With apologies to Robert Pirsig and the Chautauqua Institute
Ideation
Sometimes the worst ideas become the best ideas.
That’s what happened with this trip. Before I get into that, let’s drop some background on this for readers who aren’t living it today.
We’re five months into a viral pandemic. The United States can’t seem to get a handle on it. Our president is a moron. I live in Georgia, where our governor is a toady to our moronic president and uniquely stupid in his own right.
People of color and their allies in this country are protesting in the streets. Some protests have become violent, though evidence points to violence starting either with agents provocateurs trying to make the protesters look bad or law enforcement officers. In what appears to be the moronic president’s attempt to impose martial law, Federal troops are alleged to have arrested protesters without cause and packed them into unmarked rental vehicles.
On a personal level, the pandemic killed my job in the beginning of April. We’re fortunate to be able to live, albeit frugally, on my girlfriend Suzanne’s income. We’ve been trapped in the house periodically since March, as viral caseloads have risen and fallen. My daughter Annie’s senior year in high school will only be a semester long, as she has chosen to cut her losses, take the few classes she needs to graduate this semester, and graduate in December.
In other words, 2020 is a dumpster fire.
You can imagine this has been a strain on our mental health. We’re all a little touchy. We’re sick of doing the same things day after day, night after night, week after week, in our attempts to stay in and not catch or spread the virus.
I ride a fast motorcycle for stress relief and contemplative practice. The required focus to successfully navigate a powerful machine through a hostile environment at speed frees you from all other thoughts. I’ve been riding as often as I can between volunteer gigs and my endless networking and job searching, but it has yet to feel like enough. I’ve done some 300-mile days across as many as three states. Those were good, but not enough.
One afternoon a confluence of circumstances gave me a terrible idea. I talked to my parents, who live in Maine, and realized I hadn’t been up there in several years. A few days relaxation on the lake where they live might not be a bad thing. I discovered the luxury of time. I don’t have a job. I’m not beholden to people for time, the trade of hours for dollars having momentarily ceased. I also have one other luxury – loyalty points on Southwest Airlines from when I had a job that required a lot of travel, so I could fly my daughter up there to spend time with her grandparents.
I have a motorcycle.
When this all crystallized in my head, I sent a text message to Suzanne.
I thought about it more. When Suzanne got home from work, we talked through the idea. I ride north the weekend prior to Labor Day, leaving early Friday morning. I take three days, 400 miles a day, all back roads. Annie flies to Maine on Monday after I get there and stays through Thursday. I stay one more day and ride out Saturday morning, taking a different route back. I get back late Labor Day.
We decide it’s going to happen.
I call Dad, let him know I’m coming, and ask him to keep it to himself so I can surprise Mom. He agrees and everything is set in motion. I don’t mention to him that I’m planning to ride the motorcycle.