Kraut
06-05-2014, 10:05 PM
I got up this morning, went into the bathroom, and looking in the mirror I saw this skinny old man looking back at me. And all I could think was, “When in the hell did this happen; I know it wasn’t yesterday.” And with this image and and these words rattling around my head I knew it was time for a good long ride. For two hours Skoot3r and I headed north along the Sierra Nevada—no destination-just riding. While my head was getting straight I reflected back on articles written by Bud Miller, the Zen Motorcyclist. He writes:
“On a motorcycle I am the hiker with endless stamina, the climber without limits. I can ride as far as I want to and explore whatever I want to explore. The motorcycle is an extension of my physical body but requires my, as yet, still sharp mind. The motorcycle becomes my new knees, replacing the ones I’ve worn down after 30 years of running, and replaces the back that complains when I bring in a load of firewood. The motorcycle becomes an extension of my physical body. That’s a truly wonderful thing. When I ride I become weightless, limitless, motivated. I ride toward things, toward ideas, daydreams, solutions to problems.
I [also] see it in the faces of the people I ride with as well. Some, just like me, have physical limitations when off the bike; but when we saddle up we leave those things in a pile by the roadside and get to feel the rush of freedom from what would otherwise hold us back.
The motorcycle allows me to dream again about Alaska, South America, Europe; I can imagine riding in those places under my own power with nothing to save me but my own mental and physical skills. It’s the way I used to think about hiking, rock climbing and trail running. Motorcycling reminds me that, while my body may age, my dreams need not.”
For me, this is what riding is all about; my dreams and my memories of youth. If you look into the bathroom mirror and see an old person looking back at you and think, “When in the hell did this happen; I know it wasn’t yesterday” maybe this will help you remember what is truly important and why we ride.
“On a motorcycle I am the hiker with endless stamina, the climber without limits. I can ride as far as I want to and explore whatever I want to explore. The motorcycle is an extension of my physical body but requires my, as yet, still sharp mind. The motorcycle becomes my new knees, replacing the ones I’ve worn down after 30 years of running, and replaces the back that complains when I bring in a load of firewood. The motorcycle becomes an extension of my physical body. That’s a truly wonderful thing. When I ride I become weightless, limitless, motivated. I ride toward things, toward ideas, daydreams, solutions to problems.
I [also] see it in the faces of the people I ride with as well. Some, just like me, have physical limitations when off the bike; but when we saddle up we leave those things in a pile by the roadside and get to feel the rush of freedom from what would otherwise hold us back.
The motorcycle allows me to dream again about Alaska, South America, Europe; I can imagine riding in those places under my own power with nothing to save me but my own mental and physical skills. It’s the way I used to think about hiking, rock climbing and trail running. Motorcycling reminds me that, while my body may age, my dreams need not.”
For me, this is what riding is all about; my dreams and my memories of youth. If you look into the bathroom mirror and see an old person looking back at you and think, “When in the hell did this happen; I know it wasn’t yesterday” maybe this will help you remember what is truly important and why we ride.