It's almost a year since I last rode a bike. This Sunday, I rented a Honda Rebel for a day. To paraphrase an old-men joke: I remembered riding motorcycles, I just forgot why.
I had low expectations of enjoying the ride, so I planned an itinerary of interesting locations around the city of Oaxaca. I visited the Sunday Indian market in Tlacolula, and then rode to Mitla to see the remains of the pre-Hispanic Zapotec capital. The sights were interesting, but the straight and level roads and the faster-than-me traffic confirmed my low expectations. As I continued to my next destination, the traffic thinned, the road started to climb, and most importantly, it began to curve. Soon I found myself smiling. This was becoming a nice day.
The Rebel, a lightweight imitation of a Harley-Davidson, brings with it some illusions of being a hippie rebel. However, it is not the "Easy Rider" fantasy that made me ride. I do not have a ponytail, and I wear a helmet, not a bandana. My love was born from the meditative feeling I get while riding. My mind sheds all thoughts and focuses only on the road ahead. The curves begin to flow in perfect rhythm as the bike and I become one unit, effortlessly leaning into the turn. Immersed in that slow motion rhythm I feel invincible, I feel peaceful. Usually, after the invincible phase, another, less meditative phase of the ride emerges. It starts with a simple question: "Can I go faster?" As my speed increases, the lean angle in the curves becomes steeper, and the battle begins. The adrenaline-addicted brain twists the throttle, while the primitive brain, whose responsibility is survival, screams "Don't you dare lean any further!", and tries to untwist my wrist. My feelings at this phase swing between satisfaction, when everything works well, to terror, when I enter a curve too fast for my skill level. Eventually, the addicted brain gets its fix of adrenaline, and I conclude the ride tired and happy. This Sunday, the second phase did not happen. Maybe I kicked the adrenaline habit. On the other hand, maybe I reached the turn-off to my next destination a bit too soon.
The side road to Hierve Del Agua soon turned into dirt. Once off the asphalt, the Rebel forgot that it is a cruiser, and behaved like a red-blooded dual-sport bike. Within minutes, my "Easy Rider" image evolved into "Motorcycle Diaries". The scene I remember best from this movie is when Che and his friend take a nasty spill on a dusty road. For me, this is the essence of off-road riding: Keep the bike upright. Enjoying scenic trails is only secondary in importance. It takes good eyes, quick reflexes, and a good sense of balance to ride trails in any semblance of speed. On the trail, there is no feeling of invincibility since I know as a certainly, that somewhere along the ride I will fall. I can only take comfort in the assumption that at these speeds, the fall will not be deadly. However, breaking some bones is a definite possibility, which on some occasions, I managed to turn into a painful reality. They say that as you age, reflexes and balances are the first to go. I prefer to believe that exercising these skills keep you young. It definitely keeps me happy.
When I got home this Sunday, I could clearly remember why I love to ride.
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