On the Road Again
28/06/06 09:04
I was hanging
from the waist upside down this morning on my dewy
little strip of grass between the basketball courts
and muscle beach after a light jog to the border of
Santa Monica. The shimmering palm fronds dangled,
rooted to the clear ocean skies, and dogs of all
genetic codes peed into the air. Sweat defied gravity
too, running up my forehead to mingle with the
sea-salted dewdrops.
I'm always a little bit nervous before heading out alone on a road trip. It's a lot like turning your world upside down. The rules you've grown accustomed to no longer apply and you have to rethink everything in the context of survival. It's easy for me to become locked in the comfort of companionship. Too easy. And every year around this time, my sanity depends on the solitude and fresh challenges of the road.
I suppose it has to do with hibernating all cold Canadian winter watching too much tv and growing cynical in the city. I need to shed that skin and feel a little more raw, a little more alive. The wind on my face, riding through a rainstorm, rushing to set my tent up before dark, climbing into my sleeping bag on the lumpy ground with my fleece sweater as a pillow, alone with my thoughts in the fresh air and the open road. I understand why people die pursuing their passions: to not pursue them is a worse death.
I don't quite know what it is about being in the middle of nowhere alone, knowing no-one on the planet knows exactly where you are at that moment. It's comforting in a whole other way - no - it's ecstatic!
I'm always a little bit nervous before heading out alone on a road trip. It's a lot like turning your world upside down. The rules you've grown accustomed to no longer apply and you have to rethink everything in the context of survival. It's easy for me to become locked in the comfort of companionship. Too easy. And every year around this time, my sanity depends on the solitude and fresh challenges of the road.
I suppose it has to do with hibernating all cold Canadian winter watching too much tv and growing cynical in the city. I need to shed that skin and feel a little more raw, a little more alive. The wind on my face, riding through a rainstorm, rushing to set my tent up before dark, climbing into my sleeping bag on the lumpy ground with my fleece sweater as a pillow, alone with my thoughts in the fresh air and the open road. I understand why people die pursuing their passions: to not pursue them is a worse death.
I don't quite know what it is about being in the middle of nowhere alone, knowing no-one on the planet knows exactly where you are at that moment. It's comforting in a whole other way - no - it's ecstatic!
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The Freaks of Venice
22/06/06 17:45
The Journey
16/06/06 09:03
Meet Henk. He's a 1997 Buell S1 Lightning whom I fell in love with at first sight in the spring of '98.
Henk was the ultimate physical expression of freedom; and when I saw him gleaming all silver on silver from across the crowded showroom of show-off deep-throttled Harleys, worlds opened.
In a flash of desire, I saw tens of thousands of miles of open road, and warm summer months of welcomed solitude. This was a relationship I could finally commit to. And so began our love affair of eight years and counting...