There’s something about road trips that makes me more more patriotic. Especially if I don’t have to go through Indiana or Nebraska (no offense, but your states are pretty boring to drive through). Taking a road trip on a motorcycle, however, has been downright religious.
I have the luxury of riding as a passenger, so I get all of the rewards of traveling by motorcycle with none of the responsibility, and fewer bugs in my teeth. When asked what I was going to do for 2 days sitting on a bike, I jokingly said I’d find the meaning of life, but when we hit a thunderstorm and continued to ride through it, I got into this weird meditative place that was a combination of “don’t fall off the bike Lauren” and pure contentment. Don’t get me wrong… raindrops going 65mph feel like little shards of glass hitting your face that is anything but pleasant. But my face, hands, wet feet and sore butt eventually settled into the rain and embraced it as part of the journey.
I wondered if the Buddha would have come up with something different had he been riding on a motorcycle through the rain instead of sitting under a tree. Either way, the message is pretty much the same: Sit still, follow the path and eventually you’ll reach clearer skies.
I knew that riding motorcycles was cool, but getting a taste of the culture surrounding it is downright awesome – and not unlike the kinship I experience as a bike rider. But to return to my point above there’s something distinctly American (in a good way) about traveling in a pack of strong, independent women across beautiful landscapes with the wind in our faces and the clouds so close you could reach out and grab ’em.
And don’t worry, mom, I’ve been wearing my helmet.