I took a fifty-seven mile ride this morning. It was the loop out to Whetstone, then over to Tombstone, just missing the Border Patrol checkpoint, and home on the Charleston Road. On the last section I, of course, caught up to a caravan and followed them the rest of the way. That usually happens there. There are several opportunities to pass in that sixteen miles stretch, but then if you went much faster than them you would only catch another caravan. So I relaxed and followed them into Sierra Vista.
Why do I like to ride? There are several answers to that. When I was probably in junior high school the little 50cc bikes began to flood in from Japan. I couldn’t have one, but some of my friends did. Occasionally I had the opportunity to ride one. And I loved it from the first! I can’t fully explain that, because I know of other people who don’t have that reaction. I didn’t own one until I was thirty-five years old, and the visceral effect was still there. My preference was for unique engineering, so I owned a Honda CX500 Turbo and a Buell Ulysses among a few others.
I also have the unique ability to see bikes out of the corner of my eye even when only a part is visible. Their personal features often enable me to identify the brand, and, if I can’t, I am not satisfied until I can. Sometimes I just have to remain unsatisfied.
Freedom would be a major answer. I realize that in some sense I am no more free on a bike than in a car. But I feel more free, and it likely as to do with the exposure to the elements. It’s fascinating to sense the changes in temperature--they can be subtle. It’s fascinating to sense different smells. The loudest noise is wind noise, so I try to block most of that with ear plugs to save my hearing. And the sights sometimes, as someone said, could make your jaw drop. They seem more dramatic on a bike.
I think of freedom when I ride. Movement has been restricted in various times and places. I celebrate that it is not yet restricted for me, even during the Covid-19 pandemic. Let me say, especially during the Covid-19 pandemic!
My bikes have no radios. The BMW had one, but I removed it. I want to get away from the news. I want to think thoughts stimulated by the environment. I think frequently of faith. They say riding is risky, but so is life. I know that God has rescued me from severe accidents at times, and that no only on bikes. That is not reason to be foolish, but I do trust him when I ride.
I thank God that He is the Creator as I view fantastic scenery from that perch. I am feasting on what He has made. Sometimes I sing. I may be singing for God, or for myself, but certainly not for others. Sometimes I pray, and this is usually for others. I know you can do this in other settings, but from a bike it is also possible. Of course, one needs always to concentrate on riding the bike, scanning for danger, ready to adjust.
Riding is therapy. Some will not believe what I am about to write, but I have it on authority from medical experts and personal observation. Riding is good for one’s heart, and so it makes me feel good. Riding is good for my edema, as it makes my symptoms disappear. I like it when those symptoms disappear.
I have ridden approximately 100,000 miles. That’s significant, but not a great deal for true enthusiasts. I can hardly believe that I took some of the trips I did; they look surreal in the rear view mirror.
I suppose I’ll be giving up riding soon. I will always value the time spent on a bike, the memories, the friendships, the remote places. I will always think as I motor along in some other form of transportation on certain roads that this road would be good on a bike. I recently read two articles of contrast in one magazine: one man at age eighty was planning a bike trip across Australia; another man of the same age was being forced to quit riding because of his eyes. Old age is like that. I wonder if anyone is interested in buying my bikes. They could run yet for a long time. (Since I first wrote this, the BMW and Buell have been sold, but I only downsized as I now ride a Moto Guzzi V7 III Special.)
Well, that’s pretty much it. And maybe I enjoy the ‘risk.’ I know I enjoy having completed any intended trip.