Material for a Song
From the other side.
I love to ride and love to get lost for a few days on the bike, but my focus is never how many miles I ride.
I find the best days are the ones I get lost in the road. I get up a couple days into the ride and put on the same pair of jeans I stood in the corner the night before and a fresh tee shirt.
Grab a cup of joe and breakfast at some greasy spoon. I get packed up and throw a leg over the bike and bring her to life. I ache a bit, but my butt settles into the saddle without complaint and I head down the road.
I start out in the cool of the morning only to be greeted by the heat of the afternoon or a rain setting in. It doesn't matter I meet it head on. My body and the bike are one. I don't think, I just know the road and move to it.
The road rolls into mountains or plains, or desert, or badlands laid out in front of me like pictures on the wall.
Then I hear a sputter from the engine and I lean over and go to reserve. I pull up to the next pump when it presents itself.
It feels strange, but my feet come off the pegs and touch the ground.
My fingers do not move from the grips until I will them to move.
I reach over and turn off the key and there is silence.
I sit there for a moment and focus my ears on the sounds around me.
I am back in the world for the moment.
I fill your tank, take a pee, get a drink, talk to the old man at the station asking for a good direction to go.
Then I start again.
The miles just melt away. I am 61 years old. Life has been a good ride and I pray that God grants me a few more years and a few more miles to marvel at his majesty.
BilliIndiana
I love to ride and love to get lost for a few days on the bike, but my focus is never how many miles I ride.
I find the best days are the ones I get lost in the road. I get up a couple days into the ride and put on the same pair of jeans I stood in the corner the night before and a fresh tee shirt.
Grab a cup of joe and breakfast at some greasy spoon. I get packed up and throw a leg over the bike and bring her to life. I ache a bit, but my butt settles into the saddle without complaint and I head down the road.
I start out in the cool of the morning only to be greeted by the heat of the afternoon or a rain setting in. It doesn't matter I meet it head on. My body and the bike are one. I don't think, I just know the road and move to it.
The road rolls into mountains or plains, or desert, or badlands laid out in front of me like pictures on the wall.
Then I hear a sputter from the engine and I lean over and go to reserve. I pull up to the next pump when it presents itself.
It feels strange, but my feet come off the pegs and touch the ground.
My fingers do not move from the grips until I will them to move.
I reach over and turn off the key and there is silence.
I sit there for a moment and focus my ears on the sounds around me.
I am back in the world for the moment.
I fill your tank, take a pee, get a drink, talk to the old man at the station asking for a good direction to go.
Then I start again.
The miles just melt away. I am 61 years old. Life has been a good ride and I pray that God grants me a few more years and a few more miles to marvel at his majesty.
BilliIndiana
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