Who Came Up with This?
It Was Just a Motorcycle Ride
It’s been said that “Four wheels move the body, but two wheels move the soul.” There is something about riding a motorcycle that only a rider can understand. The sense of adventure, the individuality, the freedom. Just you and the bike, the road, the wind.
When I left for Oklahoma on my Ultima chopper in June of 2021, the thought of writing a book about it did not yet occur to me.
Rather than ride in a pack of bikes with brothers from the Hangmen Motorcycle Club, on the interstate highways at high speed for hours at a time, I decided to go alone, taking the back roads through the small towns. I wanted a quieter, more personal experience. I used to enjoy the thrill of riding in a group; fast and tight, loud and flashy. But today I prefer to ride at my own pace.
Packed and ready to go
Having read some motorcycle travel books, I was impressed by the spirit of adventure, and the incredible risks some authors have taken. Glen Heggstad’s Two Wheels Through Terror is a hair-raising tale of perseverance and courage.
Or Lois Price’s Lois on the Loose and White Knuckles and Red Tape will amaze you with her bravery. There are many other books on motorcycle travel, they make my ride seem completely tame.
I had done it many times when I was younger, it seemed easy. But on this ride, I turned 70 and long trips didn’t seem as simple anymore. Adding to the equation, a cancer diagnosis was giving me a feeling of finality. I didn’t know if I would ever be able do this again.
One thing about long motorcycle rides is the images and words playing in your head. I prefer not to listen to music while riding, it didn’t used to be available long ago. The sound of the motor, the wind, the solitude with your own mind is part of the draw of the open road.
It’s like moving meditation. Someone described riding a motorcycle as the ultimate living in the now. You have to be in the moment at all times.
As I rode mile after mile, day after day, a book started forming in my head. I didn’t make notes or an outline, I just kept pushing forward, looking for the next gas station and a place to spend the night.
I was going to call the book The Last Ride, because that’s the way it felt at the time. I ignored the pain and pressed on.
How do you make it interesting to just ride down the road? There are many wonderful books out there by better writers than me. It was a daunting task, but I told myself if Hemingway can write about eating a meal in ‘A Moveable Feast’ then I could at least write about going down the road.
Jerry Seinfeld once called one of his episodes ‘A show about nothing.’ I equated this book to that. Like it’s subtitle, just ‘A Motorcycle Ride.’ That’s all; no police chases, no crashes, at least not mine, and no deaths. Compared to my book Hangmen, it was rather uneventful. But when you’re traveling, that is the way you would like it to be.
The days and the miles flew by. When I got back after more than two weeks, I had to check maps to remember the roads taken and the towns stayed in. I wrote it from memory, and ditched the title of The Last Ride, and didn’t mention the diagnosis. Adventure and the call of the open road was more fun than introspection. Later that year, radiation treatments took care of the cancer, and I knew this would not be the last time.
Unlike my other books, Against the Wind stands alone as a modern-day memoir. A ride looking to find the past, a book about nothing, except the endless highways and byways in your mind.
Thank you again to all my readers. They say you know me better than my friends do.
Just you and your thoughts, and the road ahead