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Riding a motorcycle: it’s not about the destination

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On a recent solo excursion I spent most of the time inside my head ruminating about why we, riders, ride.

I passed through rural communities and small towns…

Riding a motorcycle: it's not about the destination

…and I rode by the ocean.

Riding a motorcycle: it's not about the destinationAs I rode, I breathed in the scent of fresh cut grass, baking bread, and the sulphery-marshy fragrance of saltwater.

In traffic, my body felt hot and dewey inside my black riding jacket.  At 60 mph, the wind cooled and refreshed my skin, and I felt light and alive.  Sometimes, the air felt warm-cool-warm in just seconds.

I rode over bridges.

On back roads.

On major throughways.

Past flea markets, lobster pounds, inns, and tourist shops.

I was unreachable.

Untouchable.

Alone.

Eyes on the road.

Inside my head.

With nothing but my thoughts.

There are lots of reasons why we ride, but I think it has little to do with transportation.

Or getting “there,” the final destination.

Wherever “there” is.

Riding a motorcycle: it's not about the destination

Riding a motorcycle: it's not about the destination

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