SPIRITUAL ARMS -- IMAGINED HANDS

Do you have a Sleep Mantra? A place your mind automatically melts into moments after you lie down for a night's rest?

For me it's "the Perfect Ride." I close my eyes and sense my spiritual arms stretch forward as my imagined hands gently grasp my motorcycle's handlebar grips. In this hazy state between the edge of reality and the fall into dreams, I'm already in the midst of a sensuous sweeping curve.

On my left I sense a verdant, flower -filled jungle at the base of an impressive mountain range. To my right I see an aquamarine ocean, a horseshoe shaped bay. My nostrils fill with the powerful aroma of Bougainvillea vines.

I'm fascinated that I have this same Sleep Mantra, or Sleep Place, each night. The sweeping curve is always the same, a long, slowly bending left hand leaner of a corner. Yet the views to my left and right seem different each time.

When the curve is on steamy-warm and moist mountainous road with the sea beneath me on the right I think of Nice, France -- Puerto Vallarta, Mexico -- the Santa Cruz Mountains, California -- and a score of other memorable places and rides from my past travels. Most of these rides were on motorcycles: one, PV Mexico, was by car. (I have a feeling that I will someday return there on the Montauk, perhaps during what everyone calls "retirement," or perhaps earlier on a sabbatical).

When the curve is in a musty, sun-filled stand of multicolored foliage trees I think of Franconia, New Hampshire -- Stowe, Vermont -- Bethel, Maine -- and any number of other New England towns where Fall Foliage rides make for a lifetime of joyful memory.

Last night my Place was Puerto Vallarta. Tonight, who knows? Perhaps even a newer old locale dredged up from memories I've heretofore forgotten to remember.

Time and Weather Take a Toll

The Montauk and I rode a long-ago memorized loop of historic country roads yesterday. It was sad to see that Winter had been so unkind to these aged friends.

Like faces wrinkled by age, sun and wind, Old Route 13 and Clough Park Road were a sea of undulated cracks, agape with pitted skin pulled tight over their once rounded -- now peaked -- crown. Not even a decade of serial mini-quakes (the kind we get in New Hampshire) would have sundered the tar this badly.

I was heartbroken. What had for years been one of my favorite afternoon cruising routes, winding through the hills and towns of Goffstown, Dunbarton, around Clough Park and Everett Lake, down to Weare, and then back to Goffstown, now resembled more a gravelized motocross track than a road.

Many of the important things in these townships thankfully remain the same. The farms still smell alive. The fields and ponds still surround me with panoramic beauty. The hills still rise and fall beneath the turning wheels of the Montauk. All is well in the world on such days.

I just wish that time and weather could be kinder to our little country roads.

THE SENSATIONS OF SPRING IN NH

Riding in April, at least here in New Hampshire, is an adventure. Two weekends ago, for example, my friend John and I decided to enjoy a sunny afternoon roam up to Lake Winnipesauke. Winnipesauke is NH's largest lake, with over 75 square miles of water.

We meandered along country roads taking in all of the wonderful smells and sights that Spring offers. But springlike weather in one location does not necessarily make for springlike weather 50 miles north.

We found the Lake still a victim of winter's icy grip. Only the first few feet of of the water's edge was moving. Vast stretches of shore to shore ice pack, at times more than 3 miles across, were visible from the scenic vistas along the road.

Yet the same weather existed here as it had further south. The water, of course, was resisting the state change from solid to liquid. It resisted change with a calculated coolness that quickly invaded my riding gear with frigid result.

I pulled alongside John. His face, like mine, was red with the cold. Our smiles were nonetheless from ear to ear. This is the stuff of springtime riding. This is why we would rather ride the motorcycles for an afternoon runabout than do just about anything else.

As our route along the Lake ended, and we pointed our machines South for the return run, the temperature climbed quickly. It was 65 again. It was wonderful. The air was again pungent with the smell of a reawakening forest. A mile later we were enveloped in the smell of fresh farm soil that had just been released from its Winter blanket. Rich, deep, musky -- all of those sensations caressed me at a single moment.

Ten miles from home I turned to John and shouted: "Next ride's to the beach!"

