The Gift of Riding

Realizations of the Obvious

I can get lost inside myself. Preoccupied with meaningless or sometimes even harmful or pointless preoccupations that cut me off from the living world. From friends and family. From the things that give meaning to life.

Like going for a ride to breakfast with my friend Paul.

There are reminders everywhere of the certainty that it will all end. When I notice them life becomes suddenly richer. The quality of light in the morning. The look and feel of the Honda Trail bike I’m riding. The cool air on my face.

But how easily I forget.

The View

Standing in the gravel parking lot of the old church and looking out over the farm fields and mountain I thought about something I recently read by Alice James, diarist and sister of novelist Henry James:

“I lay in a meadow until the unwrinkled serenity entered in my bones, and made me one with the still greenery, the drifting clouds.”

On the best day, this is what riding feels like to me. Serenity entering my bones. But too often I don’t notice it. Or worse, take it for granted and fail to look around and praise the world for its radiance.

Cemeteries

I was following Paul on this ride and he never fails to find some obscure shortcut through a neighborhood. A narrow alley, a dirt track, or on this ride cutting through a cemetery.

It’s hard not to see the finality of the ride we’re all on when looking at gravestones. As Paul wandered with his camera I looked at the patterns of life and death etched in stones. Families living and dying from one generation to the next. The cycle of living and all its patterns repeated over and over again. Stones from the 1700s until today.

I think important things lose meaning as they become part of a rote repetition in daily life. Riding seems to break the spell so I don’t lose track of what’s important. Because if I do lose track life seems dark and full of despair.

I work hard to not lose track of what’s important.

Riding to Lighten the Spirit

Dazzling sunlight in open spaces is like plugging into a rapid charger for me. Stopping during a ride to take a picture has curative effects at times, especially when something is bothering me. It provides an opportunity to abandon whatever deluded self I may be embracing and look outward into the world. The focus required to remain safe on the road strips away the noise and I can appreciate not only the simple beauty around me, but grow aware of the emotional and spiritual weight I’ve been dragging along.

I can weigh 500 pounds when I leave home and a few miles later I’m a trim 210! GRIN

Riding becomes a study in relaxation and solitude. But also of adventure and connection to something outside myself. Like a ride with a friend. Or sharing conversation at breakfast.

And my stomach is crying out in the morning. Like it is now while I write these words.

The Meandering Mallard Experience

There’s always a parking space in front of the Mallard. Seems weird. Luck? Chance? Perfect timing? Whatever it is Paul and I always seem to get the good parking space in front of the cafe. The little Honda Trail 125s do a fine job on the meandering 25 mile route to Millheim. With enough time and patience I could easily cross the continent on this little beast.

Show and Tell

Paul is a big believer in show and tell. He always has some new toy, device, camera, or book to show when we stop for breakfast. On this morning it was a Nikon camera with a broken battery door he was puzzling over how to fix before peddling on eBay.

I was focused on quieting my growling stomach.

Finding Places of Solitude

The Meandering Mallard Coffeehouse is one of those places that is never loud or overbearing. Even when full of people. There were many cold winter rides where I sat by a fire in the fireplace with a hot tea and my journal just letting go of everything so I could live in that moment.

Emily Dickinson wrote:

“That it will never come again is what makes life so sweet.”

I wish I could have embraced the wisdom in such a simple statement much earlier in life.

Onward

The next stop was an Amish harness shop five miles away. Paul had some leather repair business to conduct and I was along for the ride. Meals and errands seem to make up much of the impetus (excuse) to ride these days. But that’s fine with me.

The Honda Trail 125 motorcycles are a marvelous machine. Attached to the appropriate state of mind and riding landscape they will carry a person along on incredibly satisfying adventures. The little motorcycle is slow compared to almost any other motorcycle. Yet it is so much fun to ride that everything else in the garage can seem, well, kind of boring. I’m still trying to figure out what’s going on there.

Out in the World

This autumn ride had something in common. An undertone of melancholy that seems to be connected to the recognition that there is an ongoing cycle in life and somethings come to an end. And not just the leaves on the trees.

The idea that life seems to be a continuous pattern of getting committed to things and having to let go—falling in love and losing the one we love, developing a job skill and having to change careers, caring for our children and letting them go off into the world. That is the rhythm of life.

And riding helps me make peace with it all.

Fisher’s Shoe and Saddle Shop

I’ve made this same picture many times. The only difference is the machines have changed. And Paul is getting older. Both of us frequent this store for many reasons. They made a leather covering for the dash of his Alfa Romeo. I bought a new pair of winter boots. It’s odd to see a place illuminated by kerosene lamps and with solar panels producing electricity for their credit card authorizations.

It was a good ride. We wandered home along back roads. And as I sit here finishing this post about the gift of riding I think about a quote from American writer and naturalist Henry Beston:

“Touch the earth, love the earth, honor the earth, her plains, her valleys, her hills, and her seas; rest your spirit in her solitary places.

Since I started riding years ago I’ve changed. Physically for sure. Emotionally probably. But spiritually for sure. I recognize the world around me for its beauty and transformational power.

When I ride my spirit rests.

And that is the gift of riding.