Becoming One With the World

Strange how I often find myself writing in the middle of the night. House quiet, dogs asleep and my head turning over thoughts from a ride earlier in the day. Sometimes the ride stays with me beyond the road, the ride lingers in the mind where it ceases to be about the physical actions on the scooter, but rather part of a tiny myth, a figment of imagination that creates a story about myself and my life.

I left the house late this afternoon with three goals — return a book to the library, deposit a check at the bank, and apply the riding salve to a viral infection of the sinuses that threatens perception of life. The road led me into the mountains, the scooter tires oozing in places on a skin of limestone mud, and I could feel my world preoccupations slowly fall away.

Now at 3:30am I’m still thinking of that ride. Sinuses completely blocked with crud, nine hours remaining before I can take more Zyrtec, my mind lingers on that ride. The cold air draining my head. The feelings of old age and decrepitude that an illness can generate stripped away as I for a few moments became one with the world.

Riding can do that if you let it.
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