I was back on the motorcycle for the first time since I crashed in the fall. The leg isn’t completely healed, but it was good enough.
I spent the morning working on the bike, new handgrips, checking the oil and chain, and putting a new battery in it.
It took a bit to get started, sitting cold and idle for 6 or more months will do that, I can’t remember the last time I rode the Monster (I’m sure I wrote it down somewhere, but am too lazy to look), but it’s been a while. It did start, and I suited up in my new helmet, gloves and boots, along with my leather jacket and old but better than nothing riding pants. All that for what was most likely a ride around the block, but well I was a bit parinoid since the last time I was on one I spent 5 days in a hospital and 3 months before I could walk again.
The ride was epic. It makes no real sense as to why it was… or maybe I’m over thinking it.
Initially I was very nervous. Making sure the brakes worked, shifting gingerly making sure everything seemed ok and well… “safe”. It was only after I’d gone a half mile or so that I could start to relax and only after ten minutes of riding around town, did I get a chance to really focus on something other than the mechanics of riding.
Even with all my gear, the feel of the air rushing past me, and the smell of rain that was in the air (luckly it wasn’t raining as it would have ruined the ride) brought me to the now of what I was doing. I was on a motorcycle. I was experiencing the joy that it is to ride one, the oneness with the environment that you don’t get in a car. I almost teared up. I had such an emotional response it surprised me.
I wanted to keep going, but my rational self, and the specks of rain on my visor made me head home relishing the freedom that is riding a motorcycle.