The Gypsy Heart & The Motorcycle that Carries It

I wish I was fortunate enough to be one of those people who started motorcycling earlier in life.  But alas, it came to me relatively late.  I mean, sure my dad rode when we were kids.  Our family vehicle was this Yamaha enduro that we would ride around on; my brother on the gas tank, and me on the back - both of us wearing slightly oversized helmets that smelled of stale foam and sat on our heads heavily with just the slightest bit of lopsidedness. I remember sitting at a traffic light, in the fall weather on the way home from the babysitter after dad would pick us up when he got home from work.  The damp air was heavy with the smell of exhaust and I occasionally glanced down at my feet, which barely reached the pegs. I'd look around me at the faces of the people in their cars. It didn't seem odd to me at all, yet all of the expressions that I saw from within the car bubbles were strange and judgmental. I never really cared.  They reminded me of the faces of the other kids in my class, all bitter and bullying because we went to a rich school that was out of our district, but in the district of the person who watched us after school.   

I loved riding around on the bike, but I never really thought of it as meaningfully as I do now.  I guess maybe that's because it was always just expected to be a part of my life; part of our disadvantage as a lower-socioeconomic level family.  It was necessary to get us from Point A to Point B and we didn't have the money for a lot of things so we didn't really do it recreationally. Only now, 20+ years later have I been fully reunited with motorcycles of my own, and I don't think I've ever felt more at home anywhere else.

There is somewhat of a gypsy in my soul; an aimless wanderer who is always wanting to see more, do more, love more, laugh more, experience more that life has to offer.  There are a lot of really long drawn out reasons why I never developed a sense of permanence or stability in anywhere I lived, but I think I'm all the better for it.  I think there is something to be appreciated of knowing that wherever you are isn't where you have to be.  And lately I've been feeling restless.

On the way home from work today I found myself taking the long way home.  I missed an exit and didn't mind it.  Then I almost missed the other exit, which would have put me 20 or 30 miles out of my way.  I know what happened, I was riding along and saw the freeway mileage markers and I thought: I'm gonna just keep riding... I could just keep riding and land somewhere and come back.  I've ridden enough of these backroads to be able to find my way back home... even if it gets dark.

Seconds later I came to, and I was less than a quarter mile from my exit, in the furthest lane, and I was gradually rolling on the throttle to keep going. I stifled the impulse and made the exit, but from there I took the longer way home, stopping at the lake to take in a sunset.  I made it just in time:

 

 



I don't expect anyone to understand it.  I guess there are parts of my life that even the people closest to me aren't entirely familiar with, but that are pivotal in how I view things, why I become restless, why I do what I do and why I'm who I am. I was, very much a gypsy in my earlier years after high school, sleeping on couches, staying in a camper and not really minding much about it because I knew that it wasn't going to be permanent.  I knew that I wanted more, and that I always will.  But it never seems important because when I get on the bike, that's all that matters. It's all I really need (with the exception of maybe a sidecar for Piper Dog) but those things are easily attainable.  They are much more attainable than what people expect of themselves to achieve in a world where motorcycles are seen more as recreational vehicles than they are practical transportation.

It may not have meant that much to me back then, but because of those days I think it's safe to say that while I may not have been born to be a motorcyclist, I was most certainly raised to be one... and one day it isn't going to be a surprise when I just keep going.

I've always found it funny that all of the most inspiring stories have come from people who have followed their wandering hearts; people who have just kept going... not to run away from themselves but to find themselves.