public roads and he can’t travel as fast as a motorcycle. Similar to riding a horse, riding a bike is all about the journey; the destination is only one part of the whole. I often find that once I’m ‘there’, I want to get back on again and go.

Horses have names, so does my bike: Red (Red Sonja). Just as every horse has the same basic anatomy, and motorcycles share similar mechanical concepts (power system, function, etc), they all express an individual personality. Red and I are becoming well acquainted; I learn something new about it and myself every time I ride. We both have personalities and I am still learning to mesh mine with Red’s. Every time I add or change something on Red, we go through another meshing.

After the first few times I rode Red, I realized this is not just a machine. Well, rationally, it is a machine, in that it has moving parts, burns combustible fuel and expels waste; it gets hot and cold, and something occasionally breaks that needs repair or replacing. But to really ‘know’ my bike, to truly become ‘one’ together, I have to learn how all the parts of the bike work in synchrony just like my own body. I realized at some point in time I would need to learn how to maintain and fix things myself. Moreso, I want to fix things myself. I have to learn how, what and why. Like knowing anything else, it’s a process.

I posed a question to an online motorcycle group on which I participate and it generated slight confusion. I received answers that created more questions, and even more answers. But that’s the process of learning about anything. Rather than knowing only the effect, I want to learn the cause(s) as well. Invariably, peeling away one component reveals another, and on and on until a system is pieced together. In reality, there is usually more than just one answer, more than one way to go from point A to B.

Now, I approach this endeavor the same way I do working with biological questions. Identify the components and their functions. Examine all the small parts at the molecular level. Sort them according to function and location, and ask how they interact with each other, either top down or bottom up. Then ask how that system and its components, interact with other components outside that system. This is the “system” comprised of sub-systems. How they all work together is like a symphony. When all the instruments are tuned and their sounds mesh, you hear and feel beautiful music: it’s ‘right’.

My question to the group was: how does wind affect gas mileage? Realizing that it was a complex question and there would be several answers, sure enough many factors affect gas mileage. The style in which one rides, the intrinsic components of the bike (engine, transmission, power, fairings, etc), and environmental elements. I targeted one element: how does altitude affect engine performance? Of course, what I was asking was a physics-based question (ultimately everything is reduced to physics). So I learned about air density, humidity, temperature, fuel ratios and altitude.

Regardless, all of these factors influence gas mileage: Wind, altitude, gas octane, engine components, bike design, road surface, temperature, style of driving (e.g. commuting versus long-distance open road). And experience. I explained to my fellow riders that as a novice and a scientist, I want, no, need to know the concepts, the fundamental theories of parts, how they work alone and in synchrony, and why. Then I can add my empirical data, experience on the bike under different conditions, to the basic fundamental knowledge and concepts, and ultimately I am able to alter the behaviour of the bike and my riding.

Being aware of all of these components when you ride allows you to feel all of it in synchrony: the wind, temperature, altitude, fuel combustion, speed, road surface, and so much more. But rather than be overwhelming, it all becomes a part of you and your bike together. Does it detract from the beauty and enjoyment of riding a bike? Only if you let it. On the contrary, it can enhance the sensation and pleasure of riding. Your bike becomes more a part of you and you a part of your bike.
It is my ‘zen’ of riding.

The truth knocks on the door and you say, “Go away, I’m looking for the truth,” and so it goes away. Puzzling. – Robert Pirsig*

Time for a Walkabout

Every so often we need a change. We become so caught up in our own small box of existence, hurrying most of our time away, losing grasp of what is important to each and all of us. We repeat the same day-to-day routine, a monotony that becomes shallow yet comfortable for most. It’s as if we become robots on automatic pilot. Then at some point in our lives we wonder where all that time went and sorry that it is all gone. We can’t go back to regain it.

Familiarity is comfort to most; it is ‘safe’, reassuring and relatively risk-free. We tend to shy away from risk and strangeness. Yet the world is full of wonderful strangeness. And what makes this world so hard to see is its usualness. Familiarity can blind you, too.

We accumulate new information and experiences every day, sometimes it is overwhelming. Our perspective tends to become more narrow and smaller housed inside our little box of comfort. We become the center of the cosmos and familiarity shrink wraps us inside the nucleus of our own ego. Our ‘I’ is a small parasitic microbe that only moves to provide for our immediate physiological and psychological needs. In time we become bored with our own little box and find ways to fill the empty spaces as we implode inside ourselves. We become disconnected with others and our environment until the robot is nudged out of autopilot. And malfunctions. We become dehumanized.

Robert Pirsig wrote*:

You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you're always in a compartment, and because you're used to it you don't realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You're a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame…… On a cycle the frame is gone. You are completely in contact with it all. You are ‘in’ the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming.

Metaphorically our lives become like the compartment of a car: the passive observer, too busy to talk to each other, passing life by outside without really touching it, experiencing it. By the time we stop to look back and wonder where it went, it’s too late. This is a dead end.

The Australian adolescent aborigines (and many other indigenous peoples) go walkabout for weeks or months as a rite of passage. I often refer to go walkabout when I travel without a planned itinerary or even destination. It is all about the journey, not the destination.

When the spirit falters, when we find ourselves questioning, confused, or need to break the cycle of familiarity, go on a walkabout. At times I use a walkabout to break the distractions of my ‘box’ of life, or when life throws me a curve ball that hits me square in the heart. Sometimes the surroundings of silence and space allow me to hold and direct the construction of my thoughts. Other times it is the strangeness of the environment and the people that break down the walls of my box and allow me to expand outside again, refreshing my perspective.

Invariably, walkabouts give me the clearness and fortitude to open the door when Truth comes knocking.

* Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. By Robert Pirsig.

I woke up this morning with a warm naked body next.....

Oh wait, that was a dream.

Got out of bed greeted by humid warm air blowing through all the window curtains, chirping birds outside the windows, the smell of moist Texas air. The sun hiding above the laden fog and clouds with a hint of later sunshine and heat. Wear a tank top under the jacket today; it's going to be a humid toaster.

The smell of freshly made coffee mixes with the moist breeze in the house and I see my horse outside grazing, stark black against the blended green and brown terrain. The barn roof drips condensation which the ground absorbs quickly. The cows next door meander contentedly.

After throwing water on my face and donning top and pants, I gather a change of clothes, shampoo and toothpaste, top my thermal mug with coffee, and pack the laptop accessories into the padded backpack. We've got miles and miles and days away ahead of us.

Grab the keys on the way out the door and greet the silver FJR waiting outside under cover like a trusty steed waiting for its master. Checking it over, stuffing the hardbags, and strapping the backpack onto the back rack, my leg swings over to straddle the seat. Sitting down in that comfortable sheepkin-cushioned saddle, shift into neutral, turn the key and push the start button. The sound that makes you go hummmmm.....

Sit for a while enjoying the peace and quiet while the Silverado between my legs warms to a purring idle. Smiling, the jacket is zipped up, the helmet is on and strapped, gloves envelope my hands and we ready to roll. Right the bike, push up the kickstand, shift down and roll the throttle. We're off.

Taking the country road curves slowly this morning, making our way to the highway heading south. Got a long day with ribbons of road ahead. No need to push it until the urge arises to crank the throttle open for a gazelle-like sprint. No cars in sight, no lights, no horns. Only the open road ahead and behind, going somewhere through space and time. Right now, there's only me and my steed. And right now, that's all that I need.

April Fool's Day and wishful thinking.

For those who can, have a good safe ride today.