The weather has been hot, but perfect for motorcycling, except for that torrential downpour that caught up with me, soaked me silly and forced me to hunker down at a Starbucks.
I’ve spent the last two days on my old 1973 BMW taking short trips through the beautiful surroundings of northwest Georgia. Not much has been blooming. The magnolias are finished but there are still a few remaining pink ballerina flowers on the mimosas. Pink, purple and fuchsia colored crepe myrtles are still blooming in the towns. Orange trumpet vines cascade along the highways and the staghorn sumac, with its stalky, crimson flowers, races along the riverbanks. It’s beautiful. Not much in the way of scents other than the petrichor, that earthy smell that arises after a hot rain. Then there are the amazing scents of barbecue places you drive past, the ones with faded pigs drawn on the store glass. Still, I’m looking forward to Autumn, when the air will be filled with the scent of wood fires burning.
I had nowhere I needed to be so I navigated by dark clouds. Wherever they were, I went the other way. I ended up on some roads I’d never traveled before. Passed farms, fields, cows, and donkeys. There were tumble down barns and leaning, rickety houses, most of which were covered by kudzu.
I parked the Old Knight (the BMW) by the bank of the Oostanaula River, sat down next to a sassafras tree, smoked a pipe full of cherry tobacco and just watched the river flow. I gave thanks and said prayers for some folks who are struggling and watched the smoke rings from the pipe disappear into the air.
Later, I found a quote that I liked from a woman biker:
“…Riding on a motorcycle can make you feel joyous, powerful, peaceful, frightened, vulnerable, and back out to happy again, perhaps in the same ten miles. It is life compressed, its own answer to the question “Why?” (Melissa Holbrook Pearson)
Why not? Safe riding to you.