When I Write about Riding

In the 11 years that I have been writing this column I know of exactly two people who have read every single one; my mom and my friend, Scott. I know for sure that Scott has read them all because it happened this past winter. He was telling me how surprised he was to learn that I wrote for the paper and that he wanted to read more of my writing. After a quick conversation about all of the ways he could access past pieces online, I offered to let him take my scrapbooks. I have this old-fashioned habit of carefully clipping out my column each time it is published in the paper and then placing it in a scrapbook. I have kept them all. So Scott took Volume 1 of “The Flip Side: Life After 40”, and then two weeks later, Volume 2. He was very complimentary of my writing, but inquired as to why I don’t write more about riding my motorcycle. The answer to that question is simple, yet complicated. I actually do write about riding my motorcycle. Those pieces just never seem to make it to my laptop. One of the most peaceful things I do in my life is ride my motorcycle. And as I ride, I compose. I think about how lucky I am to be able to ride around Northern Michigan anytime I want, all summer long with the beautiful blues of the lakeshores to my right and the stunning views of the rolling hills to my left. I smell the amazing scent of the Lilacs in June and marvel that I can hear the spring peepers above the rumble of my motor. I write and write and write words which will never see print because when I come to a stop and swing my leg back over my bike, what I was sure I’d never forget, gets lost in the lunches with friends, shopping downtown, bike nights, and festivals. What started as a hobby that my husband introduced me to as a passenger soon became my love also as a solo rider. However, as the years go by and I have a few more close calls, get a little more fearful, see yet another driver stopped at an intersection looking down at his phone, I think that maybe it’s time to sell the bike. But selling the bike would not only mean a loss of the enjoyment I get from riding, but it would also mean the many hours of writing that take place without my fingers ever touching the keyboard would end too. So Scott, you may not see many columns about riding, but you can know for certain that they are being written.