Riding, Therapy or Both

It had been a long day; I was weary with talking on the phone and dealing with reality. Besides, I had an Ultra sitting at the house (my first Screaming Eagle) that I could hear calling me. I checked the calendar on my laptop, saw it was clear for the rest of the afternoon, grabbed my briefcase and headed for the door. When I got home, I changed into jeans, shrugged on my colors, went down to the garage, pulled off the cover and fired ‘er up. That first throaty rumble is always the best, especially when you’ve had enough of that afore mentioned reality thing.

It was a beautiful late spring day, perfect weather where a vest and long sleeve shirt is enough to stay comfortable behind that big batwing fairing. I started up the tunes, and selected the “On the Road” playlist, one that I had assembled for a prior long road trip. Out the Westpark Tollway to Fulshear, then north. I decided just to go, with no particular destination. I rode up 359 to Highway 90, crossed and kept north. Somewhere between that crossing and Monaville, I hit the groove that all bikers live for – that oneness with the bike, a comfortable confidence, yet clear awareness of all around you, aided by the rumble of the pipes, the wind rushing by your ears, the great music from the front and rear speakers.

From there, I don’t remember my specific route. I turned northwest, west, then south, not paying the slightest bit of attention to where I was. Being a weekday afternoon, the roads were void of traffic but for the occasional farm truck. It’s these times you notice everything and nothing…the texture of the pavement, the vibration of the 110 below, the feel of the seat, yet no discomfort. I can ride forever. Tapping my toe on the footboard to the beat of the music, I reach a stretch of long empty road, roll on the throttle, kick it up to 6th. 6th is a sweet gear – when you toe it in, the revs drop off just right so the pipes build that big sound. When you roll on more throttle, the rumble gets deeper. You watch the revs, ignore the speedo. Go like that 'til the next sharp turn, back it down to 5th, ease to cruising speed. Back in the zone.

I rode like that for a while, rocking to the tunes and enjoying just being there. Just outside of Burton, I finally wake up and realize the sun’s getting low and it’s time to head for the house. DAMN IT. Just like that, the road buzz was gone, but the warm feeling remained. I run over to 290, head east and merge into the reverse commuter traffic back into the beehive. Houston.

To me, the meditative quality of long riding is golden, and not always attainable. Alone or riding with the Brothers, that unity between body, bike, road, and air is what it’s all about. When you get it, you use, and savor, every minute to keep it. That is the ultimate goal, at least for me when I’m on the road.

Enough of this keyboard tapping…I’m going riding. Later.

Bob “Jefe” Cavnar