Reality in the Bright Sun
Can I outrun the advancing zombies on my motorcycle? Those words echo in the darker chasms of my mind, a river of fear flows through the abyss and I’ve slowly overcome by a fever of fear and anxiety. Far above there’s panic in the world. And the only treatment, or at least the one I reach for first is to go for a ride.
Riding imparts a quiet solitidue in my head. It can wash away the darkness and leave me standing in the sunlight, upright, calm and with a renewed perspective on the day. Or at least that’s my hope as I push the BMW K75 out of the garage.
I’m attracted to stories containing threads of melancholy and loss; especially in literature and movies. Irresistible forces and frightening odds with a protaginest who emerges beaten and bruises, heavy with grief yet triumphant as a representative of all that’s good with humanity. It’s never been clear to me why I’m attracted to these stories. I’m neither a hero in life or in the fantasies that drift through dream and consciousness.
It’s early morning with dazzling sunlight, welcomed after so many days of a monotone grayness that whispers to crawl into bed and go to sleep. The motorcycle moves smoothly along the highway as I head south along the front ridge of the Appalachian Mountains. It’s colder than I thought it would be, a few degrees below freezing, and my feet producing a dull ache as they give way to the cold. Another stop, this time for fuel and some time indoors to allow my body to warm.
Into the Mountains
Riding early in March I’m aware of the spread of the corona virus across the planet. In three days the World Health Organization would declare the COVID-19 outbreak a pandemic. My subconscious is a week ahead of my intellectual awareness of the situation. It’s responsible for a gut level feeling that something isn’t right in the world. Standing alone at the window of a convenience store, hoping the bright sunshine is heating the helmet sitting on the sidecase of the BMW, my mind refocuses on ride.
I’ve decided to ride to the Flight 93 National Memorial near Shanksville, Pennsylvania. There are many winding routes through the mountains to get there but without a map or GPS device, I take the direct route. I want to get there. I can wander on the way home.
Allegheny Mountains; Lookout Point
As the morning wears on it’s not getting much warmer. Especially as the road moves across the tops of ridges. From the numerous overlooks in Pennsylvania I’ve stood on, there’s a calm that comes with the grand view of the landscape, a distance from the world that affords me a more rational process to figure out what’s going on in my head.
Searching for Heros
If the world has become a science fiction film, it is one devoid of heros. I’m still searching for that man or woman who is going to save humanity. And then I realize this is not a movie. I’m responsible for saving myself. Wash my hands. Stay away from people. Perhaps it’s a left-handed blessing much of the things I enjoy in life are solitary endeavors.
I knew little about the Flight 93 Memorial other than it was a place remembering the plane crash related to the 9/11 highjackings. Slowly riding into the memorial I was immediately struck my a sense of calm; the serenity felt when entering a sacred place. There was anguish here. A human outcry and sacrifice. And there were heros.
The structures at the Memorial site echo the breadth and depth of what happened here. There’s a surreal feeling, even on a sunny day, that I would not have though possible. The chill and wind hint at the terrible event that took place on September 11, 2001.
Reverence and Recognition
The sweeping nature of the 2200 acre site leaves me feeling vulnerable, exposed, powerless over the world. Inside I learn again what I already knew, that the passengers and crew worked until the end to regain control of the plane, their lives and their destiny. Their sacrifice that day saved countless others if the terrorists had been able to complete their intended mission.
There’s a heavy sense of sadness for me at that place. Not unlike what I feel when I visit the battlefields of Gettysburg. The spirits and souls of those who perish in such places haunt the land and remind those who care of the price of strife and violence.
Or so I want to believe.
Lost on the Road
It’s a gift to be lost. How often in this modern world full of signs and technology do you have the chance to have no idea where you are? For me almost never. Even lost I have a general idea of where I am and with money in my pocket and gas in the tank I can travel a long way and eventually come across something familiar. In my mind, it is the best way to ride.
Pennsylvania is made up of winding mountain roads and rambling cow paths paved over to produce the highway system we enjoy today. By the time I left the Flight 93 Memorial I was relaxed and concerns of a zombie apocalypse had evaporated.
I had not spent any time on two wheels in this part of Pennsylvania. And the travels by car had been from point A to point B on the main highways. So as I wandered toward what I thought would take me in a general northeast direction towards home I was actually moving northwest and farther from my destination. It’s a delightful shock to suddenly see a sign for a place you thought was in a completely different direction.
Silence and Solitude
By the time I figured out where I was there was another 120 mile ride between there and home. I rambled through the mountains and made my way along empty roads and lightly trafficked highways. There was space for riding and thought. It was a fine ride and my mind was clear. The ride was perhaps the most pronounced example of a moving hermitage as I’ve had in a long time.
For most of the non-riding public, I suspect silence and solitude is not something typically associated with motorcycles and scooter.
