"Life is Beautiful, Despite the Rough, Gravel Patches"

July 8, 2013

“Curves Give Me Clarity”

Live Outloud

I rolled into the driveway yesterday with 3858 miles accumulated on Bessie2; the first thing I do when I end any ride - whether it is 4000 miles or 4 miles - is shut off the engine, and and sit quietly while I listen to the soft ‘tick, tick, tick,’ of the engine cooling down, then I softly say ‘Thank You God for Another Safe Ride.’ 

When I set out on this journey June 21st, I was seeking to find my confidence again on two wheels. The accident on Bessie1 in April of 2012 had robbed me of that; I have spent the last five months restoring my courage in my ability to handle the motorcycle and squelching the all-too-familiar FEAR that had started to be a frequent flyer with Bessie2 and Me. 

I am happy to report that the confidence level is back to ‘Maximum’ once again, and that frequent flyer - Fear - took a backseat for most of the ride. 

With each challenging hairpin turn, I was given the clarity for the challenges in my life. In preparation for this trip, I researched the most challenging roads in the Southeast; this wasn’t intended to be a leisurely cruise.  The trip was designed as a challenge and after successfully completing a ride like this, I realized there is nothing I cannot do; there are no set of circumstances that cannot be endured long enough to ‘get to the other side.’  Whatever ‘it,’ is, I know that what I have to do is ‘clutch, downshift, brake, ease up on the throttle,’ and navigate the next blind curve, because there WILL BE clarity on the downhill run.

This wasn’t my first solo trip, but it WAS my first trip since the accident in April ’12. There was a point in my recovery when I felt I would NOT return to the saddle, it just seemed like too much of a flirtation with disaster. Let me just say, I was not myself when those thoughts occupied my consciousness....I had severe head trauma, I wasn’t thinking clearly.  About six months into my recovery, I knew I had to ride again, buying a motorcycle literally saved my life five years ago - a psychological salvation -  and it did again on this most recent trip.

The worst part of the trip? The day I got ‘off course’ in the North Carolina mountains.....

Darkness descends quickly and unexpectedly on a curvy piece of asphalt in a dense forest.  When I found myself off course in the North Carolina mountains, it was towards late afternoon, and the green of my surroundings was deepening. I had passed the point of enjoying the ride, I was tired, I knew I had made a wrong turn, I was in a remote area, and I knew there was a long way to go before I could find any possible way of turning around. The road is as narrow as two small cars are wide; on one side is the mountain and on the other side - the side I was ascending on - is the drop off.....the short way down the mountain. All I could do was go forward. I hit a series of curves where the signage warned “10 mph” and this is on a steep uphill grade; 10 mph on 800 pounds of steel and chrome is so slow, centrifugal force ceases and gravity takes over. I pointed Bessie2’s nose into the curve and squeezed the throttle, verbally coaching her to get us around that curve and the next and the next......my heart was in my throat pounding out a rhythm that matched the thump thump thump of the V-twin engine, my neck and shoulder muscles were tense, and what little bit of practical sense I possess, I was questioning ‘what the hell am I doing here?’  But my pounding heart already knew the answer to that question: feeding my soul, reviving my spirit, and finding the purpose for being.

I kept climbing and with each mile I went ‘up,’ my anxiety level rose; this is not right, this is not right, this is not right. 

I see a sign up ahead, ‘thank god, it must be a side road or drive where I can turn around.’

No. Its the International road sign for ‘the pavement is ending and you will hit loose gravel!’

