I had been riding for three years when I threw up the kickstand, cranked up my Boulevard and pulled out of the driveway for my 4500 mile adventure. Tamela had ridden for three months. On August 8, 2010 Tamela concluded her cross country jaunt by wheeling into the parking lot of the Caribou Coffee at the edge of my neighborhood for a celebration party. That same day I returned home on Amtrak in a cervical collar with thoracic extension and my left arm in cast, brace and sling. My mother was at my side and would stay with me for the next four to six weeks as there were very few things, basic things, I could do for myself. Very different indeed.
Am I jealous of her journey as compared to mine? It would not be honest if I said no. Do I feel like my journey was a failure - on a certain level, yes I do, but the events are part of the larger picture...even if I am still so close to it that I can't quite make out what the image is. Maybe it's like those digital images that were the rage back in the '90s. In order to see the "hidden" image you actually had to sort of "un-focus" your eyes. If you tried too hard, you would never see it. You had to just let it come.
During our conversation, Tamela shared her approach to the inevitable comments that we motorcyclists hear when someone learns that we ride. Typically it's a story of a friend or loved one being seriously injured or killed. Tamela's reaction is to stop the person before they continue and ask what in the story will be of help to her - what is the take away that will make her a better, safer, more aware rider. I like that. As riders, we know the risks and for our own reasons, we choose to live with them and continue to ride. Couldn't we look at this approach and apply it to life more broadly? As we each have our own journey, aren't we constantly evaluating situations we and others encounter and using them to inform our own world-views and approaches to life? Don't we all want a little insight that will make our "ride" a little safer and more rewarding?
As we continued talking, I shared with her my experience of my first trip to Florida several years ago. Mainly, I remember that I didn't like it - at least the topography of the place. It was so flat! I actually found myself feeling a bit agitated and didn't really know why. Fast forward a year or so later and I was driving back home from the mountains in my car. Even though I was on the interstate, the route took me through beautiful vistas where trees and vegetation rose up on either side of me. The feeling was one of being completely nestled into the earth. That was it! That's what I didn't like about Flordia! Driving through the mountains made me feel connected with the earth - a part of it. Dare I even say I felt I was a part of earth that mattered. Conversely, Florida's utter flatness made me feel exposed, unprotected and totally extraneous - almost to the point of being a nuisance - as if I were a flea on a hairless dog that was going to be flicked off into oblivion at any moment. Riding a motorcycle on the backroads gave me a similar experience. When you're on a bike, you are part of the scenery. You experience temperature and weather changes, the smells of the road. You are part of time and space. When in a car, at least for me, burning down the interstate, the sensation is completely different. Instead of feeling part of time and space, I feel like I am hurdling through it - completely disconnected.
I don't want to hurdle through time and space; I don't want to be a flea. So, let's continue to share our stories with one another as long as they bring us that connection and make us all better "riders."
Peace on the Journey!
