Springtime in North Georgia sees many motorcycle riders, up on 400, weaving in between trailers and motor homes as the bright southern sun breaks through the clouds. It’s the first time most have had their bikes out in months, and they can’t wait to get out there, much to the chagrin of the local police, who now have instituted a zero tolerance policy regarding motorcycles. If you go even one mile above the speed limit you will get pulled over and likely go to jail until the judge can make time for you to make you do time, and he better not be able to see your tattoos when he does.
I have no plans to go fast here or anywhere, and I am still dreaming some Harley dreams even though I am today bouncing along on a dual sport machine, my first. With its high fenders and knobby tires, sporty lines crossing its navy blue chassis, I feel like a 14 year old boy. Even though I have been riding for a few months now, I only just got the concept of rolling off the throttle. You don’t just open it, you close it too. roll on the throttle, roll off it. go, don’t go. It’s like that. this is the missing link that had me lurching long into my advanced beginner status. Maybe I am intermediate now, that I have figured this out.
It’s blazing hot outside but that won’t last long. This heat is a temporary fix, burning the water off the roads in steamy lines. I couldn’t tell you where I found the faith to ride in the unpredictable chaos of early March here. The seasons fight for dominance as they change, one unable to let go, the other coming on too soon for comfort. I understand the need for churches and houses of worship that sit astride each other in neat rows, as people here go to god for help with the weather. Is there a tornado coming? God only knows.
I am riding now in a new state, yet another life that is a repeat of an old one. I come home to Georgia as I come home to California as I come home to London as I come home to everywhere I have been every night. To me motorcycling makes sense because I want to stay in motion, all my things with me, cleverly stored and concealed, packed up and moveable, going strong.