Reflection
I needed a long ride to clear my head. Time on the motorcycle provided enough solitude to unravel the growing anxiety I was feeling about the spread of the corona virus through the United States. And I was able to honestly assess my own risk at someone over 65 years of age with a suppressed immune system.
Since this ride the number of infections has increased exponentially. Life has changed here as businesses have shut down and people have largely confined themselves at home. Practicing good social distancing isn’t much of an issue for someone who enjoys riding alone and walks their dogs alone. As someone pointed out to me I should be grateful that most of what I enjoy in life already distances me from other people.
I can’t say how things will turn out in regard to the COVID-19 pandemic. I can only share what I’m doing to stay safe right now — I’ve cancelled all non-essential meetings and appointments, distance myself from other people, have medications and groceries delivered, wash my hands often, and enjoy the life I have today regardless the restrictions.
I hope each of you finds your own peace and gratitude for what you have now, regardless of the restrictions you face.
It remains a wonderful life!
Since March 18 we’re in a ‘lockdown light’ in Belgium. All recreational transport is forbidden, except cycling, walking or running in your own environment. Only riding to work or getting food is allowed – no recreational riding whatsoever, and this for probably at least another few weeks. I guess the underlying thought is to avoid more pressure on the hospitals in case of an accident. Pretty hard with the weather being so nice lately, but the message is clear: stay indoors, work from home if possible, and flatten the curve. Things escalated quickly, but I understand they are trying everything to avoid what’s happening in Italy or Spain where health services are breaking down. I hope things work out there in the US. Stay safe.
While we don’t have any limitation on recreational scooter or motorcycle riding, I have wondered about the wisdom of riding now when hospitals, as you say, could get overwhelmed. Not a good idea to be laid up for any period of time in a hospital right now. So I’m uncertain if I’ll continue to ride or step back for a while. Otherwise, life for me and my wife is much like you outline. And since we both tend to lead solitary lives to begin with it really hasn’t been a huge change.
I hope you find the curve of the outbreak flattened enough to keep the health system in Belgium intact. Hoping the same here in the United States.
Thanks for checking in and letting me know how things are going across the pond.
Yeah same here, since I’m working from home for years now nothing much has changed for me. My rides were my way of going out, so a bit sad to see them on hold for weeks :p but I guess it’s for the best.
A small price to pay, staying at home for a while, in hopes of keeping myself and others safe. There are much worse things. I hope we both see a decline in infections and warm weather for riding not far beyond.
I don’t seem to be doing much long distance riding anymore Steve, glad you still find it enjoyable…..as to social distancing, I never would have ever figured me to have been a trend setter in that way! 🙂
All this too shall pass….though I think one of the zombie flicks, World War Zed….starts with a pandemic and the vaccine developed causing zombies…
I thought about you and your loner tendencies. Figure you are the model for the new pandemic lifestyle!
Everything will pass. Curious to find out what is left behind. I think World War Z was some natural virus emerging. I Am Legend is the one with Will Smith that started with a cancer vaccine turning the world into howling zombies. Luckily they can only go out in the dark!
Be safe.
Steve, so glad to know that you’ve been out riding. And to have an extended ride where your thoughts have a chance to run their course…perfect.
I’ve been wrestling with my own anxiety regarding the virus, and couldn’t help but notice some unexpected comfort just now in the knowledge that you are still out there riding, still out there photographing, and still out there blogging. There is comfort in the familiar, especially in times like these.
I have been riding. I was out in the big snowflakes yesterday. The road iced up fast and had to turn back towards home. Will post that sometime. Mostly Vespa riding.
Still blogging and photographing. Glad you find a moment of solace in that. Heard President Baron’s message to the University was pretty dark. Layoffs on the horizon if things continue as they are through the end of April. Hope that isn’t the case. A ride can clear some things away but not that…
Yes, my primary takeaway from President Baron’s message was “Things just got real!”
Perhaps I will have more time to ride the Vespa than I had hoped for!
Thanks for the post! What types of dogs have you spent your life with?
We have two Belgian Sheepdogs — the black ones also know as Groenendaels as opposed to the Malinois or Tervurens. They are fine companions.
I was in Davidsville two days after flight 93 episode, in my Seedway days. Had a dealer right down the road, We went as far as we were aloud to go. The smell is what I remember that day. It was memorable. There is a lot of different ways to get to Shanksville, Your pics showed a beautiful day.
I can’t imagine what it would have been like. I grew up near the Greater Pittsburgh Airport and remember a military jet crashing on approach to the airport. I remember the smoke rising on the horizon. Now every time I see a plume of smoke like that I think of a plane crash.
Hope you and your family are all safe and being careful in these strange times. We missed our chance for a while to have breakfast!
Thanks for your posts Steve. As always, I enjoy your thoughts. Stay safe.
