2.25.2008,7:40 AM

Home is where you hang your hat. Or, in our case, our helmets. 'Home' is where my heart hangs. In motion, silence, contemplation; beating, singing, howling, weeping. Home is where my heart is alive.

Late last night I returned from another journey into the Big Bend region. Only three days of riding, but it was 'home' in so many ways. After one full day of riding a grueling rocky, sandy, steep, pebbled, gravelly road that taxed me more than any other I have ridden in my life; where people have died from injuries or the heat; where dinosaurs stomped and time knows no unit of measurement but eternity..... I rode west on pavement into the dusk with shadows creeping across the mountains and desert floor, packs of javalinas waddling in search of food, coyotes romping across the sand, and owls hunched on rocks and poles waiting..... waiting for day to relent to night and the animals come out to play in the cool of the waning sun.

I grinned widely as the wind whipped my helmet and knobby clumps of rubber on my wheels grabbed the black and gray ribbons winding through the hills and desert floor. I felt as though I was a desert creature flying through my home territory, enjoying the luscious exhilaration of life and eternal time. I felt alone and alive.

It was wonderful.

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posted by Macrobe
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