Back in the Saddle

I’ve been feeling a little down lately. 

For the past six months at least. I’m tired too often. It's hard to get out of bed in the morning. As soon as I log on to my computer for work in the morning, I’m counting down the minutes until I can turn off my VPN and switch over to YouTube videos and HBO Max until it’s time to go to bed. It’s harder and harder to focus on even those. 

At first I thought this was just another symptom of the normal ebbs and flows of depression and ennui as a millennial. Maybe the winter was marginally harsher and so the effects of SAD are lasting a little longer. Maybe it’s all of that combined with the general instability of the past few years.

I don't really know. I've just been feeling a little down lately. 

Better put: I didn't know. 

I bought a new (to me) motorcycle last week, which is exactly the kind of purchase people are referring to when they warn you that money can't buy happiness. It serves no practical purposes (to most people, but that's an argument for another time) and it's expensive for an ostensible toy. 

The people in question are wrong in this case. 

parked after lunch at Greenbush Brewery

A touring bike begs to be toured on, so I took a weekend jaunt up to Michigan. I feel like I know what the first doctor to experiment with antibiotics must have felt. Yesterday, there was an imminent threat of death. Today, the patient is recovering. 

The roads along the lake shore between Chicago and Grand Rapids are nice, but not overly interesting, and I know them well enough to navigate without a GPS or even paying too much attention to the road signs. In other words, it's not the roads or the roadside attractions, or the scenery that are reinvigorating me. It's the bike. 

The wind in my face. The rumble of the motor in my gut. A duffle bag strapped to the seat behind me. The terror of taking a corner at speed in the rain. Dropping a gear and passing a car with the audacity to drive exactly the posted speed limit. Checking my mirrors quickly to see if there's enough room between myself and the car behind to brake suddenly and pull off to the side just to take a look at the weird giant oil tanks on the side of the road. Stopping for gas every 100 miles. Short shifting on the highway to keep the revs low. Pulling off of a stop light in a small town and waiting for the engine to almost reach redline before shifting into second so the locals get a small taste of just how loud an engine really can be. Taking off my gear at the end of the day and getting a big whiff of the stench brewing where sweat has been festering for hours. Laying down with a sore back. Waking up as the sun comes up to do load up and head out again. 

I love it all. 

I parked my old bike in a garage in October when the weather started to turn too cold and it's been a  slow decline ever since. 

I can (and will gladly) talk your ear off about how everyone should ride a motorcycle. They're way more fuel efficient than cars, make you a better car driver, reduce or eliminate heavy traffic, and aren't nearly as dangerous as simple statistics are used to imply. It's all sophistry though. The real reason everyone should learn to ride is that it's just about the only time I've been exhausted, inspired, excited, terrified, empowered, badass, helpless, wide awake, and calm all at once. It's definitely the only way to stimulate all of that with any consistency. It makes me feel better after a six month slump. Like there's a wind turbine attached to my hippocampus that needs a relative wind speed upwards of 45 mph to work properly. And I can't for the life of me imagine why anyone wouldn't want to feel like this all the time.