This quote is well known in the motorcycling world. I don't honestly remember where I first heard it, but I can tell you I thought that no truer words have ever been spoken.
I had some time over the weekend to get out with family, and re-evaluate my position in life. I realized how much of my life I have given up, and how things have not gone nearly as planned. The one thing that has always stayed steady, though, is my love of motorbikes.
I have been through quite a lot in the last couple years, and emotionally, I really believe I have been damaged beyond repair. I am lucky enough to have a great wife, and a strong in-law family, but it doesn't take the place of the people who have caused the biggest heartache.
Enter the motorbike: The one true release I've had through everything going on. You see, people, no matter how "neutral", are always going to have an opinion, and thus take a side. It's human nature to do so. The motorbike, however, doesn't. It doesn't care who you are, what you do for a living, or what age you are. The only thing it cares about is the next ride. "Where do we go from here?"
I was reminded of this over the weekend, during a short but brisk ride through some local backroads. I have been fighting with some decisions I need to make, and with some family-related issues. My wife, as wonderful as she is, has her own very biased opinions. Pulling that helmet on and thumbing the starter button on my GSXR, I took off down the road, and into my own thoughts.
You see, the motorbike may not be partisan to anything going on in your life, but it will force you to be alone with your thoughts. The solitude offered, and the lack of distraction in the form of stereos, cell phones, and computers, puts you smack in the middle of your mind. At that point, you have no choice but to sort things out.
The motorbike really is the perfect tool for the job, as well. You see, it has always seemed to me that the best way to sort thoughts has been to tour the rural roads. They snake back and forth through the lesser known parts of the country, just as one's thoughts snake through their cranial lobes. It has always seemed that as I chose a new direction, a decision would be made, or a memory dealt with. I could almost see the things in my head form in the road ahead, and the physical crossroads turn themselves into the choices I needed to make. If I went one way, and it turned into a fantastic ride, it was the right choice. If I chose a road, and it led me into a mess, the choice I associated with it was the wrong one. Call it fate, or blind luck, but it seems to have worked.
By the time I got home, the choice was made, and a new journey begins.
