I’ve been on the road for two days, now riding north on Interstate 74 in Ohio eagerly awaiting to intersect Indiana State road 46, until finally a road sign directs me to exit and merge on to 46. I’m now approximately 55miles/ 88 km from my destination, Bloomington, IN., I’m exhausted, nearly spent. This is my first tour and already I’ve endured plentiful precipitation, strong winds, unplanned turns, uncertainty and utter silence. When I finally reached my destination I’m almost delirious, I’ve arrived safely, astonishingly! I can hardly stop talking, to my old friends I seemed unrecognizable, but they graciously withheld any criticism and instead welcomed me into their home until I settled down.
A year and a few thousand miles later I’ve learned to embrace the feeling, the feeling one encounters during endless miles and hours on the saddle fully immerse in one’s consciousness with minimal social activity. Humans have yet to discover (or disclosed) whether a time machine exists, however, I believe motos would make decent prototype. During pre-trip planning, one can try to account for most expected incidents and plan accordingly along with scheduling an early departure; that is the plan. Until the day arrives, time warps and one looses track of it, and is relegated to counting miles in the absence of accurate time perception.
I agree with The Eagles when they sing that one may “look at the stars but still not see the light” and that is the case with time when touring. One may look at the clock and still be unable to discern time. It is actually a beautiful thing. We exists in a society that demands we account for all that we accomplish with titles, awards, wealth, etc. As a result some individuals choose to ignore such notion and truly exist if only for a brief time, through sport touring and remain unaccountable for time.
To the uninformed and uninitiated motorcycling consist of riding a bicycle like machine, although at higher speeds, a semi valid assumption. Except to be able to fully appreciate it one must be willing to embrace the uncertainty of the sport, and that is where the rewards await. During most of my travels when I have encountered flocks of riders, most of the time they have been on hogs. It appears sport tourers may be the soloist type, a member of a subculture within a microcosm.
A rider willing to embark on a potential one way journey for the sheer joy of adventure, self validation, [insert own assumption], alone. In search of blissful solitude that can only be achieved at higher revolutions, similarly to what most are trying to accomplish: to be yourself albeit at higher speeds. To engage in an affair that will demand the best of you, that is the allure of the road, intoxicating, irresistible and potentially final.
Ultimately, The Ride will exact a toll on the jockey as a means of admittance into a parallel realm where it all decelerates, where material elements are irrelevant, ambitions rescinded for one must exist in the present. It is far from escapism from quotidian affairs, it is… heighten reality, exponentially beautiful reality. Where the most favorable choice is to simply allow the road to Send Me on my Way (RR). Enjoy the Ride.