I got no argument. John's broadly grinning face said it all.

THERE'S NO SEX IN THE HOTEL KIRAN

Agra India is the home of the fabled Taj Mahal. It is also the home of a lesser known attraction, The Hotel Kiran. It was there, in '73, that Peter Agrafiotis and I bunked in for a couple of nights during a pilgrimmage to the Taj Mahal.

The Hotel Kiran is not much to look at. It's been beaten up by time and dust. The whole town seemed that way. Only the Taj Mahal stood out in splendor. White marble, with gleaming stones and jewels that caught and then released sunlight.

It was our rickshaw driver that selected our lodging on our first entrance into Agra. "I take you to Hotel, very nice. My brother there. You like it." He was a salesman of few words.

Check-in was unceremonious: the desk man spoke little English, and my proficiency with Hindi bordered on useless. The Hotel Kiran was ready for such circumstances, nonetheless. The desk man handed us a printed sheet of instructions, paid the rickshaw driver a tip for the referral, handed us a rusted key, and pointed at the stairway. Our room awaited.

For your enjoyment, I share with you the written instructions, verbatim. Peter kept them, and sent me a copy recently. They are wonderful:

HOTEL KIRAN

Rules & Regulations

1. Prostitude & wine is structly prohibited in the Hotel.
2. Passengers are requested not to keep cash and ornaments in their rooms or in Locors.
3. Passengers are requested that they should maintain perfect silence and hormony in the Hotel.
4. Passengers should take proper care for cleanliness and should not spread dirt.
5. The minimum lodging charges will be for 24 hrs. The charges for a period less than 24 hrs will also be the same.
6. Passengers will be to allowed to leave only after paying the Hotel bill in full. In case of failure the hotel manager will be entitled to with hold the baggage etc of the passangers.
7. It is a legal offence to keep arms and amunition without license in the Hotel. Defaulters of law shall be liable to a penalty of Rs 500 per day.
8. Cooking of food in any part of the Hotel premises is prohibited. Defaulters of law shall be liabile to a penalty of Rs 500 per day.
9. Passengers should not cause harm to the Hotel.
10. Passengers are requested not to make payment to the waiter for the bill in excess of Rs 5. Bills for sums more than Rs 5 should be paid by the passengers at the Counter.
11. Entry in the rooms or keeping baggage in the Locors without entry in the register is prohibited.
12. Eatables from outside will not be allowed to be brought in or consumed in the Hotel.
13. Any complaint or suggestion may be noted in the book with the Manager. The complaint against any employee of the Hotel may be made to the Manager. Passengers should not take any action against them directly.

So, at the Hotel Kiran, you can bring your licensed guns and ammunition. You can eat the Hotel's food, but not your own food. Don't pay the waitstaff more than 5 rupees and don't bother looking for a one night stand. Cause at the Hotel Kiran you can sleep, you can dine, you can and must create perfect hormony, but remember this: at the Hotel Kiran "prositude & wine is structly prohibited."

REVEREND PETE'S SERMON -- "JESUS WOULD RIDE A HARLEY"

First and foremost, a Happy Easter wish to all peoples of the world. May the new season bring peace and freedom to everyone.

I awoke this morning to a beautiful Spring day. Birds were singing, and the moles that had mysteriously moved into my yard over the winter seemed to be burrowing with a special frenzy.

Being brought up in the Catholic Religion, I of course associate Easter with Jesus.

So it is no surprise that I awoke this morning smiling to think not only of the triumph of a risen Lord but of the interesting ways that Jesus has been used in modern times to sell things.

(Warping as the memory machine takes us back to June 2004)

I was browsing the motorcycle paraphenalia stands at last year's Laconia Bike Week, when suddenly I realized that I was in the Hell's Angels leather tent. It didn't take long for me to comprehend that I had somehow passed through "Suzie's Bandana Shop" into an abutting tent where black leather thongs hung next to purple leather whips.

"What ya lookin for," asked a hulking voice behind me? I turned and viewed the speaker. He was big, about 6'5", and spilling out in all directions from his tee shirt, leather vest, and dirty jeans.

