Motorcycles have such a unique ability to make us go places. What was once simply a form of cheap transportation now exists in a realm of secondary purpose. It’s not only about moving from Point A to Point B but also mentally going from one spot to another. Bikes have a unique quality that allows us to be whisked away from where we are and pushed into new and dare I say better places to reside. They cleanse our minds and free our souls for yet another upcoming workweek. They allow us to breath deeper and think clearer. They give us a perspective that’s not insulated by plastic, metal or glass. Rather they immersed us in the outside world. People ask me all the time, what is it that makes motorcycles attractive? What’s the draw? What brings me back weekend after weekend to ride canyon after canyon and go in what amounts to large circles around Los Angeles?

Most of the time I tend to tell people that I enjoy the ability to get ‘lost’ when I’m on a motorcycle. To get away. To remove myself from the real world for portions of a weekend – perhaps fractions - so that I can come back refreshed. It’s an odd concept to say the least, to lose yourself in something that requires total focus and dedication so that you can forget about more pressing issues. Personally the more I think about riding while I am riding the less I drift off to other mental places. Places that scare me, agitate me, anger me, annoy me, worry me, and even frighten me.

So when I need a mental break riding is what I do. Or what I want to do.

But then you have mornings like this morning when riding becomes something else. When it doesn’t clear your head or help your soul. When it exaggerates the things that scare you the most. Heading up the coast I thought it would be a good day to ride, but unfortunately I was rather mistaken. For whatever reason I couldn’t shake the feeling that today I was playing with my mortality. That I was living to close to the edge even though I was riding well within the speed limits. That I was dancing with my life.

All week I’ve been battling a head cold and perhaps the reality is that I never should have thrown my leg over the bike this morning. But I guess sometimes best intentions get the better of us. When I got up this morning I felt a bit better so I thought it would be a good time to get away and let go of things for awhile. Now I’m sure nobody enjoys feeling ill, but for me personally it highlights the scariest parts of life. I hate feeling out of control. I don’t like feeling shitty or mortal. Most of all I dislike the idea that there’s no set timetable to recovery. No workshop manual that says fix these two bolts and replace this water pump and you’re back to factory specs. Mechanical things are easy in that respect. They have nut and bolt solutions. Human anatomy doesn’t and I hate that.

So when you get on the bike and ride half way up the coast only to find that the world seems to be out to get you it’s more than a bit unnerving. Twice on the PCH people tried to merge into my lane and nearly ran me off the road. Why folks find it so hard to look over their shoulders while driving baffles me. Then there were three times in the canyons where people popped out of their hidden driveways with no warning.

In and of themselves these are not completely destructive events, but given where I started mentally it simply took me away from the ride. I had no chance to get ‘lost’. Instead I was struck by the thought that if there’s one thing I wish I could get back in life, it’s the sensation of youthful invincibility.