motorcyclemeditation.com

Bright cold sunshine and a chance to do some riding, escape from indoor suffocation. Nightmare of the snowbound crash now woken up from, but the mind still roiled, in need of a blast of good hard London air.

The motorcycle beneath, uncrumpled by accidents dream or otherwise, indifferent to hypotheticals. Sixty around the North Circular, road surfaces delightfully dry, vision clear. More open than in summer, no haze and the skyline unoccluded by trees in leaf. Days getting longer each passing week and winter’s back broken. A joy to be alive.

The dream of the crash slowly receding. On the uncrumpled motorcycle, an unmangled rider, the two in harmony spinning along.

Wonder why that dream was so potent. Having a beer, going for a ride in the snow, all ends in tears, what a surprise. Alcohol and snow, the exact things not to combine with a motorcycle, the first cancelling your abilities, the second cancelling the motorcycle’s. All well known. Yet the dream going ahead anyway, as if specially selecting the deadliest enemies.

Not just that, the clarity of the crash, the microseconds preceding, the strange slowness. Impact occurring at the moment of waking, apparently the yell disturbed the neighbours. But the dread moment still clear, limbs torn off, dead yet alive. The most feared things palpable.

A forewarning, maybe, a message, riding’s too dangerous. Some might so think, but not me, you can frighten yourself out of anything. The message if such there be, it’s the snow and alcohol that bring the danger to the riding.

In fact, a message coming from the motorcycle, forget the messages, just ride. Ahead be dangers. Deal with them, not the stuff in your head, don’t get distracted. Good thinking, motorcycle. Besides, it’s fun.

On cue, in the rear view mirror, a speeding BMW, lights on bright, ideas above its station. Interest quickening, down a gear, okay my friend, let’s just see where this takes us.