In The Groove

I know riding a motorcycle is dangerous. But it doesn’t feel that way when I ride. On small 2 lane roads across Central America lane sharing is a way of life. As the road twists through mountain passes, lumbering Mexican beasts of burden billow black toxic smoke. Your choice is to breath the smoke and let it fill your eyes, or go for it.

Weaving in and out of traffic I become hypnotized. The danger doesn’t register, I am leaning hard into a corner passing a chicken bus. When I can see around the bus there is a truck coming my way. I don’t flinch, I don’t brake, I put the front tire of the BMW right on the centerline. I’m not crossing my fingers, I feel no adrenaline. I don’t hope the vehicles next to me wont swerve. Somehow I know they wont change the path they are on. I feel completely in control of things completely out of my control.

Once while passing a bus I lifted my right hand off the throttle. With the throttle lock in place the bike continued to accelerate. At 60 mph while passing I reach out not thinking, just riding. I caught myself at the last second, realizing that dragging my hand along the bus was a really bad idea.

It is hard to describe the feeling I had. I was totally aware, yet unaware. In control, but out of control. Musicians playing together get in the “groove”. Soldiers in combat can speak without words. Motorcycle riders can control the space around them. Until they get hit. Then they lay on the ground, bleeding, and looking at their mangled bike, with a expression on their face like there has been some kind of mistake.

--Ryan