Zen and the art of Motorcycle riding.

Yesterday night I went for a long motorcycle ride on my old world war II (Bullet). With the night wind caressing my cheeks and whistling in my ear, as the chill entered my heart was an exhilarating experience. As the wheels devoured the macadam road stretching endlessly like a black ribbon, darkness parted by the solitary beam of my headlight, flashes of memory sputtered alive ~Peter ‘O’ Toole, Lawrence of Arabia, early youth, gals, bikes, racing, crashes at alii. I always liked a bike as opposed to cars, as it gave a certain freedom tinged with danger. I have read Robert Persig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”, but the import of the chapters now roared back into my mind. “On a motorcycle whizzing past milestones was intoxicating like drinking the elixir of youth”. In a car you are always cuckooned in a compartment, you are used to it, you don’t realize that through the window everything you see is like watching television. You are a passive observer and its all boring moving frame by frame. On a motorcycle the frame is gone, you are in contact with the scene, not watching it and the sense of presence is overwhelming. You are on top of the world as it rushes past your feet.