The Ride

Charles and I would get in touch with each other, dropping by the house, work or call and meet somewhere. I can remember sitting at the car wash late in the evening when the teenage traffic had slowed. It was quiet, except for the spray of water as someone did a latenight car wash and a dog barking in the neighborhood. Then faintly in the distance to the West I could hear the slight rumble. The sound grew steadily in volume as it grew nearer. I'd heard it so many times that I knew before seeing whether it was the 66 or the 70.

Charles on his 70 pulled into the car wash and switched off his engine. I sit there on my 75 FX and marveled at the Electraglide. He sure kept that bike clean and running in top condition, I thought to myself. The crackling of the engine started. We greeted each other with a "whats goin on" or a "where to tonight". It didnt matter, we were in no hurry, it was a cooler than normal summer night and it just felt good to be out. Out of the house, out to where we could ride off and put thoughts in perspective, where they should be, although really no where in particular. Meditation, thats what this is all about. I rode for meditation, and peace of mind.

We decided to ride the deserted streets of town first then head out into the country. On a road, could have been any road, we had ridden them all. The question was always "will it be curves or straights tonight?" We agreed on both and started up the bikes. The 70 roared to life with the push of a button, the 75 sometimes took a little coaxing, but it always started and joined in with the dresser.

We pulled out into the street going thru the gears and finally settling into a comfortable speed. Riding thru town, we listened to the sound of the pipes bouncing off the walls of the old stores and seeing reflections on glass.

Charles and I both felt the same about riding. Riding to us was a way of being in contact with what forces were out there, forces that no one can touch or talk to or hear, but can feel. Theres just something about riding a bike on a lonely stretch of highway on a summer night as it was, or any night or day for that matter. Its like following a trail that leads to nowhere in particular, a thread in the dark, one that pulls you along and talks to you as problems are forgotten and the ropes that bind you are cut.

We rode side by side, almost without exception, the sound of the two bikes resonating between us, a sound like no other. Its difficult to explain the feeling of exhileration and elation that comes with being one that enjoys the sound of two Harleys riding dark ribbons of highway, late at night. The sound of the bikes, the tires against the aspalt, the clanking of changing gears, its just absolute bliss.

Charles and I rode side by side so often it was almost as if we rode as one motorcycle. I usually rode the outside lane, next to the grass, Charles always took the inside. Why? I dont know, it just happened that way. As we came up on a left hand curve he would put on throttle, I would let off slightly, we would swing the curve. Then he would let off slightly while I gassed it and caught up. If there was a curve to the right, I took the lead, I would throttle while he let off and then played catch up. We did this so much, we knew we could trust each other to do what was expected.

On warm Summer nights, riding thru the hills was good, you always got a relief from the weather when you dipped down into the valleys. The sound of the engines echoed thru the valley. Like waves against the surf at Big Sur or a sudden thunder storm on a quiet evening. We rolled over the hills and around the curves.

We played road games. Seeing how fast we could go while curving in and out of the stipes, I liked that one, I still do it. I have a pic somewhere of me standing on the seat of my bike while going down the highway. Somewhere, there is a pic of Charles laying down on his 70 while riding the interstate at 70 mph. Times were different, we have changed but remained the same.

Some rides were lengthy, some were'nt. It did'nt matter, there was always tomorrow and another road. sometimes we would stop and talk before heading our separate ways, but more often than not we would yell at each other over the sound of the bikes, "later man, I'm tired", "see ya later, be careful".
The fog was setting in over Millcreek as Charles made his turn, rapping the throttle as he made his turn and disappeared into the mist. I pulled back on the throttle, patted my bike on the tank, and took a deep breath of early morning mist.