The Road Before Me is Bright, But the Wind is Burning My Eyes
And other life observations on a cool Sunday morning.
“Against the wind
We were runnin' against the wind
We were young and strong, we were runnin' against the wind”
— Bob Seger
I needed an ice cream cone.
No, I definitely needed an ice cream cone.
The heat of mid-afternoon along that stretch of road outside of Idaho Falls was hot.
Really hot.
Weather app said 104. And humid.
Ahead I could see a large plastic soft-serve sign, and a little shack off to the side.
It was calling to me.
I had another two hours of riding before any hope of cooling off, so I figured why not?
The parking lot was a mix of dirt and gravel in various stages of disrepair. I tread slowly on the big cruiser, picking my way through the potholes and sand.
Ended up parking next to a couple of crotch-rockets in the shade of the huge cone-shaped sign.
I turned the engine off and just sat for a minute.
The engine fan remained on, accompanied by the ticking and clicking of the cooling V-twin.
I wondered if the helmet had melted onto my head as I pushed up the visor and undid the chin strap. It hadn’t and as it slipped off, beads of sweat rolled down the sides of my head.
Motorcycles only have one kind of air conditioning; unzip the jacket and go fast.
Unless it is 104.
Then we begin to think in terms of hair dryers, and air fryers.
Imagine a big ol’ Sunbeam aimed at you on full blast.
Yeah, it’s like that.
I put the helmet on the handlebars and took the riding jacket off.
“Riding jacket? Why would you wear a jacket in the heat?”
This is a question usually asked by someone who has never skidded over the asphalt (or gravel, sand, small stones, broken glass) at an unreasonable speed.
My riding jacket is vented for air in the summer but also protects against the occasional teenager in daddy’s Volvo texting her friends about sneaking over to Billy’s last night and pulling out in front of me.
I may crash, but I won’t suffer road rash.
Which is different for sure from the rash ol’ Billy gave her in the back of his Ford.
There were benches set up in the shade, and small people were running around with their ice cream screaming and having a good time.
I am never bothered by children playing, no matter how loud. Let ‘em enjoy their youth. I know what awaits them. We all do.
And who am I to complain? I got loud pipes. I make my own joyful noise when I roll out.
I am careful though, when I am in serene places. I really try to not lay on the throttle and make her rumble.
Places like Coal Bank Hill on the Million Dollar Highway. Or up on Beartooth. Or along Oak Creek Canyon.
I can’t stifle her, but I can keep it down to a manageable thump.
I try.
The little lady in the ice cream shop was super friendly. I could tell she took being happy and sparky with the customers as some sort of perk of her job.
Too many choices.
Must have been 50 little round containers in front of me. Rainbows, and cookies, and triple-chocolate with cocanuts… Jeez…
I got a vanilla.
Well, some sort of vanilla… a double vanilla maybe.
She rang me up, and I popped a five into her tip jar which got me a big, “Thank you so much, sir, Keep the shiny side up!”
Aah, she knows bikes.
The “shiny side up” is a reminder to not crash and end up laying down.
On the asphalt.
Always a good part of any motorcycle trip planning; keep the shiny side up.
I found a spot near a couple of guys who obviously rode in on the crotch-rockets.
They had a tell.
Fancy riding gear with neon stripes, shiny boots, ‘Darth Vador’ helmets… you know the look.
Me, I ride in jeans, work boots, T-shirts, and my riding jacket.
I’m just a casual dude on a cruiser.
We started talking - as motorcyclists do when we meet up on the road - and they started telling me about their adventures. I shared mine.
One of the boys asked me why I was still riding at my age. “I mean, it’s cool that you are, but what keeps you on the road?”
No, I didn’t get insulted.
I was young and stupid once too.
I asked him how fast his bike could go.
He smiled and said that he could definitely go well over a hundred.
I smiled and said, “yeah, my cruiser tops out at about 95 or so, but I rarely ride it that fast as I don’t do freeways unless I have to.”
And then I explained life to them, as if it were a motorcycle.
I asked them how long it would take to go 1 mile at 20 miles an hour?
“Three minutes” they said.
“Can you imagine riding that super fast bike at 20 miles an hour”, I asked them. “Would you savor every foot of that ride?”
“Oh hell no,” they laughed. “That would drive me crazy to go that slow”.
I smiled and chuckled in agreement.
“Yes,” I said, “It would be incredibly boring and seem like an eternity.”
We laughed a bit and then I said, “How long does it take to go a mile at 75 MPH”?
They had to think for a moment. Hard to do that one in your head.
Especially in the heat…. heh.
“It takes 45 seconds to go a mile at 75 miles per hour”, I said.
“Aah, yeah…”, one of them said, “pretty damned quick.”
I smiled back at them.
“That’s life in a nutshell, boys.”
They looked puzzled.
“If life was measured by the mile, you end up going through it faster and faster.
At 20 a year is a long time, and you live every moment of it as it slowly ticks by. At 75, those years fly by like yellow stripes on a newly paved road. And all you can do is hang on for another mile.”
3 minutes versus 45 seconds.
Another mile.
Just one more.
“So I like to get out, take my time, and spend it seeing stuff I've never seen before.
It goes by fast, boys. Enjoy every single second of it. Even if it seems slow and boring.”
They got quiet for a moment. We sat in silence.
Well, not really silence since there were four more carloads of over-heated tourists lining up in front of us for their semi-frozen treats.
Kids whine a lot these days, or maybe it’s just me.
We headed out to the bikes together, and they took off heading south toward Wyoming.
I was heading north to Salmon, Idaho.
Cause I had never seen Salmon, Idaho.
And I had a little time.
Well those drifter's days are past me now
I've got so much more to think about
Deadlines and commitments
What to leave in, what to leave out
Against the wind
I'm still runnin' against the wind
I'm older now but still runnin' against the wind
Well I'm older now and still runnin'
Against the wind
— Bob Seger
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Also a food-still life 8-week course for October will be a lot of fun.
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Love this. Fantastic perspective!
Thanks for the ride... Reading this I felt as though I was there.