Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Where the Sun Rises
I wake up each morning to get my kids ready for school. They're three and a half so its preschool and I have to drive them.
When we leave our subdivision on the west edge of this little town we need to drive east. About half way we cross the Mississippi. As far north as we are, The River is not the size most people know it to be.
Each morning the visor comes down to block the morning sun from my eyes. I think about where that star is rising from, over the horizon. I think of all the days of midnight rides that ended watching it break the surface of a Great Lake. Far to the east of the place I now call home.
In my youth I had a different kind of freedom than I have now. A wanderlust and a motorcycle. Hot summer nights dappled with fog in the valleys. Warm springs and autumns. It made for long riding seasons.
I would ride with friends or alone, it didn't matter. It was about the ride.
I remember one ride where Dan and I took an exit off the I94 expressway and found ourselves not too far from Holy Hill (trust me, there will be at least on blog devoted to that place alone) and one of us signaled to take a side road. We were far from anything resembling a city. The sky was particularly clear. We parked our bikes right there in the middle of the road without a second thought and waited for the meteor showers to start. The air was so still you could hear a vehicle coming up on the main road from what seemed to far to be possible. We lay on our backs, right there in the road and watched the streaks left by asteroids, pointing them out to each other. Incredible.
I think about all the rides I took around southern Wisconsin over all those years. How postcard perfect scenery waited for you around every corner. I must've known something even then because I relished those rides so much. I wanted to be in the wind, inhaling pine forests around Madison and blooms in lush German gardens, thick with scents and colors nearer Milwaukee. White picket fences and groomed yards. You could ride by astonishingly sturdy built Polish and German immigrants' homes, marveling at the symmetry of their abodes and never notice the weatherbeaten roads your bike was stumbling its way through. It didn't matter. The roads always got better anyway. The further from a town the less salt and abuse they suffered.
I miss riding where the sun rises. McKinley Marina at dawn. Those country highways were always incredible.
But times change and memories like these only get sweeter over time. I'll ride there again. Its already been too long. But I'll ride as the man I am today, not as I once was. Where the sun rises.