Flying
2002 07 11
|
etc
no date
2024 +
2025
entries
home
To fly one does not need wings, one needs a motorcycle.
As Mr. Pirsig says in Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance, on the back of a bike one is not choked off from one's surroundings as one travels. In a car you are a watching, an observer, and cut off behind a sheet of glass - even opening a window is not enough. You are not a part of the road, the air, the land. When you are riding a motorbike you are a participant. You are close to and touching the road. You are part of the wind rushing around you.
In a car you either see nothing but other cars, or you stare - becoming a road zombie after enough time has passed - at the trees zipping by, at the towns you pass through, and eventually you see nothing. You can't do that on a bike. Your senses must be aware. Your senses become aware.
There is something peculiarly intimate about travel by motorbike. There is also something magical that I couldn't put into words even if I wished to.
All I know, is that it is one of the few experiences that truly makes me regret my vision - because my vision relegates me to riding pillion, to being a passenger. I want to be a participant.