motorcyclemeditation.com

Dog days of winter, neither cold nor warm, the skies grey. Intermittent rain holding the temperatures above freezing but not by much. The days still short. The motorcycle grimy from the road’s muck, waiting downstairs for the next journey. The impulse to use it dampened by thought of necessary preparation, all the layers of gear required to fend off the weather. Gloom outside and the promise of spray off the road. Sedentary for too long, gazing out of the window, worrying, how can you possibly take a motorcycle out in that and survive.

Exigencies of everyday life fortunately intervening, no choice but to get going, a meeting in Surrey. Fifty miles around London on fast wide roads.

On the motorcycle, the motion and road activity instantly revivifying. Wind and rain transformed from a mere glum backdrop into the very stuff of the universe, the external world in full palpability. Noise and pressures and forces. Conundra presented, decisions made. The motorcycle and rider and the universe intersecting at the miracle of motion.

Winter claustrophobia peeling away. Stale thoughts aerated, rancid from days stuck indoors, reading newspapers, watching television, the calamitous economy, all prior beliefs upended, how could we all have been so stupid, how could we all have had such faith, we’ll be more sceptical next time. Then on the television the new president, hope immediately recrudescent. Everybody believing again, faith channeling with barely an interruption to the new messiah. Like babes reaching for a new warmth.

Ballast required, a means of wrenching free from the hysteria, blowing away the fluff. The motorcycle effortlessly delivering same. Swishing tyres on curving motorway, engine burbling, waiting to be unleashed. Geometry and engineering and steel and rubber, working in balance, pounding out the miles, smoothing out the mental crinkles.