Good to hear from you Rusty. Thanks for checking in. Hope you and the family are well and safe.
Steve, one of my favorite story’s that you’ve done so far, It is a very moving to go there and see the area and the visitors center, when we were there everyone had tears in there eyes. Everyone reliving the day. Crazy.
Thanks for sharing
Thanks Billy. It was a strange day and the memorial is moving in both structure and what it stands for. The people there seemed quiet and somber. Like being in church.
Some of your best writing and observations Steve. It was a delight to read amidst all the confusion and crazy coronavirus world today. I got out for a little ride but at 88 degrees, the jacket was a bit much. As I approach 65 soon, I also wonder the wisdom of non-essential riding. Until and if a law is passed against it, I’ll get out now and then to recharge my batteries and enjoy the Gray Ghost. Stay safe and healthy Steve.
Thank you for the kind words about the post. I appreciate your thoughts.
The world is confused right now and it’s difficult if not impossible to know the best course of action. Myself, I’ll follow the guidelines and lead of the medical and scientific community and stay home. I’m prepared for a long haul of social distancing.
Non-essential riding right now. Another difficult choice. One I’ve not reached an answer to yet. Time will tell. Enjoy the Gray Ghost and stay well!
Beautiful, and sobering, observations here Steve. Over here in central Jersey, it’s been interesting: a little under three weeks ago, Melody got an extensive 12k service–a bit later than planned (about 12,600 miles on the clock when she went in), but as I already had an ominous feeling about the near future I was determined to have her back in fine fettle before Who Knows What happens. I also had a few urgent calls from clients in Gotham to take care of before the proverbial hammer came down, which was more reason for Mel to get her refit: I’ve been riding straight into NYC on a regular basis since November, and now I had serious reason to skip public transport altogether (never mind the fact that taking the Vespa straight in cuts my commute time approximately in half on a bad day, and almost 2/3 on a good one). Last time I was in town, roughly a week ago, I saw a client who lives a stone’s throw from Lincoln Center: the area was almost totally dead. Mid-afternoon. On a weekday. That felt otherworldly. The upside of riding into Gotham is that even in parts of the city where finding parking for a car a close to impossible, I could find a spot for the Vespa, even though I might have to park four or five blocks from my destination. Free, too.
At the moment, I have two clients whose desktop PCs have stopped dead in their tracks, at roughly the same time. I’m trying to help via phone, but not getting much traction. Would love to ride in to help, but with NYC being the Mother of All Hot Zones right, now, I can’t do that. (The wife flat-out forbids it, so there.) It’s a hell of a moment we’re in–me, wife and cat are fine where we are. Sounds like you, Kim and the doggies are okay, too. Let’s cross our fingers we get through this intact enough to start picking up the pieces later.
I can imagine scooter riding into and out of NYC would be oddly simple these days. I have to side with your wife though — stay out of the hot spot. Stay isolated from people. And be careful.
It is a hell of a moment to be alive right now in America. It’s like we’re living in a very strange movie where the ending might be quiet and soft, or turn out to be a terrible nightmare. My fingers are crossed as well to remain intact and hopefully not many pieces to pick up.
Be well!
Thanks for sharing the pictures of the memorial. I had assumed that there was one but I don’t think I’ve ever seen photos of it.
It’s an interesting place. If I wasn’t wearing so much gear to deal with the cold I would have liked to walk around the site a bit.
I have been enjoying your work for many years but I must say, this is the finest piece of writing that I have seen from you in all that time, thank you!
Thank you for your kind words about this post Bill. I’ve written a lot of things over the years but few rides have had the emotional power that this one did.
The virus has already struck here because for some reason your posts have gone to spam. I am calling it the “virus”. But now I have dug your lasts posts out of the outlier zone, I must say I enjoyed them very much and recognize the thoughts that you have posted here and the interview. It was not hard for me to shelter in place as it suites me fine. I go for a walk in the dark in the morning before the virus is moving and a scooter ride in the afternoon. Though the same thought as yours ran through my mind about falling over and having to go to the hospital at the moment. Not a good option. Thankfully there is no traffic and I only ride about 45 minutes to an hour to keep me sane.
When the email notices come to me for a new post they show up in my SPAM folder from time to time. Not sure if the topic, length or something else causes that. Glad you were able to find them.
The “virus” is pretty much everywhere now with no signs of the infection rate peaking. Slowing a bit but I fear we are a long way from out of the woods. And for people like me who fall in the high-risk category, I suspect I’ll remain at risk until a vaccine is developed. Considering the common cold is a corona virus, I don’t understand why they think they can develop a vaccine for this one.
The idea of a trip to the hospital right now isn’t a good one. Even in our area where there are only a few COVID-19 patients in the hospital right. While I was writing this response to your comment, I made a decision to halt riding until some future date. More detail in a coming post.
Be well and safe. My best to your and your family.