Tonight's turnout was much bigger than the last few; a lot of Triumphs, a few BMW's a couple of Ducatis, a couple of KTMs and a few other stragglers were spread out in our self assigned designated parking area. I always feel a little giddy when I see a lot of bikes because... well bikes are cool. So as I rolled through the lot I let out a little giggle and narrowed down my parking spot right next to the old 750 triple. It is, by far one of my favorites at the event. Beautiful original black and green paint scheme and matching custom helmet. I never get tired of looking at it.
There were bikes for everyone to love, though and a good group of people who love talking about them.
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| We had special parking. ;) |
I cued up my tunes and bid my friends farewell, making my way back across town and popping in for some gas. I always get chills before a ride on a beautiful night, and I was certain my decision would not disappoint. Just me and the bike like we had done so many times before.
Before I proceed with the rest of this blog it should be known that I cannot be held responsible for anything anyone does following what they've read here. I do not advise, nor condone trying anything you read here. My experiments and experiences are always performed in a familiar environment where risks have been thoroughly assessed and appropriate safety measures have been taken. Let it be known that if you try anything, even so much as taking a swig of hot coffee from an establishment that I have mentioned here, you could die. Life is weird like that and because of that I am making it known that these experiences and decisions are decisions that I make on behalf of and FOR myself and myself only. Do not try this at home.
A few days ago my low beam went out. Something about water getting into my headlight and I just haven't gotten around to pulling it apart and fixing it so I've been running on the high beam. As I descended from the hill, a cool night breeze tickled my neck and I cracked my visor to take in the sweet smell of blossoms and foothill soil. I was the only vehicle on the road for miles and the only light was that of the moon casting down on the foothills and illuminating the road beyond the focal point of my headlight. Suddenly, a thought scurried through my head and brought a devilish smile to my face. Kill the lights and just cruise. I had the throttle steady about 70 and the road was a series of broad winding sweepers that I could probably ride in braille if I had to. I glanced over my shoulders to make sure I was truly alone (even though the light of another vehicle would have been entirely too obvious). I couldn't shake the urge so I muted the tunes, opened my visor and flipped my highbeam switch off. Instantly the roads went dark with only the faint ambient light of the moon to light my way.
It was bright enough to work, and it was awesome. I don't know why it was awesome, it just was. It felt natural, pure, untainted by the harshness of my artificially generated light source shattering the beauty of the desolate landscape. Here I was on a motorcycle, exposed in a vast darkness in a realm of uncertainty. It was humbling in some ways, when considering how reliant we are on things like light sources to guide us on our way through the darkness - how dependent we are and how terrified we become when something malfunctions and one of our natural faculties are impaired. Sometimes, we forget that have natural abilities to find our way even in the dark, and as my eyes adjusted I could see more than what I expected I could of the road ahead. After a couple of miles I flipped the lights back on. Like a light sabre the darkness was broken with the beam of my headlight and I could see the bugs emerging from oblivion and smearing themselves on the nose of my bike that I had just cleaned prior to going to bike night.
I cruised through a park and then wound around behind the foothills where I tried my little experiment again. To be moving that fast, compelled by a motor in a natural environment was a strange yet invigorating feeling: I felt my vulnerability amplify and with it so did my instinctual awareness. My senses heightened for those few brief moments and it was a sort of calculated awakening. While some might consider it stupid, or playing chicken with nature, to me it was a measure of faith and confidence. I wasn't riding beyond my abilities but there was definitely a little faith required in hoping that a deer didn't run out in front of me; but that's not any different than riding with a headlight on.
There are times in my life, during a ride, where I have a fleeting thought of what someone might think if I died at a given moment. After the fact, I have to admit that I chuckled a little at my dark sense of humor imagining what the dialogue would be or how stupid people would think I was if my roll of the dice hadn't paid off. In the grand scheme there are much larger gambles that I, and many others have taken in their lives. I hardly consider this to be anywhere near even the middle of the spectrum of danger. But I can already hear the song of the flamers because, still, society has this shameful avoidance of taking chances at all cost because things are dangerous. But if only society could experience what I experience every time I ride my bike on any given occasion. If only they knew what they were missing they might have a sense of adventure and come to realize that it's not about dying for trivial things, it's about what you live for because in the end we all arrive on death's doorstep.
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