O is for Oscar

O

It seems that I’m becoming more comfortable with embracing challenges these days. With that in mind, I’m embracing the A-to-Z Blogging challenge, by writing about the things that I most closely associate with being alive, when I show up and engage with life as fully as possible.

And with that, I give you:

OSCAR

Oh, Oscar. You and I have some stories to tell, don’t we? We have carved the twisties through Golden Gate State Park and down into Nederland. We’ve watched the farmlands east of Denver unfurl before us, a brownish-grey-green carpet that reminded me of where my heart truly beats the loudest and strongest. We’ve visited Devil’s Tower. Twice. We chased the sun into the Badlands and ventured forth in search of woolly mammoth fossils. There was even that sweaty-palms-inducing journey down two miles of gravel road. Downhill. A 4% grade. Into a gravel parking lot. I’m so sorry we biffed it, buddy.

Oscar

Oscar

I can still see that enormous grin on Dad’s face when I showed you off to him. You were the last bike he rode. He really liked you. He thought you were a nice bike and that we’d get along well together. I think we have.

You have taught me much. You have taught me how to be bold and yet keep my balance. You have taught me that speed is my friend but so too is rest, slowness. You have taught me why dogs hang their heads out the window of a moving car. You have taught me there is a reason you never see a motorcycle parked outside of a therapist’s office. You have taught me that it isn’t the destination that’s important, it’s the journey. But then I think I already knew that. You have taught me that patience is an under-appreciated virtue. You have taught me that someone can look right at you and still not see you, so it’s best to have an exit strategy in place.

Oscar - Sturgis 2014

Oscar – Sturgis 2014

I have felt my legs warmed by the heat of your engine on a cold and rainy day. I have ducked below the top of your windshield to find respite from the winds buffeting us. I have leaned against your sissy bar, sipping a frozen treat – but never an adult beverage. Twelve-ounce curls and twisting a throttle do not mix and never will.

There’s something about feeling your weight lean on my leg as we’ve gone around a particularly deep curve that thrills my heart. There’s something about feeling you grab for the throttle I offer that makes me want to laugh. I like the way you growl when I twist the throttle at a stop light; just a little warning to the yahoo in the cage behind us who seems to be creeping just a little bit too close for comfort. Getting rear-ended is not fun. Not even at a stop light. You don’t really purr; you resonate, you pulse. Or is that my own heart beat thrilling to the promise of another adventure?

C’mon buddy. There’s a road out there just begging to be traveled on. Let’s go find it.

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