The Open Road

I came home from the cabin the other day after being trapped there for a few days longer than expected. I was on my motorbike and the weather turned yucky. Of course, I wasn’t prepared with rain gear or the zip in jacket liner or even my warm gloves. I was going to spend the weekend with kids and grandkids and I never thought outside of that exciting time. I had shorts and sleeveless tops and bathing suits as we were going to spend most of the time at the beach. Except, the storm wreaked havoc on the town and everything was battered. A home was crushed by an uprooted tree. But in true mountain valley town fashion, the clean up began quickly and with neighbour helping neighbour, a lot of the mess was cleared before insurance adjustors could even get assigned. So we spent lots of time indoors playing games, then out to ride bikes and soon everyone returned home in their cozy cars. I tried to head out but it soon became clear that although it was August, there was some snow up in the mountains and I didn’t need that. And so I stayed put for a few day.

As I loaded up the bike to return home, I was excited to get going. There is always this little rush of pure joy as I get into the leathers and start the bike. Safety check done, I take one last walk around the bike to make sure everything is ship shape. The weather is good and I start to overheat with all of my gear. As I pull away from the cabin, that first breeze that hits me feels amazing. My visor is up and the mountain air is pure and clean. That green smell you just know is from all of the spruce trees. It takes a few minutes to get through town and onto the highway. It’s busy as lots of people are here for the long weekend. I know the highway will be packed but I am going against the traffic. They are hurrying to the lake to cram in as much fun as possible, and I am heading home, rested and happy, grateful to be retired so everyday is the weekend.

Once I pass Radium and head west on the 93, the air becomes a little crisper as the road climbs in elevation. At first it’s slow with all of the twists and turns and the inevitable motorhome or two. But then comes the passing lane and I zip by everyone racing higher and higher, leaning farther and farther into the curves. The face mask comes down and I am grateful for the protective gear as I know how vulnerable my body is on this machine. But all of that recedes into the background as I gear up and hit the throttle. This highway is so exciting to drive on a bike. When traffic is light, there is a rush as you speed through every corner. There is a feeling of freedom that I just don’t get anywhere else in my life. The familiarity I have with this old bike is amazing. I trust her. I know just how she will respond to my commands. I know she won’t fail me and I am blessed to have this beauty in my life. There are surprises lurking around every corner of the road and in a car we often become complacent. We feel safe and protected. Sometimes too much so. But on the bike you can never take anything for granted. Because it isn’t my actions that will get me killed. It is the complacent driver in the car in front or behind me.

Twice I flash my lights at cars in my lane, barreling towards me as they try and pass slower traffic. I loosen my grip on the throttle and the bike slows as I move closer to the narrow shoulder. Just in case. But there is always unseen danger. Loose gravel. A crack in the asphalt. A car stopping to look at wildlife. Branches and twigs. It all comes up fast and whether you swerve or hit the debris, there is a good chance you’ll wobble. But these cars, they are frustrated and tired. They don’t smell the amazing mountain air. They aren’t watching the beautiful scenery. They need to hurry up and get to the lake. So they can relax. Until Monday when they all head home again, the anxiety undoing whatever peace they found in the long weekend. Then there are the cars that speed on a straightaway but brake on every curve. I pass the car going 75 kph, but its a straightaway so he speeds up. I’m doing 140 by the time i get past him. There is an instinctive passive aggression with some drivers. An alpha dog mentality. I leave him in the dust as I hit the next set of curves but as I settle in on the next straight away he catches up. Tailgating. The next passing lane is very curvy, long and uphill. I overtake a few cars to once again get ahead and get a bit of comfort knowing he is stuck behind a few cars. The rest of the ride is beautiful.

Once I hit the Trans Canada highway and leave the Banff National park behind I stop for a little gas and coffee. I am annoyed at people but its just because of the drivers on the 93. In the moment you’re ok. It’s only later when you can process what can happen. What could have happened. I am snarky and can’t wait to get away from people. But then, people on bikes are coming and going as they get in their last few rides in summer. Singles, groups, guy friends, a few women. Where are you headed? Where are you from? Nice bike. The conversations start between the riders as they share info. Weather. Road conditions. Things to see. It is a community that sticks together and watches out for each other. I feel better. These are my people. As I head out to cover the last 110 km to home I see a guy stopped, kneeling beside his bike. His helmet on the ground behind the bike. I stop. There are signs that all riders should learn and the helmet is an SOS. He tells me he has called a tow truck and he laughs as he picks up his helmet. We chat and after a few minutes the tow truck pulls up in front of him. We say goodbye. There are signs all bikers should learn but that is the most important.

The fall rides are the best. Crisp air, leaves falling, and most importantly, fewer cars on the back roads. Everyone is back to school and work. There is never really a plan on trips. Stop when you’re hungry, tired or need gas. Pull over at points of interest. Set up camp or get a motel. Stay with friends or just be alone. Or just head out for an hour and have lunch in a small town somewhere. I have ridden so many of the roads in southern Alberta that they are like old friends. But each ride is different and reinforces why you do it. There is peace in my soul as the wind rushes by. All of the weight of everyday life falls away. I know it is just another form of escape from responsibility. For a short time, I can pretend that all I have in this world is in those two saddle bags and my expandable seat bag. Tent, sleeping bag, cookstove, food, water, lighters, camp suds, a shammy, some tools and clothes, rain gear, flip flops, a bathing suit, book and finally coffee. All I need or could possibly want. For a short time I can forget about real life. I can feel the comfort from the few possessions knowing this is as close as I will ever get to pure freedom. And it is beautiful.

I know that life becomes a game of collecting. The guy who dies with the most toy, wins. And once we get on the merry go round its so hard to get off of it. But the glimpses I get once I am on my bike, are bringing me closer and closer to chucking it all. There is joy in my heart as I gaze down an open highway. Imagining an endless road. One that comes rushing towards you but never quite reaches you. There is always the mystery. Always the wonder. Always the adventure. Right now I look in the side mirror. I see my life behind me and I always return to it. But it is fading. I know in time I will stay pointed forward and I will stop looking back. All of the trappings of the material life will lose their hold and I will move on. But now is not the time. I have learned though that the feeling I long for is out there. Any time I want. I get on the bike, and head out. The road will open wide and my heart will be full. I imagine that is what heaven is about.