Guy Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages

Adventures in Sport Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT

Exploring North America...One Road at a Time

Play

Many falls ago I stepped in my son's 1st grade classroom.  Along the walls I spotted 1 page reports of how each student spent his summer vacation.  Many drew pictures to help explain where they went and what they saw.  Colorful stick man figures standing next to out of proportioned buildings.  Wonders of road trips and adventures, from the innocent eyes of children.  I said to myself " Please don't grow up".

Impossible plea of course.  We all grow up and lose the imagination and innocence of childhood.  Losing that feeling forever.

Or so I thought.  I took delivery of my motorcycle at age 46, and I was reborn.  The road became my new first grade classroom, and this time better, because I was now a child grown wise.  I learned the secret of aging-become a child again.  Only now, I can be better at it.  I have the tools, and wisdom to see beyond the worst of the world, to the real world.

I now see the miracle each day presents.  True aging does not take place at retirement, but in rebirth in a new 1st grade classroom, the road.

I firmly believe all of us need some kind of "play."  For some it maybe golf, for others it could be hunting or fishing, or rebuilding cars. Anything that removes us from being adult.  With play work becomes a craft, not a job.  

When I am riding, I am at play.  No matter if I am a thousand miles from home, or just in the next county.  When I play, I become childlike.  Time is not a factor.  I return home when I am tired, and not before.

I have known these moments.  There are times when I return from a 300 mile ride and I can't really tell you where I had been.  My wife and friends wonder why I go on long cross country rides, enduring rain and cold.  Sleeping in a tent, eating fast food and dodging crazed ass cagers, intent on my demise.  Waking up with a stiff back from a 800 mile day in the saddle.  I have no logical answer for them.  

I do these things for the chance to see the sunset on the Pacific Ocean.  To meet the farmer in North Dakota, to sleep on the Continental Divide. But these items can be done without a motorcycle.  So why do I do it?  I simply know, for that 2 weeks, I was whole, and true, living at my peak. That time spent on the road was life intensified.

Long distant riding is a play that fits my loner personality. Just as my long distant running days did.  Alone on the road, far from home, exposed to the elements, and dealing with the unknown, is not a natural state of being for 97% of the human population.  I must rely on my own wits.  Make my own decisions about routes, situations, and equipment.  I have met my best friend, and he is me.

When it comes time for a long ride my mind and senses can't wait.  They will accept no excuses.  Once that feeling arises, everything, no matter how important, must be put aside.

I need out, like a canine with his leash in his mouth waiting at the door.  I need to see beyond the familiar.  To feel the sensation of a powerful, svelte machine, taking me to places most people only read about.

With a motorcycle I get a 2 for 1 deal.  I answer my call to wanderlust, and the need for adrenaline.  Riding stimulates my mental state of being so powerfully, I have become a true 2 wheel addict.

The ride is the key, and everything that happens in it. From  Dangerous cross winds, to breathtaking scenery. The good and the bad give me a chance to revel in play.

I recall my first rally.  Spring Eastoc in the North Carolina Mountains 2001.  I met fellow  riders in South Tennessee and we proceeded to ride to the campground by way of Deal's Gap, Cherohala, and the Blue Ridge Parkway.  Along the way we carved turns, and scrapped pegs in some of the East's grandest scenery.  It was a awesome day.

We met more brothers at the campground, and by 9pm the last riders began to file in.  A brother on a 4 Corners tour even managed to stop by.  Together, we told stories of the ride just completed, of rides long ago, and rides yet to come.

And a gentle peace filled that Thursday evening in the Blue Ridge of North Carolina.  We were all in first grade again.