Ride To Live…What it's Like
What follows is an excerpt from a letter sent me by a very dear friend. Ralph is a writer, a scholar, a nut for old airplanes, a good ol’ boy, a survivor of recent chest-cracking, stop-your-heart-your-dead- for-a-while multiple bypass surgery, and an Episcopal priest who’s vocation took him to the hospital chaplaincy. At the very core of his being he is also a rider.
Early last week, I went out to the garage and opened the door. It was like going into a darkened hanger and finding a Beechcraft Staggerwing sitting in the shadows. I pulled the cover off the bike and took a good long look at my faithful 21-year-old R100RT.I walked around it several times, then climbed up on the seat and patted it on the tank as I would pat the sides of a favorite horse I hadn't ridden in a long time.. Over the next few days, I set about changing the oil, pulling the float bowls and cleaning them, checking the tire pressure, charging the battery, changing the plugs, checking all the bolts and nuts, and cleaning the windshield. When I finished, I turned the bike around in the garage and pointed it toward the door.
Tomorrow (Monday, the 14th) marks three months since surgery, My surgeon Told me on March the 11th that when three months had passed, I could do anything I wanted to. Today was beautiful and warm, with cloudless skies. The bike was ready and so was I (fortified the other night by three bottles of Killian's Irish Red). Well, hell, why leave for tomorrow what you can do today?
So I just went for my first motorcycle ride since last October. Valerie took a photograph of me as I scooted down the driveway. I turned south and went a mile or so down Dayton Boulevard, turned west on Morrison Springs Road, got on highway 27 and headed north. No motorcycle has ever run as smoothly as my Beemer did today. The elves must have tuned it during the winter. When I hit 70, a great calm settled over me and I felt truly for the first time since surgery that I had really, existentially--even metaphysically--come all the way BACK. to where I belonged. Palm Sunday on a motorcycle. What a life!
Welcome back, my dear friend. I’ll be seeing you on the road.
