When a road becomes a trail becomes a goat path...

Last weekend we went riding in Pennsylvania. It is one of our favourite places to ride and is not too far from home. Despite the fact that we have to cross the dreaded border between Canada and the US there and back, which for whatever reason has to be so difficult - people go to Europe and learn something! Anyway, I am getting sidetracked...

We crossed into the US, and it is with a sigh of relief when we do, because we have found on numerous trips that the drivers in the US are tolerant of bikes (and I am talking motorcycles here; keep up) and they leave room and they don't tailgate and so on. (States that we've been in on motorcycles, NY, NH, VA, MI, PA, ME.)

Now Pennsylvania has great motorcycling roads (as does many other States, but this one is close to home), and we went into Allegany State Park in New York and rode into PA the next day and was merrily riding some twisties and getting irritable when there weren't enough and went on other roads and did a few more twisties, until our buts were hurting and our eyes were watering and we had to camp somewhere.

We stopped at random at Bald Eagle State Park and loved it there. The park rangers were VERY VERY HELPFUL and we were set up in no time. Of course you cannot drink alcohol, which we don't mind at all because we are there to rest and enjoy nature and sleep until we ride again, so quiet is appreciated, which is often missing in sites where people tend to drink too much (alcohol). In this case though, pristine park and great people everywhere.

Sunday morning we had to head home, because Monday was a work day. Yuk! Since we were no longer on our original route, and we had quite a long trek back to the grid that is Southwestern Ontario, we decided to select fasted route home and we headed out, blissfully unaware that our GPS will take us on a grand adventure.

Shortly after takeoff, we headed off the highway and onto some elegant turns and enjoyed the ride. We were soon following the machine that is our master "GPS" onto an unpaved forest road. When you see a sign - no winter maintenance - that should be a RED FLAG. But to us, still not alarming, since we both ride GS' which means they can do dirt, even if I cannot really do dirt and we both have street tires and my back tire is in need of replacing sometime soon.

However, we went onto the dirt road, which became a dirt track, which became a 90 minute ride down switchbacks on what Herman referred to as a goat trail down the side of a mountain over rocks, barely avoiding sliding off the left rut into the abyss that is thick forest in what I think the site of where I will swear this if need be, Deliverance was originally produced in those woods. I faintly heard banjo music in the background. Really. I was having short moments of hysterical laughter, wild yelling and outright swearing, wondering how long it will be before our mangled bodies will be found.

Luckily, most of all, I was thinking about the trial riding video we watched two years ago on how to ride on dirt trails, and even though at the time, I was thinking I will never go on that, whatever that is, because them thar ain't no roads... My mushy brain actually remembered some of that instruction and I relaxed my hands and braked with my gears and stayed off the front brake and gassed over the rocks (and there were some beauts) and through the sand and used the clutch and my legs to steer and made it down in one piece. AND I LOVED THE ACCOMPLISHMENT.

One thing I do know, is that after this experience I am a more confident rider and that is priceless.

Motorcycling to me is...

I love riding my bike. Not a shattering statement, but it defines me.

I prefer going on long trips, but for now I have to work, so I ride to work most days and enjoy the country roads. I can smell everything flowers, pine trees, skunk spray and cow dung (LOL). I can FEEL the weather; the wind and the warmth or the cold. I can be calm or angry or happy without anyone knowing or judging. It makes me feel alive.

Riding can sometimes be hard work, especially in heavy traffic, thunderstorms or at high speed on a busy highway. The constant concentration required to arrive alive on the other side of the trip, knowing that most motorists are constantly distracted. (Riding on a bike lets you see inside cars and realizing that they text, talk on cells, eat, drink and pick up stuff off the floor. Interestingly you can smell when they smoke, and can often distinguish between tobacco and that other I-did-not-inhale-type.)

Sometimes I am dancing on the bike and singing in my mind and sometimes I sing out loud. I scream at idiots who cut me off and swear at the top of my lungs and my words get lots in the wind, so no one hears it and no one cares.

When I feel like everything else is crap I can fantasize about not turning and just going straight when a tight bend in the road comes up, flying over the cliff like Thelma and Louise. This usually makes me feel better and I laugh out loud and safely lean into the turn.

I am always pretty much inside my own head, but riding is the ultimate in me-time.

Writing every day

So I am now following the blog of Chuck Wendig, called Terrible Minds, and he is demanding that I start writing that novel that I always wanted to write.

Herman got me going on this with his offhanded comment about not being busy enough at work and; "Well write that book you always said you wanted to write and don't have time for." So, who knows if I follow Chuck's no-nonsense advice, I may just do that.

Happy Friday, and a long weekend to boot with several parties planned. It will be great.