Howdy folks! Yep, I am a blog slacker. These are some thoughts I had started to write down as I have continued to process the idea of riding the "bike of love"...so sorry I'm positing it a little late! Also, we returned from our trip to Haiti about a week ago....more on the trip coming soon!!! :)
Northwest Arkansas has boasted some pretty beautiful weather this week. If you have ever spent much time with me, then you probably know that I am a warm weather freak. A sunshine junkie. Addicted to the feeling of the sun's warm rays beating down upon my face. (And, albeit the warnings of many a doctor...I am more than slightly addicted to a nice tan). When the sun comes up and the temperature gauge rises above the 70 degree mark, my little heart leaps for joy and I literally have to make a conscious effort not to get up out of my seat and run outside. Or at least stare out my window all day. (If I'm honest, I have to admit that sometimes my inner warm weather wiggle worm gets the best of me, and my struggle then becomes summoning enough will power to get myself back inside to finish the workday).
Monday was a particularly pefect day- 75 and sunny without a cloud in the sky. The birds were chirping, a warm breeze was blowing ever so slightly, and I managed to turn the space heater in my office off before 11am for the first time since I can remember (this, my friends, is quite a feat!). As the end of the workday neared, my mind began to postulate all possible options for enjoying the afternoon sunshine. Take a nap under a tree? Go for a run? And then- duh! Motorcycle ride! I sent a quick text to my hubby, who swiftly obliged my request to hop on our motorcycles and cruise down to Fayetteville for dinner. And of course, we elected Fayetteville's finest restaurant...the one where they serve the most scrumptious Chicken Rigatoni ever to be created....Noodles! (Noodles is where we had our first date, is one of my favorite restaurants, and holds lots of sweet memories for me.) Considering my deep-seeded fear of riding my headstrong Honda Rebel on the freeway, we charted out our course of side roads, and hit the pavement!
It was a beautiful ride. Not too hot, not too cold...perfect. Just me and my husband taming the streets with our magnificent two-wheeled maneuvering machines. On Monday, the ride was easy. Smooth. Painless and anxiety-free. (And, of course, the chicken rigatoni was better than perfect.) And this got me thinking- wouldn't it be nice if my rides on my "bike of love" were like that? Painless and anxiety-free? If everywhere my bike took me was warm and sunny and perfect? Yes please! Because sometimes...on days when I do rally up enough courage to hop on the bike....it really is perfect and sunny and painless and anxiety free. And then sometimes...it is....well....not.
Last Saturday marked day 4 of having my very own motorcycle, and I was pumped! Nic and I had picked it up in Fayetteville on a Wednesday night, and Northwest Arkansas' erratic rainy weather had kept me from riding it for 4 WHOLE days! We have some friends who had entered their 1970 Camaro into a car show that Saturday, and we had been planning to ride our bikes up to the show to join in the festivities. While I am ordinarily an optimistic person and genuinely like most every person I have met, I have this thing against weathermen. I can't explain it- but they push my buttons and light my fuse more often than any other underpaid, overrated, prime-time television pretty face I have ever seen! This Saturday was no different. What did my underpaid, overrated, prime-time television, pretty face weatherman promise me? Sunshine! And when I awoke on Saturday morning with an excited heart and hopeful spirit....what did I see? Rain! Rain! Rain! And more....Rain! Yep, rain.
I have to admit that my heart sank more than just a little bit when I peered out the window to the west and noticed the ominously dark clouds headed in our direction. We stuck it out at home a little longer than we had originally planned, hoping that somehow the clouds would clear and the sky would brighten and we could make the 30 minute trip to Gateway, AR on our bikes. When lunchtime finally rolled around, we reluctantly hopped into Nora (my often under appreciated Nissan Versa) and hit the road, leaving our glimmering two-wheeled rides behind.
