Frequent Traveler: Zen on Hot Asphalt for a Biker on Business June 13, 2006
Atlanta to Louisville, Ky., is a six-hour drive on my BMW 1200 RT touring bike. It takes about the same amount of time to get to the airport, stand in line at the ticket counter, get screened, wait for the flight to leave, make the actual flight and then pick up my luggage after I land.
Being on a bike is a Zen-like experience. You’re actually in the environment. You can smell the fresh-cut grass on the side of the road, the hot asphalt under your tires and the smoke from a faraway barbecue.
It’s not at all like air travel, which to me is aggravated sensory deprivation. I think travel has become too easy, and too numbing. It’s not an adventure anymore like it used to be.
When I show up to a business meeting in a pinstriped suit and motorcycle boots, I always get the same reaction from the men. They’re envious. There is something about being on a bike that is singularly American. It says, “I have some priorities here that aren’t about life expectancy.”
I usually have some explaining to do. For example, the funny indentation on my head, from the helmet. Or the dust. It’s a lovely ice-breaker, explaining that you got to your meeting on a motorcycle.
Not everyone approves of my choice of transportation. My wife gets a lot of negative feedback from other women. They say, “How could you let your husband do that?” I was stopped at an intersection in Atlanta, next to a luxury S.U.V. with a couple in their mid-40’s. The guy gave me the “nice bike” nod, a universal sign of approval among men. I nodded back, and when I did, his wife slapped him.
Then I heard her say, “Don’t even look at it.”
Taking a bike on a business trip isn’t necessarily easy. You encounter all kinds of weather, from freezing cold to sideways rain. I have an electric jacket that plugs into the bike, and it keeps me warm even when there’s a wind chill of 20 degrees below zero. Heated handgrips don’t hurt, either.
I can ride in anything except a hard, driving rain. That is like being hit by a water hose. I was riding in Missouri recently, and had to pull over because it just wasn’t safe. Oh, and then there’s sleet. Sleet is evil.
Even when you try to be as safe as possible, accidents are sometimes unavoidable. For my latest project, “Feasting on Asphalt,” I rode from Savannah, Ga., to Los Angeles, stopping along the way to sample the cooking. About 20 miles north of Las Vegas, I hit a ditch. I tried to power my way out of it and got thrown off the bike.
I heard a sound like a wooden spoon snapping and I immediately knew something was wrong.
I had broken my collarbone.
Within a few minutes, I was experiencing five different dimensions of pain ? everything from a gnawing sensation to the feeling of flesh being speared by bone.
Talk about feasting on asphalt.
- Posted in : Uncategorized
- Author : arnold
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