The sixth in an
ongoing (but not endless) series written to explain to my daughter, when she’s older, what drove her
40-year-old dad to buy a motorcycle and ride it to Nova Scotia. —DM
our gray, rainy way to Louisbourg, Nova Scotia. The weather was discouraging, the scenery
was monotonous, we'd been at it for 10 days and I allowed myself to forgot the full-time emergency that is motorcycling. I
settled into a numb motormeditation.
two chipmunks on the side of the road. They made a break for it, together, ahead of the car. They must have been good friends. They
must have been thinking, “As long as we’re together, nothing can happen to us.”
road.
have taken as omens.
warning, and reminded myself to wake up—and to fight the creeping assumption
that just because Tom and I have survived lots of recklessness before, this
probably wasn’t the first time the chipmunks crossed the road, either.
As Tom and I get older, our idea of danger matures—did Knievel leave his turn signal on at Caesar's Palace?—even if our sense of humor retains its dorm-room flavor.
A gentleman farmer friend of mine says from experience, “When you have a
bulldozer, every problem looks like something to be pushed over.”
two wheels too.
courage. You want to accelerate through trouble, generating more
centrifugal force and pushing you down harder on the pavement. Chicken out in a turn and
hit the brakes and you’ll stand up, wobble and crash.
than you think. Just when you’re leaning over as far as you can imagine
without losing traction—you must have faith that you can go down farther. You can!
where you’re headed, not just where you are. When making a sharp and long
turn, the sure way to blow it is to look down at your front wheel to see how
you’re doing against the white line. The sure way to make the turn perfectly is
to look 20 or 30 or 40 yards ahead at where you’re headed. As if by magic, the
motorcycle simply goes there.
versus reward, confidence versus competence, and how all those calculations
change with age.
me nothing had changed since he was raced as a young man, “I still crash and I
still get hurt. I don’t have fear. I’m still good. I still do the best I can
with what I’ve got.”
practice lap and had to be brought back to the pits on trailer.
But better—and even safer—to be overconfident than overly cautious.
to dwell on risk. Better, and as I age, harder.
if my writing career amounted to no more than Kurt Vonnegut's.)
It’s easy to risk your potential, because it doesn't really exist.
payment, to risk running out of tuition money, to risk having to work hard for
money when you’re 70. Losing the two vacations a year, having to choose between golf and drinking money, cooking instead of going out, giving up the babysitter (and the movies).
being punched in return. To tell someone you can do something you've never done before and risk fucking it up
royally. To surround yourself with strangers and risk comprehensive rejection.
To learn, to feel, to actually listen: Natural to a young person; increasingly terrifying as we get older.
get older, you must notice your impulses. Outer aggression demands inner
aggression. “Every once in while a man must do something he’s a little afraid
of,” is how my dad used to put it.
into one single good thing.
their left hand off the grip and give each other a casual, low wave. Early in
the trip, I spent a lot of time thinking about what that wave signifies, what the right-wing Harley
guy thinks he has in common with the Eurostyle BMW rider and the city geeks on
new Triumphs made to look old.
motorcycle, and anybody with an imagination could probably conjure the reward.
But nobody knows quite how good it feels when you mix the risk and reward together—and
how the mix feels better every year you get older.
Hi there,
Cynthia from Nova Scotia Tourism here. I came across your blog posts about your trip to Nova Scotia. Entertaining, a good laugh at the stunt. I’m sure your daughter will enjoy it some day. We see quite a few motorcyclists come through the Cabot Trails, I think for the challenge of it all. Shame you didn’t have better weather.
Anyway, I thank you for sharing your journey…not only with your daughter but with anyone else who luckily stumbles your post like I have. And if you want to compile any of your videos, the stunts and the driving, we’d love to see it in our iLove Nova Scotia contest. We always love to hear from our visitors.
http://www.novascotia.com/ilove
And of course if you have any questions or need anything be sure to send an email. cynthia@novascotia.com.
Look forward to hearing about the rest of your journey.
Cheers!
Cynthia
PS. I love your bit about us Nova Scotian women. I can picture them all!
You’re on the ball, Cynthia—typical Nova Scotia woman!
Thanks for writing; I DO love Nova Scotia.
David
Thanks for this post. I got my motorcycle license last year (at age 51) but haven’t been back on the bike in a while. Sometimes you need to be reminded of the reward part of the equation.
What’s your bike, Ellen?
Until I develop more confidence, I have a Honda 250 Nighthawk. Not sure what I’ll want at that point. My husband also has a BMW R1100S, a Honda 500 with a sidecar, and some kind of Yamaha that’s been in pieces in our garage for the past couple of years while he rebuilds it.
Well, I do like my Triumph Bonneville T-100; doesn’t seem like too much bike–but always seems like plenty ….