motorcyclemeditation.com

A gathering around the kitchen table, wine flowing, conversation flying off in zany directions, in due course alighting on the subject of motorcycling. Sometimes best avoided, but this time enlivened by expectant faces of nephews, the responsibility of an uncle being to cut through sleepy conversational platitudes at dinner.

Duly obliging, tales of motorcycle wonderment easily forthcoming. The shining nephew faces entranced, motorcycling a forbidden world, the existing order upended, previous benchmarks of performance rubbished. Ferraris, Porsches, pah. Another glass of wine please.

From a hitherto silent corner of the table, a quiet interjection, not quite heard. Pardon? A sleepy facial expression from a grandfather, might convince the nephews but not necessarily everyone, oh nothing. No, come on, what was that, didn’t quite catch what you said. Well, can we discuss something else, this is a bit juvenile, in fact, now you mention it, the whole business of racing past sportscars, childish.

Expectant nephew faces turning to uncle. Uncle staring at grandfather, thinking, you ever been on a motorcycle? The real article, not a sewing machine on wheels. Don’t answer, I know you haven’t. If you had you’d know that this stuff that impresses nephews, well, it doesn’t even begin to capture the excitement.

Thinking these things though, not saying them. Instead, holding back, toying with the glass. Then, well, that’s where you’ve chosen absolutely the right idea, grandpa. Except, the word’s not quite right. Not childish, more, childlike. That sweet unadorned oneness with the world, wind whisking past you, a thrilling connection, normally possible only for a child.

How about this, grandpa, you go to a park, watch a youngster on a bicycle, just learned to ride, father running behind but without holding the saddle, brave excited smile on the child’s face. The sudden discovery that things are possible, exciting, dangerous. Advent into a wondrous realm. Well, you get that often on a motorcycle.