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~long deep breath~
God, it's good to be home.
disjointed things:
Driving home last night, we came round Chattanooga on I-24. I caught this brief glimpse of the city just after nightfall--lights laid out like lines on a roadmap, and if you're familiar with the town, you'll know which line is which street... No skyline to speak of, which is what I usually look for to stand as a mental icon for a city. Just a scattering of semiprecious stones across velvet and not enough time or space to pull off the road and stare. Beautiful. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be able to navigate now as well as I did three or four years ago.
It's funny--I've lost most of Goose Creek/North Charleston/Charleston. Once upon a time, I knew three ways to get to anywhere from anywhere else around there. Now? Give me exact directions or a seat in the back of the car. It makes me a little sad, honestly.
It was a good visit, though. They're good folk.
Got to ride a motorcycle for the first time. A Suzuki something-or-other. Sport bike. 'S the closest I've come to flying, and I loved it... But given the choice between a sport bike and a cruiser, I know where my heart lies. Fact is, if all I want is speed, I can sell Dovi and the better part of my soul and buy a convertable sportscar. Zipping through the low atmosphere like a bullet seems to defeat the purpose of the gasoline horse to me. What about experiencing your surroundings as something besides really-wide-screened TV? What about the journey? At a buck fourteen, the world consists of the sound of your engine, the contact patches between your tires and the asphalt, the space in front of your nose, and, dimly, your destination. And don't get me wrong, there's Zen in that razor-edged awareness.
Zen in anything, if you stop looking at it long enough to experience it...
But. What about the space you're throwing yourself through? The flight of crows from a cornfield. The time to watch and experience and reflect?
Particularly the reflection.
That's why I value my time on the road, really. The quiet spaces to reflect in.
How the hell at 114mph?
So.
Caelen to Adam: "The good news is, if you two ever get a cruiser, Jess's riding technique is perfect. Sport bike's a little different."
Indeed.
~stre-e-e-e-e-e-etch and pop knuckles, back, neck, knees, ankles~
Well then. Time to get ready to be Mom again. Squeaker's almost home.
Maybe some other time I'll tell you about how one flippant remark resulted in two hours of a photo shoot involving two cute brunettes, my beloved masochist boots, a pleated plaid skirt, a Kawasaki, and a .22.
Take care!
God, it's good to be home.
disjointed things:
Driving home last night, we came round Chattanooga on I-24. I caught this brief glimpse of the city just after nightfall--lights laid out like lines on a roadmap, and if you're familiar with the town, you'll know which line is which street... No skyline to speak of, which is what I usually look for to stand as a mental icon for a city. Just a scattering of semiprecious stones across velvet and not enough time or space to pull off the road and stare. Beautiful. Sometimes I wonder if I'd be able to navigate now as well as I did three or four years ago.
It's funny--I've lost most of Goose Creek/North Charleston/Charleston. Once upon a time, I knew three ways to get to anywhere from anywhere else around there. Now? Give me exact directions or a seat in the back of the car. It makes me a little sad, honestly.
It was a good visit, though. They're good folk.
Got to ride a motorcycle for the first time. A Suzuki something-or-other. Sport bike. 'S the closest I've come to flying, and I loved it... But given the choice between a sport bike and a cruiser, I know where my heart lies. Fact is, if all I want is speed, I can sell Dovi and the better part of my soul and buy a convertable sportscar. Zipping through the low atmosphere like a bullet seems to defeat the purpose of the gasoline horse to me. What about experiencing your surroundings as something besides really-wide-screened TV? What about the journey? At a buck fourteen, the world consists of the sound of your engine, the contact patches between your tires and the asphalt, the space in front of your nose, and, dimly, your destination. And don't get me wrong, there's Zen in that razor-edged awareness.
Zen in anything, if you stop looking at it long enough to experience it...
But. What about the space you're throwing yourself through? The flight of crows from a cornfield. The time to watch and experience and reflect?
Particularly the reflection.
That's why I value my time on the road, really. The quiet spaces to reflect in.
How the hell at 114mph?
So.
Caelen to Adam: "The good news is, if you two ever get a cruiser, Jess's riding technique is perfect. Sport bike's a little different."
Indeed.
~stre-e-e-e-e-e-etch and pop knuckles, back, neck, knees, ankles~
Well then. Time to get ready to be Mom again. Squeaker's almost home.
Maybe some other time I'll tell you about how one flippant remark resulted in two hours of a photo shoot involving two cute brunettes, my beloved masochist boots, a pleated plaid skirt, a Kawasaki, and a .22.
Take care!
