I sit behind "Lazy Mon" plugged into an outdoor socket in a tree. The waves lap in gently three meters from my feet. I just heard "Jessy Chick" before her intermission. the sun goes down behind a grey cloud base.there are barely hints of orange and pink.. I've got a cold whiskey with a squeeze, fesh pack of smokes. There is a single palm tree that consumes my scene to the left. There's a certain sense of peace in a palm tree on a beach backdropped by the sight and sound of rolling waves.
It's the rythym of the earth... the waves. If they get wacky, better believe something wacky this way comes. Across the cove on the "Black Beach Pennisula" I see a flickering bonfire. The air has this certain oceany feel, There's no wind. I now hear the keys of "Jessy Chick" behind me again. The familiar warmth in her voice. Tonight I start to reflect on mostly this one moment. Where should I put my foot next? Should it even be a foot? Should it be wheels? Should it be wings? Should it be writing? Should it be music? Should it be art? Should it be love? Should it be all of that? Or should it be none of that?
I'll leave here in a little while on my motorcycle. Oh my motorcyle. Sweet freedom. Sweet moments it gives me. When I leave here on a night like tonight, there's this moment as soon as I'm off the curb... or in my case...the beach. My feet retract like landing gear. The centrifugal force of the spinning wheels take over giving a sense of faith in pysics. All my thoughts dissapear. I twist the throttle as I release the clutch. The machine starts to accellerate at an ungoldly rate. I become totally aware of my line. My grace... my quickest path through space time, cars, bicycles, people and dogs. As my speed increases and the jungle beach road unravels before me, I start focusing my projected coordinates in this dimension farther and farther ahead in time. By the time I'm full speed... I'm God. Completely in tune. Completely aware. Completely absorbing intense time chunks at an extremely rapid rate. On a good night, I won't brake at all until my final destination.
This motorcyle experience here in Central America is grand. The smells the sounds, the terrain, the beauty. The ability to go as fast as you can without hurting yourself or others. The moonlight casts it's light, hinting at the road ahead and flashing like a strobe light in the night as I fly through time. A pilot of a magical two wheeled land speeder of sorts. This two wheeled device is the most efficient machine I've ever operated. I weave around pot holes 200 meters away, but they pass under me almost instantly. Sometimes one will sneak up on me. I give a quick jerk upward on the handlebars. The bike doesn't even lift, but this strong yet slight movement, keeps the bike in its linear horizontal path. The pothole passes under as my ride passes over. Not even a bump. My velocity is constantly increasing as my acceleration and margin for error decrease. About halfway to Manzillo or in the middle of town are these speed bumps. They have a perfect concaved face coming up each side. I compress my suspension at about 20 miles an hour, drop down into second on a full clutch pull, hit the six inch high launch pad, pop the clutch right before springing off my shock compression, I squeeze the throttle as I launch some one meter high and clear at least three meters distance. If I'm on point that day, I land rear wheel first while maintaining a constant angled wheelie with the front wheel easing down like a kiss. Somtimes not so graceful. Like last night.
These are my moments of clarity and freedom. On my bike, speeding through town or down the jungle roads. There really not ever traffic or interections with stop lights and turn lanes. Just the town crazie's screaming "Loveless" or "Devil as I go by or occasional hotties bikinis. It's motorcyle riding at it's most pure. I usually just wear my crocs and rarely wear a helmet. I've had some accidents here and there. Usually after a fifth or two of whiskey or completely sober. Never in between. Similiar to a cat I always land on my feet and have nine lives. Amen to me, and Amen to all the folks I know that need their bikes more than they need love.
