So Now What?

We are now in Palo Alto, CA. We have travelled 3,793 miles over fourteen days of mostly back road to reach our final destination. The reward at the end point is our son whom we had promised a visit. Yesterday as we set off from our perch in Morro Bay, (the first stopover that really felt like we were in California despite our having been in the state since Friday evening), I felt no joy in the anticipation of achieving"our goal." H__was excited by the idea of this final stretch, as much for the ride up the California coast on Rte 1 as by the idea that we would be achieving our objective. I mounted the bike with a semi-heavy heart since I, too was looking forward to the coast but not to the finality of our last day on the road.

The going had been tough through the Mojave desert with punishing temperatures on our trek from Barstow to Morro Bay, but in the second half of the ride we began to truly appreciate the beauty of our surroundings and some of the most enjoyable riding of the trip, and yes, that includes our ride through the Rocky Mountains. H__ says that those roads proves that God is a motorcyclist and I tend to agree with him. I think the part of God that designed the straight desert roads is a Harley rider but I guess there has to be a little bit of something for everyone. Punishment and indulgence in one tidy package... I think that H__was also anticipating a time when we would be staying put long enough in one place so that we could finally get out of our very faithful riding gear. Well, me actually. Riding gear, although essential to one's safety and well-being does not lend itself to laundering on the road. Slipping into the same gear for fourteen successive days, many of them well beyond the hundred degree mark, leaves one a little, shall we say, freshness challenged.

On our ride through Bryce Canyon a couple of days earlier, H__ had gone into a general store in hopes of procuring himself a bottle of concentrated Febreze. Lest you are thinking that his concern was for my delicate sensibilities since we were sharing a room on a nightly basis, let me be quite clear, but as delicate as possible....the Febreze attack was intended for my riding apparel. Such a gentleman, and he even offered to spray them for me, sweet smelling rose that God made him...
Route 1 was as wonderful as we had remembered from a drive taken several years before. The breathtaking vista did not disappoint and what is more is that we were beside the Pacific Ocean with its wonderful salty smell that always tells me that I've come home, no matter where I have found that sea. We twisted and wound and switched back. We stopped to take photographs, both of us eager to take a little of this back with us. I revelled in the smell of sea-spray intermingled later with pine and eucalyptus as we drew nearer to our destination. I sensed how lost I would feel and how much I would grieve when I woke the next morning and not be subject to the sensual surprises and, more often than not, delights that have come to be so much a part of my everyday experience.

Being on my motorcycle reminds me of who I am. It is a meditation, a runway, a church. It is the way in which I remind myself that I can be as limitless as I allow myself to be. When I ride my feet are six inches off the ground, my eyes are on the road and my spirit is soaring with the stars somewhere on the other side of clouds. The challenge will be in holding onto this when we are back home and this particular adventure is over.

I will continue to share my thoughts and discoveries if you will come back and read them. This particular adventure is closing but it is the opening for another.