I took an 18 year break from motorcycling to raise children with my wife. A kid needs a dad to bring home the milk and diapers. We were living too close to the financial edge back then. I could not afford a mistake that would leave me unable to work.
Those years were a wonderful blur. Watching your DNA develop is rewarding beyond words. Early on, it is very visible. Fingers lengthen. Voices speak. Clothes and shoes are rapidly replaced for larger sizes. Then the mentality and the personality comes and it’s a whole new ballgame. You stare at them and wonder where the heck did that thought or action come from? You witness some sincere act of charity or some other desirable character trait and a pride fills your heart that is indescribable. Fathers Day. Awards presentations. Dance reviews. Soccer games.
But there is another side to this parenting thing. In the beginning, you are so busy and so tired. The bills keep coming and you work every single second you can to earn just a few more nickels in the hopes of getting ahead. Of course that concept is a farce. There is no “ahead”. You are living in a pool of quicksand. The more you move, the more you sink.
Still further, as these people turn from gremlins to human beings, their independence takes you by surprise. You try with all your might to suppress this. Bullshit punishments. Stern lectures. Scare tactics. Perhaps a little terrorism. All in vain. When friends call, they answer and you quickly learn that you and Mama are NOT priority one. You give them a car mostly out of selfishness. Finally, I don’t have to be the chauffeur. But the car is Custer’s last stand. Now they are truly mobile and the fence has been move to an infinite distance.
For me at least, the late teenage years became mundane. Boring, dare I say. All of a sudden, I’ve got this extra time and I have no idea what to do with myself. I try sleeping in on a Saturday morning. It’s something I have been dreaming about for years. But I’m still full of piss and vinegar and tossing in bed isn’t what it is cracked up to be. I try gardening, home improvement, fantasy football. Bla Bla Bla. It’s completely unfulfilling. What I need is adventure. Delve into the unknown. Go where this man has not gone before.
In August 2009, I convinced my wife that I could return to motorcycling responsibly. Apparently, I really can sell ice to Eskimos. Little did I know how much this would fill the void. I was exhilarated and terrified all at once. It was simultaneously liberating and naughty. Pants, you live in a box. This machine is your ticket out. Will you have the courage to punch your ticket?
It was mid September 2009. I decided to ride the Mississippi River levee road. A full 50 miles from home, riding straight there was completely out of the question. What if the bike breaks down? What if I get lost? What if I piss in my pants? No, for this maiden voyage, we will trailer the bike over there, and then ride up and down the single road.
I stopped along the way to sniff, read, observe, and learn. In between stops, under the helmet, my mind was running at a fast pace. I’m doing it. Living the dream. I’m a bonified biker and this feeling in my hands is more than I ever imagined. It was 45 of the most amazing miles ever ridden by a motorcyclist. My ass was sore the rest of the day. In the truck on the way home, I was beaming with excitement and joy. It was like a kid that just learned to whistle. I could not wait to get home and tell my wife of my day, my discoveries, and my happiness.
This is Nottingway Plantation, and it speaks volumes about my heritage, history, and culture. But that is for another time. The real story is that this was my first ride report. It was spiritual and it changed my life forever.
Stay thirsty, my friends.