Hello my old friend (ode to the new season)

[fasterdammit]

The conversation goes something like this:

“Hello, my old friend.

“It sure is nice out, finally. I haven’t seen you all winter – been keeping yourself packed away? I’ve had cabin fever something awful; you must be feeling it too. I’ve been thinking about you; we spent a lot of time together last year – it sucks how things come up and then you don’t see each other for a while – but hey, here we are. It’s that time again! Psyched? Just like old times. It’s like we never missed a beat – it could’ve been yesterday that we spent all day together, and not like, 5-6 months ago …

“Tell you what – let’s talk. Just you & me, let’s get out of here for a while – take a ride, catch up, and pick up where we left off. Maybe we can stop and grab a cup of joe somewhere, but let’s just go nowhere in particular and chew up the scenery. Let me tell the wife I’ll be back, and we’re outta here.”

So I pull the bike out of the garage.

I’d just spent the morning changing the oil & filter, checking the tires, making sure the things that are supposed to be tight are, and vice versa; I check the mirrors, make sure they show me what I want. I’d flushed the brakes out, so the fluid is nice & clean and they’re feeling solid. The tank is topped off, but I know it’s going to take a tank or two to get it completely out of the system. Going through the pre-season checklist, I’d reminded myself of the things I need and want to do over the riding season, mechanically. And for the past months I’ve been reminding myself of all the triggers and reactions that could’ve atrophied over the winter months; those things that might avoid a mistake on my part or someone else’s.

First ride of the season – it’s hard not to go right back out where I left off, but a little discretion is wise, and I need to throttle down the anticipation that’s already kicking in like a full pot of high test. There’s mung in the corners, and the cagers have forgotten what it’s like to see us two-wheeled types. It’s been five months since I’ve been on the saddle, and since I’ve asked the bike to come and do bad things with me … and since I’ve asked the gods to try and keep us in one piece at the same time.

A kiss to the family members, a wink from the Mrs.; I’m geared up and bring the bike to life to warm up. Neighbors roll their eyes where I can’t see them, and the neighborhood kids look over the fence and show their approval with their thumbs. Squirrels and birds evacuate the immediate area, post-haste. The sun shines; angels with their MotoGP-exhaust-shaped trumpets light them up in my mind’s eye: exactly that much is right with the world. I get the feeling I’m grinning like an idiot.

I go to pick up my old friend, my trusted advisor, close to me like nothing else. Close to me as few can appreciate, and many take for granted as well. I take a minute and appreciate that relationship. I think about all the time we’ve spent on motorcycles together, doing this thing we both love, all the long talks we’ve had on the road, the things we’ve seen – the way we can easily settle into that comfortable silence and just listen to the wind, the road, and the engine – and enjoy it together.

And then I grab my old friend’s chin strap to pull my helmet over my head, and we’re together again. Best friends forever, like a second, life-saving skin.

And now I’m certain that I’m grinning like a complete idiot.