I spend hours and gallons searching for my way home. Home is not four walls and a roof. Rather, it is the feeling that I get when stumbling upon the best riding conditions imaginable. For some people home is a serene morning right when the prior night’s dew begins to burn off the ground under a slow warming rising sun. For others it is the scorching heat of the midwest as they make their way to Sturgis during a hazy early August day. Juxtapose are those who embrace the crisp New England autumn air for seemingly unselfish reasons; “Big Twins like this weather”. Whether we do it for the tranquility of the roads, the heat to turn our extremities into hardened leather or the desire to reward our machine after a hard fought summer, we all have our favorite riding climates, time of day and days of year.
Every year we head down south to Rolling Thunder. Every year we stumble upon Virginia, North Carolina, Tennessee or some other state as foreign to a New Englander as good Lobster is to a Californian. The golden hour in late spring with the sun on one flank and my silhouette on the other protecting its rider for the last hour before they slip away into slumber. The air a nonexistent array of atoms softly guiding my cycle through rolling country – the temperature is neither warm nor cold… it just “is”. The only scents are freshly trimmed fields and faint exhaust fumes that dissipate as quickly as they are generated. The view is limitless and void of cars with the occasional exception of an old step-side pickup proudly guarding the entrance to its less than majestic driveway.
Inevitably out gas tanks show signs of exhaustion but no matter, we want to drain the last few minutes of this spectacular sun. Calmness muffles the tones of my pipe… and I’m home.