20th
I considered driving across the country on motorcycle.
That brilliant idea lasted all of five minutes, during the ride my dad and I took this weekend on our respective bikes, my first this season. (Even though I’m a thirteen-year veteran of the sport (Really—do the math), I’m mildly superstitious and have been filled with trepidation in the wake of my recent bad-luck streak. Turns out, it was the same as it always is: wild, and like…riding a bike.)
It’s addictive, being out there, with the road whirring along inches beneath your feet, wholly vulnerable and completely fearless at the same time, without much protection to speak of and virtually zero distraction. It’s just you, traveling through nature, enjoying the things you can’t when trapped inside a box: feeling the temperature drop a few degrees as you climb up the mountain in Windsor, Mass.; inhaling the sweet smell of damp fern at the edge of the Mohawk State Forest; zooming through a flurry of dandelion fuzz while crossing the Little Hoosic River. You might see a sherbet-yellow butterfly, flitting across the road, its tiny button body making the voyage haphazard and carefree. You might make eye contact with a dragonfly, a split-second before it splatters into your face shield. You don’t dare try to wipe the remains away; that will just make more of a mess. All of these are details lost when traveling by car…..
