motorcyclemeditation.com

One of the very finest places on the planet, ordinary for everybody else, special for me. On the road from Norwich to London, a ten mile stretch of curving windswept incline. Two lanes to take a flow really needing three. One underpowered vehicle trying to overtake, and you get a lovely mile long wake of fretting BMWs, Jaguars, suchlike. The lanes well spaced, plenty of width to ride between.

Approaching on the motorcycle, anticipation mounting, almost salivating. Sometimes, disappointment, cars flowing, not quite enough weight of traffic. Yesterday, beautiful conditions, dry, clear, oh look, what do we have here, a tailback already. Not just any tailback either, this one a connoisseur’s delight, the special flavor arising from its particular speed. Seventy miles an hour, where all the cars but the front one are busting to do eighty.

Down to fifth for extra zip either slowing or accelerating. Two fingers on the brake lever. Cranking the motorcycle up to eighty five, well, okay then, ninety. The reason for the specialness, you can do this safely, on other roads you have to hold back. The motorcycle arrowing through. Effortlessly, peremptorily, sweeping past. The curves putting it at just a slight angle, giving even more grace if such were possible. Occasional narrowing of the gap between lanes, slowing up a heartbeat, down to fourth, opening up, slashing past. Oh look, an Aston Martin, restless in the queue, motorcycle ripping through, adios amigo.

The excitement and pleasure an ineradicable part of being human, like a speedster on a sportsfield, being chased, leaving pursuers for dead. Only happening rarely. Those occasions when the gap stretches perceptibly by the instant, ever rarer. A tingling thrill to see and think about. On a motorcycle, happening more times than you can keep track of, and just as thrilling.

Sometimes on that road, the holdup clears, the cars you overtook start overtaking you back, a matter of chosen cruising speed more than relative power. Yesterday, the gods smiling. The front of every mile tailback, but a few hundred yards of clear road, there to delight the eyes, the back of another one. Just about ten miles solid of slicing through.

Ah, bliss it was in that dawn to be alive, but to be on a motorcycle was very heaven.