Time to act cool and nonchalant. So, with the feigned indifference of a Cool Hand Luke, I muttered: "I was just looking at the bandanas as a possible gift for my wife." (Oh man, I thought, that didn't come out cool at all.)

The big guy looked at me as if I was a toad. "Get The Bitch a thong man. Bitches in thongs look great on the back of your ride."

Now I was in way over my head. For one thing, I had never thought of my wife as "The Bitch." For another, the last time I got so-called sexy lingerie for my wife, I got a lecture about how uncomfortable it was.

"No man," I replied, "I've changed my mind. Not gettin her anything. What ya got for us bikers?" Alright, I thought, now I sound better to this kind of guy. All the while I'm casually looking for an exit. I spied one to my right. Next to the exit was a table with another Hell's Angels guy sitting behind it on a stool. Looking at the first Angel I quipped, "I'll go check out that table." I moved quickly toward the exit. But I didn't make the exit before the stool guy grabbed my arm.

"If Jesus were alive today, he'd ride a Harley."

That's what the man said, as he pointed to a leather and chain device used for attaching keys to your jeans. I looked. It did say just that. Embossed into the leather were the words "IF JESUS WERE ALIVE TODAY, HE'D RIDE A HARLEY."

I was hooked. Looking over the stool man, I noticed much the opposite of the first Angel. This one was thin to an extreme. His hair and beard were straggly, long with that pepper and salt mix that we all seem to inherit as we push past 40. His teeth were few, and those that remained were in rather sad shape.

But he had a big smile, a genuine smile--the kind of smile that put me at ease and made me less anxious to get away from the tent. He wore a cross around his neck, and his vest was marked with his name: "Reverend Pete."

I inquired, "Reverend, how do you know Jesus would ride a Harley as opposed to a Honda?" Pete grinned. "I don't. But I know he'd be a biker man, cause he rode a donkey. He'd ride a bike today, no question." Pete's quick response was made with the conviction of true religion.

That was the end of Pete's sermon. He had no more time for me. A good looking lady had walked to his table, and was asking him where the thongs were. I saw the light of the doorway and left.

And it was this memory of Reverend Pete's sermon that put a smile on my face this Easter Morning.

Harmonicas and Motorcycles

Toots Thielemans is a master of jazz harmonica. Many have heard him and not realized that his instrument was the harmonica. His music was the muse behind the film "French Kiss."

So many of us grew up thinking of the harmonica as a toy rather than a true instrument. Some of us grew to appreciate the great harmonica players of the Blues: folks like Paul Butterfield and Charlie Musselwhite. They are incredible without question.

But Toots Thielemans, of Belgium, takes harmonica to a level beyond. His melodies take your evening breath away. Guys, trust me, this is the fellow to play when you want your lovely lady to feel that the two of you are holding hands and sipping fine wine at a quaint cafe in the heart of Paris.

So what, one might ask, does this have to do with motorcycling?

Well, says I, remember that many a grand day of motorcycling comes to a conclusion with you and your dream bike coming home to your significant other. Bring home some good wine, a smile, and a Toots Thielemans CD to share with your lady. She'll be far more inclined to approach your next adventure enthusiastically. She might even say, "Have fun. I'll see you tonight."

The 2004 BMW R 1200 Montauk

The 2004 BMW R 1200 Montauk
Originally uploaded by MontaukRider.

Form
Function
Freedom

JOYOUS MOVEMENT 

SURFING THROUGH THE AIR

I'm often asked by non-riders why motorcycling is so important to me. I have a thousand answers to this question, but no one answer covers the myriad of reasons.

There are a handful of experiences in life that allow us to experience joyous movement, a moment when gravity is seemingly defied, and when the normal laws of time and space are suspended. Those who surf, those who ski, those who snowboard know what I am speaking of. It's almost indescribable: it's like surfing through the air.

On a warm summer day, I will cruise along a twisting country road in the backwoods or hills of New Hampshire. I will find a groove in which every undulation of the road, from surface to twist, is synced perfectly with my mind and my machine. I'm studying the next turn before it is even in view. I can see it and feel it without seeing it.

This is the Zen of Motorcycling. This is joyous movement. This is why I ride.

Easy Rider prepares to ride the Mount Washington Road, June 2004