Reaching For The Keys

Equal parts of trepidation and excitement are crossing inside my head as I desperately try to distance myself from the workweek. Lethargically the mind sends the message. But the body does nothing with it. At first seconds go by, then what feels like minutes. It seems as if there are simply too many thoughts to overcome. Too many bullet points on the to-do list to still check off. Eventually the message goes through and I can hear the ‘whoosh’ sound whirl by as my thumb reaches over and presses down on the starter button. Suddenly life gets a whole lot better thanks to a mere rumble…

After yet another month of inactivity between rides, it’s finally time to break away once again…

Lately the mere suggestion of squeezing a ride in has been completely challenging in its own right. There has just been to much to do; to many emails, to much editing, to many phone calls, to many conversations about future conversations. Adjectives alone can’t even describe the constant voracity with which the grind has been grinding… And yet today something changed…

For the first time in what seems like eons, the need to ride outweighed the reasons not to…
So with the sun nearly sky high, I rolled out of town and straight into a wave of permanent heat. And it didn’t matter. The puddles of sweat and the burning boots couldn’t deter the pent up frustration at my own inability to just get on the bike and leave the day-to-day for a few hours.

Ten minutes later I’m shooting down the freeway, ducking in and out of traffic at a rapid rate – perhaps more rapid then it should be – when it occurs to me that it’s a strange thing indeed to lose your personal refuge. Even if the reasons you put your escapism on hold happen to be very good ones.

When it comes to work I honestly can’t really complain, life is very good at the moment. Yet no matter how busy you are or how passionate you are about the work it somehow still painful to watch brilliant summer days go by without the need to clean your face shield. Which of course begs the question, how does one balance professional dreams in the face of personal passion?
Over the past several weeks it has felt like a severely lopsided equation, not because of a lack of desire, but rather a lack of energy. On the few occasions I’ve actually had the time to squirrel away for a ride somehow my mind hasn’t been ready or willing. I wake up, fill myself with coffee and find myself wondering am I awake enough to really handle a motorcycle right now? It’s a question that I have yet to find an adequate way to answer when it crosses my mind… If only humanity had a fuel gauge for mental energy…

By the time I get to Palomar the road has completely emptied. It’s the inherent beauty of riding during the workweek and a mere mile up the mountain the temps start dropping. Drastically. What had been 96º suddenly becomes 84º. It’s the kind of change in air temps that non-riders wouldn’t notice but sportbike riders do. Especially when you’re straddling a fire-breathing, butt-burning Italian Superbike that thus far into the day has made you feel like a marshmallow roasting over an open fire pit.

Quickly I drop down a gear, finger the brakes and hear the engine wail away. A heartbeat later the bike strikes. This corner connects with that corner and what had been separate parts of a remote roadway, of a remote life, suddenly becomes one fluid escaping movement. The kind of odyssey that is so concentrated and so controlled that it leaves little time for iPhones or Emails.

Ten minutes later I pull off at an overlook with a throbbing wrist and immediately find myself listening to relative silence — It’s so blatant and stark that it’s damn near overwhelming at first. Yet the quiet is enthralling. It captures your attention even though it does nothing; yet it solidifies your mind with a remarkable calmness and allows life to amble on at a pace that seems so far removed from what you’re used to it’s scary. There’s something amazing odd about how a desolate canyon can fill a void in your real life…

The lack of noise is so divergent from the past four weeks that I almost cringe at myself. How could I have let this much time go by between rides?

When I return home two hours later I don’t know the answer but I know the solution – It’s time to reaffirm my faith in the church of sportbikes once again…