SURFERS AND OTHER HOPELESS ROMANTICS I MISS

I awoke early this morn determined to have an adventure on the road. The sky was overcast yet blue was peaking through to the east. The weather looked to be more to the west. Coffee made and devoured, I called my cousin on the seacoast. "Want to ride," I inquired? "You bet," he replied. We agreed to meet at a seacoast tavern for Brunch.

Quick morning chores completed, I jumped on the Bimmer and blasted toward the sea. I knew I could make it there in 40 minutes by highway, or 75 by county road. I chose the latter.

Cousin Den devoured an amazing Brunch Buffet, leaving me in awe of his gastric capacity. I was less adventuresome having spied on the menu Artichoke Hearts in Garlic Butter. I orderded these (sans the cheese) with garlic bread and wine. It was a very good choice.

We then rode up the coast toward Maine, stopping to watch the rather large gathering of surfers at Rye Beach. It seems they were all anticipating huge waves from Tropical Storm Florence, but from what I could see, the waves were only in the 2 to 3 foot range. One has to admire optimism, nonetheless.

Riding along later in the day, I began to see those surfers as heroic believers in the romantic ideal. They sought perfection: perfection in the waves and in themselves. They were not dissimilar from so many of us romantics really. They had a dream and they were willing to risk everything for it.

I imagine that the waves will increase in size over the next several days. These same surfers will be there. I know: I used to be one of them. They will drop everything just for the chance to ride the perfect wave. I totally understand how they feel.

DREAMS OF MEXICAN BOUGAINVILLEA

It's no secret that I love Mexico. I especially love Mexico's West Coast.

There the jungles and mountains rush to the sea, and lovely little roads twist between hill and valley. From rock and sand to verdant slopes covered in Bougainvillea, a prettier or more exotic place to ride is hard to imagine.

Mexico inspires many a musician as well. A listen to Ry Cooder's "Maria Elena" or "Cancion Mixteca" demonstrates the romance of Mexico's themes of guitar mystique.

When the snows of New England come this winter I will dream of motorcycling to Mexico. In physical reality I'll be here, laughing, skiing and otherwise doing what we do each year in the frozen North, but with a longing.

My nights will be filled with dreams of riding the Mexican coast from village to village till I reach the Bay of Banderas. Sunrise on the Bay is quite special, as one can see from the photo I've posted above. This was taken at dawn, at that critical time just before the sun rose over the eastern horizon.

I'll see my fellow dreamers on the way, or if not, perhaps when I reach El Faro.

The Wild Strawberry

Tiny Wild Strawberry, originally uploaded by dnhoshor.

Walking in a forest or field one discovers life profligate.

Take, for instance, the happening upon a patch of wild strawberries in late summer. What a find!

If you touch and smell the berry you can feel its pulse of fructose sweetening, its burst of watery growth.

Pick one and give it away. What a gift!

On my next ride through the wild I hope to see again many such tiny miracles of life. The strawberries may be past for now, but they will return again, and again, and........................

We Must Learn Patience

Kirstenbosch
Originally uploaded by Light Traveler.

I enjoyed Chinese cuisine for lunch today.

A fortune cookie lifted my spirits: "Begin....the rest is easy," my little oracle of pulp declared.

True enough; but beginning also requires patience. The gardener might rush to plant a seed, but the flower will not rush. The flower will abide its time until it can bloom in peace and earnestness.

We are all flowers in this sense. We must learn patience.

THE LONG AND WINDING ROAD

many a winding turn
Originally uploaded by Light Traveler.

Desire

WE WILL MEET ALONG THE WAY

"We'll meet along the way, I know. Go straight and true. Go straight and true. We'll meet along the way, I know."

So begins The Hems latest album, "Funnel Cloud." And it's a lovely album filled with melodic songs of journeys, roads, and discoveries.

The second song, "He Came to Meet Me," tells of a woman visited by a man who found her in her neighborhood and told her stories until she fell in love with him. "The dream was a lot like this, but I never knew, until he came to meet me."

And so it goes with great songs of the highway. From the tear-jerk ballad "1952 Vincent Black Lightning" to "He Came to Meet Me," tales of the road, of life renewed through the discovery of who we might actually be, not stuck in the who we've been, but liberated in the who we might be allowed to become.

Ride my friends. Find out where you can go and who you might become.

Moonset

Moonset on BlackMountains 13 Apr 2006
Originally uploaded by Uncle Jerry in Golden Valley, AZ.

The sun rises,
the moon sets.
All is in balance.

SEPTEMBER CHANGES

Few months stand out for our annual reawakening as much as September.

For the young September is "Back to School" month. For others September marks the commencement of Fall, a time when crisp air fills the lungs and once green foliage evolves into hues as varied as dobs of paint on an artist's pallet.

September is a time of discovery.

Motorcyclists in the Northeast adore Fall riding. The coolness of an early morn's departure gives way to the warmth of late morning sun. So, too, the cozy afternoon air turns colder as the sun begins to set.

It's all good!

Fall evenings spent by a crackling fire sparkle with an embrace hard to surpass. Add good friends, a glass or two of yummy wine, and the conversation floats away on invisible wings.

I welcome September's arrival. May there be many good rides for all of us this Fall. And if we chance to meet at the evening fire, may we enjoy the wine and conversation till the wee hours bring us to rest.

TUSCAN ZEN

Podere Corniuzza
Originally uploaded by Podere Corniuzza.

In a dream I feel the pull of Tuscany. The air is filled with odors of olives, grapes, and rich soil. A small house offers refuge and repast after a long day's ride.

The Rain Has Come

Pouring rain
Originally uploaded by dr.zeppo.

Ernesto's heavy rains remind me of a poem, titled Rain, by Ross TenEyck


"On a cool sea breeze she comes in from the west,

the Rain Woman, the ocean's daughter,

dressed in windblown tattered grey that smells of the sea.

She is bringing me stories from her mother's house."