Saturday, October 25, 2014
Grounding happens when we are at one with where we are - chasing a ribbon of road or Warrior 3. Doing and being purposefully, grounds us. We love to draw little boxes and have expectations of people. We seem to attribute characteristics to the box..biker, hippy, nerd, mom, rocker... At a show last week my workmates found me at the edges of the mosh pit, fully engaged in the undulating beat of the music. My beer soaked colleague screamed lyrics amidst the pyrotechnics behind him. It was a glimpse, for them, into middle age. I wonder if they think that riding a motorcycle is for transportation. I expect they have no idea of the adrenalin that coarses through you as you navigate curves. Many boxes ground me.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
I have learned a few things about Norman in the more than 250,000 hours that I have known him. Calm, cool, collected he is humble, helpful and ever the optimist. This is why I found myself donning rain gear with a dreary sky and little hope it would stop. "It will be part of the adventure" he says...smiling. "Anyone can leave when it is sunny..." I am a realist. I know that within moments of leaving there will be rivers running down my back through the vents at the top of my helmet that I always seem to leave open... I know that my face shield will fog, my fingers will prune and my thighs will ache from clenching around corners for fear of sliding and skidding. With all this information, and being of sound mind, I mount willingly to snake the roads to Whistler. It is a pristine ride with little need for gearing up and down...it is mostly rhythmic ebb and flow through corners and vistas. My perspective is not always right. There is much to be said about seeing the world through another's glasses. I spent the first half hour fretting over what people would think of me getting on the bike in the first place. I could hear derision and quizzical looks. I could see frowns and questioning why I would do this...was I timid? crazy? bullied? I know this as I have been the source of pity before. In the depths of the voices chiding me I became uncomfortable, but the discomfort was my projection of what "they" thought...those nameless masses that I relinquished power to disarm, deride and diminish. The illumination was liberating....The roads were lovely and the destination spectacular...and Norman was right....the sun shone the next day and the ride home was even better.