There is a French climber that calls himself spider man that climbs buildings with
out the aid of safety equipment. He has scaled the Malaysia's Petronas Towers in Kuala Lumpur, the Eiffel Tower in Paris and the Empire State Building in New York.
I mention this because I don't like heights. They terrify me. So rock climbing or repelling or scaling buildings is not something you would find me doing. But I don't
think people that do these things are out of thier mind. Obviously they find some inner peace in attempting and finishing these feats and I can understand the passion that someone can develop for a thing. That thing being material or emotional or both.
I know for some that riding a motorcycle is completely incomprehensible, its something beyond normal. Its crazy, stupid. And who hasn't heard "Your going to kill yourself on that thing"? These people would also say they same about the guy that scales buildings. And thats ok. But I bet inside these same people you could find a passion they have of there own that others might raise an eyebrow to.
So even though someone might not understand the actual act of riding they probably could, well should, understand the passion that can consume you when something you desire becomes part of your blood and soul. Tell me how its not so different from an astronaut or a pilot or even someone who likes to knit blankets? I don't think it is.
Which brings me to my question of: Why do I like to ride a motorcycle. Why do I want
to be "crazy" and potentially "kill myself on that thing". Is the wind in my hair ( well ok through my helmet)? Or the call of the open road, of going places unknown? Or the sites and sounds and smells you never experience in a car? Is it the oneness I feel with the road and my bike when it hits its "sweet spot" as fly down the hi-way, enjoying the way I can feel the texture of the road through my hands and the feedback that my body gives with the slightest change in air temperature? Sure, its all that. But it goes deeper than that and I think that only someone with a passion for something can understand what I mean.
When I was kid growing up a friend and I would lay out at night with our backs on the hot sidewalk in the middle of summer. I can still remember how the heat from the cement felt through my shirt and how it would seem to anchor my thoughts on the amazing site sprawled out above us. We would lay on that sidewalk and watch the stars and the milky-way for hours. We would watch meteor shows with glee and we would talk about things that were full of wonder and pleasure and good things to come. The type of thoughts and talk that can only come from being a kid. And now when I ride and I come upon that perfect stretch of hi-way or set of curves, I can still catch a glimpse of those feelings and a smile will crease my lips and I'll laugh right inside my helmet.
Can it be as simple as that one little pleasure that I ride a motorcyle?
I guess so...