I was horrified, I was scared, and that old foe FEAR reared its ugly head just as my back tire started to slide in the loose gravel, just a few feet from the edge of the asphalt and the side of the mountain. I couldn’t stop - I literally might have fallen over - and there was nowhere to turn around. I kept going....up, up, slip, slide....for another five miles or so, when I noticed two pick up trucks parked off to the left side...this could be very bad, or this could be a life saver...either way, I had no choice. I approached slowly, still not willing to stop completely for fear I would fall or worse, not get started again. As I drew near, I realized it was a group of teenagers, just sitting on the backs of the trucks talking (drinking 'something,' and smoking 'something,' but, hey, I'm not here to judge!) . I stopped and it literally took all of my strength to hold Bessie2 upright on that slippery incline. I inquired about a side road.....’no, no side road for another five miles or so,’ was the answer. At this point, I realized I had to try and turn the bike around and go back the way I came. I asked the kids if they would help, they saw it as great sport, I viewed it as life or death at this point! Turning a large touring bike around while headed uphill on loose gravel is no easy task.

I explained to the kids how we were going to do this - ‘I want you to push me back very slowly until I say STOP’ - if they pushed too far, I went over the mountain, if they pushed too fast, I just went over. The kids were more than willing to help the nice biker lady on her big Harley....They pushed back, I squeezed the throttle gently and moved forward and around ever so slightly. They pushed back again, I moved forward a few inches, struggling to keep the leaning bike upright...we repeated this process until I had completely turned around on that narrow gravel road and was headed back down the mountain. I waved ‘Thanks,’ and slip slided back to where the pavement started and the gravel ended.

I hit that series of 10 mph curves again, this time going downhill, and I gave it hell....we did it once, damn it, we will do it again. As I gave into the first curve, the tears started....hot, angry, tears....the kind no amount of will power or self control can stop. Angry that I got off course, angry that I allowed the Fear to take precedent over the Self Confidence, and angry that my youngest daughter is still absent from my life (yes, there is much more to the emotion that welled up out of the depths). 

Anger, sorrow, grief.....they are insidious emotions. They leak in sideways sometimes when you least expect them, uninvited, unwanted, but impossible to ignore.  And where my youngest daughter is concerned, the sorrow I feel over her absence hits me when I least expect it, usually when I’m tired, restless, fearful, and discontent....or when I see a young women who reminds me of her, or a memory slips in and sabotages my determination to stay at a safe level of acceptance where she is concerned. When a child is absent - whatever the reason for that ‘absence’ - it is a helpless feeling, it is sorrow at its very deepest, it is a deterioration of the very core of your heart - slowly, painfully, but constant. No amount of tears will change it, no amount of questioning, flailing, worry, anger, blaming, ranting, or raving.....will change it. 

The tears came, but before they could escape completely down my cheeks, the wind whisked them away, dispersing the anger, the sorrow and the grief behind me as I rode down that mountain.  By the time I reached the bottom - and my destination of Hendersonville - I was choking on the tears and the anger; not really sure at this point if the anger was over my lost sense of direction, my lost child, or PTSD from the accident. I pulled over at the first opportunity, climbed off Bessie2, bent over, put my hands on my knees and just started breathing deeply...and repeating, ‘God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the Courage to change the things I can, and the Wisdom to know the difference.....over, and over, until I could breathe normally, the tears had subsided, and my heart had stopped pounding. The panic attacks and hyperventilating were recent physical reactions to a bad accident that nearly robbed me of my life.

I realized that gravel road was symbolic of the relationship with my youngest daughter; slippery, tenuous, dangerous, and completely out of my control.  And the harder I fight it, the more lethal and debilitating it becomes....for me. My only choice is Acceptance, and to continue to love her as I have from the moment she was born - unconditionally. And just as I found the solution for turning around on that slippery gravel road, I will someday find the solution for ‘finding’ my baby again, when she is ready.

At the end of each journey astride my Bessie (regardless if its B1 or B2), I always know in my heart I have made the right decision to ride, to travel, to challenge myself, to flirt with danger, and to conquer my fears.  It doesn’t matter the reason I ride, I always find a piece of my soul laying out there on the asphalt ....a piece that needs to be reclaimed or a piece that needs to be discovered....or perhaps just a piece that needs to be reminded that life is beautiful despite the rough gravel patches. 

The best part of the trip? Spending time with my Dad.

(To Be Continued)