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| Lipstick: Its All About the Lipstick |
Monday, July 26, 2010
As Bessie and Me turned the corner and rolled down the driveway for the first time in three weeks, the odometer turned over 5,835 miles. I switched the bike off, let the silence wash over me, bowed my head, and sat still for a few minutes, thanking God for a safe journey. It was in that quiet moment, as the engine ticked softly and cooled, that I grasped the concept; it wasn’t just another ‘road trip,’ it was a psychological salvation, it was a spiritual renewal and it was a simple, arduous trip that literally saved my life this summer.
One of my favorite photos is of my grandparents and me taken in 1957 - faded, black and white with those pointy black stickers at each corner that holds it on a page - when I was about 18 months old; my grandmother is holding me (mom took the photo) and they are standing in front of my grandpa’s 1955 or ’56 Chevy…it was my first ‘road trip’ and little did they know back then that they had instilled in me the love of travel and the feel of wheels turning under me. My mom had kept a journal of that trip (as I do today whenever I travel) and apparently we traveled from Indiana to the Smokey Mountains; grandpa paid the unheard of price of $9.00 for a hotel room for the four of us to spend the night in the mountains!
The United States is a vast and beautiful country that I have had the privilege of traveling from north/south/ east/west on a number of occasions….. by train, car, bus, plane…..and even hitchhiking (shhhhhh…..not something I want my daughters to try!)….but the most satisfyingly unique mode so far is by motorcycle. I am grateful to be able to explore this fabulously diverse country from the seat of my Harley Davidson..
This was the first ‘road trip’ on the bike, that I embarked upon by myself…solo, no man along…..and it was not without a small amount of trepidation that I started off three weeks ago! And I wish I had a dollar for every person who I encountered who commented, ‘you rode that bike all the way from Florida....by yourself?” Well….duh. I’m not real sure why that was such a point of interest, but come to think of it…in all those miles, I didn’t see one other woman on a motorcycle – alone. It was a very freeing experience and frankly….I didn’t want to come home…I’m predicting that at some point….on some road trip in the future – I won’t come home!
Bessie is the perfect travel partner; she never complains about the mileage, she doesn’t mind cold, heat or rain, she will sleep anywhere we stop for the night and never complain about the accommodations, she runs like a champion as long as I keep oil, gas, and good brakes on her, she doesn’t complain if I stop frequently (like a screeching halt without notice on a remote back road) to take photos and admire the view, she waits patiently while I explore a roadside oddity, informational sign, museum, beach, or mountain without asking ‘why are we stopping here?’ Intellectually I realize ‘Bessie’ is only a machine, in my heart and in that place of adventure within me, she is a kindred spirit – a child of the open road and a real entity that responds to my demands and encouragements. She is the piece of me that is fearless, the intrepid slice of my soul, and a possession that I have vowed never to do without regardless of how tough it might get financially….much cheaper than therapy or medication!
A woman approached me at a rest stop yesterday morning and started commenting on Bessie – she is a beautiful thing to behold and a sure fire conversation starter! This woman asked me how long I had been riding ‘my own,’ and was I afraid to ride by myself? Then she said, ‘I’m 65 years old, do you think I’m too old?’ I said ‘hell no, you are not too old!’ Too old is someone who drives a slate gray Hyundai , too old is sitting in the nursing home WISHING you had bought a motorcycle when you were 65, too old is when you say….well, ‘I’m too old for that’…too old is never within reach. No, no way are you too old! At a time when a lot of women my age were buying those silly red hats….I bought a Harley Davidson…and this past year, with the many challenges (kids, finance, romance….) and changes in my life…’Bessie’ has been my salvation. She is the ‘glue’ that has held it together for me, she is the therapist’s couch, the Dr. Phil, the Oprah, the Ellen, an entire library of self-help books, the anti-depressant , and the social conduit. I hope I never limit myself with the question, ‘do you think I’m too old?’
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| Lake Michigan: start/end point of Michigan/Superior Circle Tour |
On this trip, I connected with friends and family on a level I have not taken the time to do before…I spent time with people I love – that is a gift. I was not in a hurry, I embraced the miles and lavished in the time it took to go slow. I indulged in simple, good, home cooked food and regional specialties…not giving two flips to my waistline. I met so many people along the way….especially those people who wondered in astonishment if I rode Bessie all the way from Florida by myself! I talked, at length with each one of them….I wasn’t a stranger on this trip; I was a seeker, I was a daughter, I was a friend, I was a sister, I was an Aunt and most of all, I was true to myself. I honored a part of me that had been bruised, challenged, broken, weary and used up…I asked God to renew my spirit and help me to the gratitude for the many blessings in my life….and he did. It was a spiritual renewal, a healing, the time to realize that no matter what life throws in your direction, you are able to cope, to endure and reach the other side – stronger: “what doesn’t kill me, makes me stronger – Nietzsche.” I had Bessie five months when I embarked on my first trip – a 5800 mile journey up the East Coast to Canada – with a partner. It was during this trip that I explored my capabilities on the motorcycle, understood how it worked, embraced the concept of long distance travel via a motorcycle, realized my own capabilities and most important, realized my own limitations. During my recent trip, I admit there were a few times I pushed those limitations…I crossed the line, I felt fear and I did it anyway…and those are the moments when we experience the most spiritual growth…at least I do.
After 5800 miles, almost every joint on my body was aching, but it’s the kind of pain that let’s you know you are ALIVE…it’s the kind of ache that says, ‘yeah, we’re bad, we kicked ass….now let’s rest a little.’ The only other time I have felt that ‘painfully exhilarated ‘ was after completing my first marathon….Resting is not something I do well, but I’m learning it’s necessary in order to rejuvenate for my next adventure. I keep my atlas next to my bed along with all the other reading materials…when I’m too tired to concentrate much on a novel, a professional journal, or magazine article….I ‘read’ the atlas. I review all the places I’ve been, the people I’ve met along the way…I wonder what it would be like to be ‘from’ a place like Coon Rapids Iowa or Lazbuddie Texas….I look at back roads, mountain ranges, and coastlines, wondering what it will be like to cruise along with Bessie to the next destination…and most of all (while Bessie rests in the driveway), I dream and I plan …our next road trip, our future destination and our next adventure. I have kept journals of my travels with Bessie….a book is cooking, simmering on the backburner and it will be a continuation of my spiritual adventure.
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