How I find my Zen.

I love motorcyles. That's it, that's the perfect sentance. No more needs to be said. I should end this right now while it's still perfect. I don't think you win pulitizers for three word stories so I'll continue. Motorcycles are everything which are right and good in the world.

I look at a bike and I see sex. It's sleek, daring, growling and begging for adventure. It's everything that attracts me to bad women. Just like women, there's hardly a bike I wouldn't want to own or ride at least once. Ok, that was a little joke but it illustrates my point. Honestly though, you can make some comparisons. Bikes can be dangerous. Women can definitely be dangerous. You can treat both well, you can baby them, spend too much on them, devote your life too them, but one bad slip can leave you heartbroken or dead. Both can fill a void in your soul like nothing else can. Be without a good woman or lose one and a darkness will creep into your life that you can not lift unless she returns. Be without a bike too long and you'll gaze longingly at every bike that passes you on the road. Worse yet is when there's a beautiful woman on the back of that bike. Your only response is to sigh and wonder where you went wrong.

Bikes can heal. Whenever there is a bad spot in my life, my bike has been there for me. When a trusted employee, a girl I treated like my daughter, stole from my business and left me hurt and unsure, I went camping on my bike. The long ride and nights by the fire helped me to gain perspective. The Irish whiskey and PBRs had a different but still helpful effect as well.

When my wander lust became too much to bear, my bike took me through an 8000 mile ride through Mexico. Long rides in the desert cleared my thoughts. Technical riding in the twisties of the mountains forced me to focus until my instincts took over. My bike was an ambassador to the local people. Where are you from? How big is your bike? Is it fast? How do you like Mexico? These were the questions we were asked every time we got off our bikes. My bike introduced me to the Mexican people in a way I could not have done alone. (check out my blog from my ride, Motolocogringo)

Something happens on a very long ride that I can't find anywhere else. When riding your left with your own thoughts. You may have an ipod filling your head with 80s New Wave or ACDC but you can only focus on music for so long. Sooner or later your mind takes over and thoughts creep in. There doesn't seem to be reason, method or sequence they just come. On long rides virtually every thought, conversation or experience you've ever had enters your head. It's uncontrollable. Sometimes I'll smile when I think about my daughter playing in the rain when she was three. Other times I may feel shame over something I said unfairly to a girl in high school. Problems with work or relationships get mulled over time and time again until a solution works itself out, usually with me realizing I've been a slave to my ego and I should just let it go.
Thought after thought after thought come and go like subway cars in New York or like bad politicians in Detroit. The thoughts keep coming and you continue to solve problems until finally, you've solved every problem, you've seen every face in your data bank and have rehashed every conversation you've ever had a dozen times over, until there's nothing. Nothing else comes. Not the last argument you had with your wife, not global warning or your favorite boots your old dog chewed up five years ago, nothing. That's when you've done it. You're now part of the machine. The bike is a part of you. Fifty miles have dropped off and you realize you've been smiling for every one. This is my Zen. Some people find this place in different ways. But this is mine. I need this. I need this every so often like a computer needs to reboot when running slowly. I need to reboot.

Yes, I love motorcycles. I know they may one day kill me. But I'd die a slower and unhappier death without them. Watch for me on the roads. If one day I pass you with a wide grin on my mug, don't honk at me to grab my attention. Let me go. Leave me to that space in my mind that I can only find while riding my bike.