INTERLUDE

Last night, we were delayed coming into town due to a fatal motorcycle crash. I don't have any photos, but the picture is always the same:

A bike in a ditch. Police cruiser lights flashing. A riding partner walking along the road.

A bag on the pavement.

Over my years of riding, I've made mistakes. I've misjudged my speed in a turn and crossed a double-yellow line. I've missed a lane merge and been narrowly passed at +40MPH. I've crashed a bike by hitting rumble dots on the road. On this trip, I've come within a meter of hitting a dog and within 4 of hitting a bear.

To ride a motorcycle well is a meditation. You must be completely present—in tune with the bike, the road, the weather, and every other driver. Your world shrinks to the reach of your arms and the road ahead. Listen to and care for the bike, and it will respond to your every move.

Ride distracted, ride tired, ride angry, ride drunk, and you might not make it home. Ride well, and there's still no guarantee.

Motorcycling is the most dangerous activity we'll ever do on a daily basis. You can die doing anything—driving to the store, crossing the street, eating dinner. A bike just shoves it in your face as the price of entry.

If you're honest with yourself, every time you strap on a helmet, you realize that you might not take it off.

But we riders know the risks, and so we choose to put on the gear, to mount the bike, to feel the engine thrum to life, and to watch the road roll out before us. To lose ourselves in living.

No airbags, no seatbelts, no cage. Just you and your future. Facing your own death.

Alive.

Ride safe.