As Nora navigated the wet and rainy curves of Hwy 62, I received a smile-inducing text from my friend letting me know that the sun had indeed decided to peek its head out from behind the clouds in Gateway! We had planned to head to church after the carshow, and by some stroke of luck, the rain had dissipated by the time we headed back home to get ready. I somehow managed to convince my sweet husband that since we didn't get to ride our bikes to the carshow, we simply needed to ride them church. (Mostly, I was just excited that I had a new bike, and that I hadn't had much of a chance to peruse Northwest Arkansas on the open road as of yet).
We left for church slightly earlier than we normally would, conceding that those beautiful white clouds we could see in the distance just might be slightly more precocious than we were predicting. The clouds did not hide their precociousness for long, and by the time we had reached the half-way point of our journey, rain began to fall. Luckily, because of my utter dislike of all things wet and cold (except, of course, for ice cream), I had hopped on my bike prepared- armed with a gore-tex jacket and water-resistant shoes. The precocious clouds continued their precociousness until we reached church, though we were fortunate enough to avoid what the clouds must have been conspiring as we rode- a complete and unmitigated downpour that instantly enveloped all of Northwest Arkansas the moment my water-resistant shoe entered the building.
Luckily clouds (especially Northwest Arkansas clouds) often seem particularly concerned with making the most of their time, and this occasion was no exception. The precocious clouds wasted no time dumping their contents on the unsuspecting residents of Rogers, Arkansas, and were kind enough to have completed this process by the time church was over. Tired and half-way expecting another precocious cloud to show it's ugly face, my hubs and I hopped on our road-conquering, hard-core Hondas and headed home.
Much of my motorcycle riding thus far has proven rather uneventful, which is something I have been quite thankful for. I have restricted most of my riding to back roads and sunny days, hoping to bypass all possibilities of distractions or unexpected obstacles. This particular Saturday night, for the most part, proved no different. We slowly made our way home, mastering the dark and damp roads with ease. As we turned left onto the highway that would take us home, I noticed a rather large truck headed in our direction. My heart began to beat a little faster, and my hands tightened their grip on my handlebars. While driving next to particularly large vehicles generally does elicit a heightened sense of anxiety within me, I was unprepared for what happened. Splash! Swoosh! What??? The truck had driven through what I am sure was Northwest Arkansas' largest puddle of muddy water, and had managed to completely coat my entire body as well as that of my bike in a yucky, muddy wet mess. Thankfully I was able to wipe the shield of my helmet clean enough to see for the remainder of the trip home, but I was NOT a happy camper!
You see, this particular Saturday did not quite go as planned. I didn't get to ride to the show. I was wet. I was muddy. My bike was muddy. I had finally made the choice to ride, and the world around me seemed to be doing anything it could to thwart this joy. You see, more often that not, I feel like this is what it's like when we make the decision to hop on the bike. When we choose to put ourselves out there and puruse our purpose of love. There's mud. There's rain. There are a million things that keep us from even garnering the courage to hop on the bike in the first place. And then....even when we are able to strap on our helmets and hit the road... even then... we are splattered with mud. We are trampled on. We are hurt. We are broken.
So, what do we do with this mud? Do we simply choose not to ride on the rainy days? That's one option. But what if the mud is just a part of the ride? What if, in order to become a real 'biker' (I'm talkin' a chap wearin', throttle bustin', leather clad kinda biker) we choose the ride, no matter what the conditions? You see, part of me was a little proud when I got home and took off my mud-streaked helmet and admired my newly mud-splattered bike. It was almost as if I had entered a whole new level of biker-ness...I had been through the mud...and had come out on the other side. What if love is a little bit like this? What if the mud brings us to a whole new level of 'love-ness?' Because I believe it does. That when we get back up and brush it off...and still choose to hop back on the bike...we are choosing love in a new way. And so, I'll keep riding. I'll wipe down my helment and rinse off my jacket and jump back on. Because the ride is worth it. Purpose is worth it. Love...is worth it.
