Hot, scorching steam is finally starting to enter the pores as the last drops a beautifully aged single malt linger and yet all I can taste — all I can feel — is the long over due magic that still hangs in the air…
As the hammering water continues to fall, it’s hard to comprehend that just a few hours ago I was sitting in a booth, inside Mother’s Kitchen on the top of Palomar Mountain, staring out the window as I soaked in the magnificence of one hell of a marvelous day. The kind of day that I’ve so badly craved and so eagerly anticipated.
The return of riding if you will…
Two days ago this feeling seemed damn near implausible. Even though I valiantly climbed aboard the ST3 and headed out into the wild, something kept holding me back. Something seemed amiss. Something was on my mind.
Today that changed… Dramatically… Like a timelapse sequence for the soul that reveals true sunshine…
It was one of those rare moments when the deck finally feels completely clear, the plate seems crisply cleaned and you’re able to witness the concept of potential transform into the practicality of actual promise. When what had previously been mediocre suddenly comes alive and avails itself of awe and moto-virtue.
On a day when I set out just to be ‘mellow’ - just to get a ride in no matter how slow or patience it ultimately ended up being - the exact and total opposite occurred. A kind of ‘tunnel vision for life’, at least as I know it — The kinks in the road coalesced into one well-worn solemn course, as the tach kept rapidly rising and falling and dancing. The revs stayed fully charged and the speedo took up permanent residence well above where one would think it probably ought to hover. As the road repeatedly ducked and darted and the vistas expanded in a near sensory overload experience, the ST3 brilliantly hummed with a passion that I’ve so missed - not because of the bike, but because of me… And between the blossoming spring flora, the ultra-light weekday traffic and an unshakable premonition that I knew this road - that I finally knew it - I couldn’t shake the feeling that Palomar had never been better then it was today.
Somewhere between the beginning and the end of the ride a total confluence of remote variables connected so clearly, and so obviously, and so cleanly, that I couldn’t help but stop treating corners as static objects that stand alone but rather as single flowing entities that craft and pen a completely nimble journey in their own voice. And it’s a novella that I can’t wait to immerse myself in again. To call it anything less then ‘pure magic’ would strip it of meaning and devalue to moment… And what a moment… What a magnificent moment indeed…
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