24/5 - I wrote the two sentences above more than a month ago.
Since those two sentences came into being, I have not had the desire to write; the fire just isn't there.
It's smoldering, as if a bucket of water were thrown over a campfire.
There have been reasons to write, sure.
- I have a part time job now that I don't hate.
- I found myself in the newsroom of the Sacramento Bee, in a one-on-one meeting with a frizzy-haired and foul-mouthed editor of the newspaper. The collar of his shirt wasn't buttoned, and neither was mine (though the rest of my suit was flawless).
- I had a job interview at a local credit union, and I showed up 15 minutes early prepared with two copies of my resume, dressed in a suit and shook the manager's hand firmly.
- I skipped rocks in the American River with good friends.
- I completed a road trip to San Luis Obispo to visit a former coworker and be the designated driver.
But, I don't want to write.
No more for tonight, at least.
16/7 - To celebrate being rejected for yet another job, I rented a motorcycle for 24 hours this past weekend in Sacramento and headed into the mountains with a fellow motorcycling friend.
The last time I rented a bike, of course, was during those five glorious days in England back in 2015. This time, I saddled up a 2014 Honda VFR800 sport touring machine. It was similar to the Suzuki SV650S I rode in England, but this bike had more power. It also came with two saddle bags, in which I stored my sleeping bag, water and a pair of shoes. It cost approximately $200 to rent the Honda for 24 hours, and that includes the insurance and rental of other equipment such as Snell-approved helmet and gloves.
Riding a motorcycle is an intense activity, one that requires constant concentration. It's mentally and physically taxing because there are so many factors that need your attention. All four of your limbs have to operate a different lever (shifting, front brake, back brake and throttle), you have to pay attention to imperfections in the road, and you have to ride defensively. After a time, though, you become more connected to the machine and every action takes less thought. Riding plants a permanent grin on my face and sometimes forces me to giggle and whoop inside my helmet which no one else but me can hear or experience.
Being in the saddle of these machines is the greatest high I can think of, one that is healthy for the soul. During my trip to Glasgow, Scotland a few years ago in a car with several other people and a dog, we found a quote on a shop window that was easy to miss, but it applies to this adventure:
There was no destination in mind for this adventure. My buddy and I met on Madison Avenue in Sacramento, so we headed east on I-80 into Auburn and turned down Highway 49. We went through Cool and turned onto Highway 193 and rolled into Georgetown, where there was a large group of old, grizzled bikers with wild, gray beards outside of a bar, dressed all in black.
We turned onto Wentworth Springs Road and left most of the traffic behind, though we were still blessed with smooth, curvy roads. After a period of impressive views through patches of burned-out forest, we then turned onto Ice House Rode and eventually found our place for the night: Loon Lake. We parked our bikes on a turnoff right after the dam and found a spot on top of a rocky outcrop directly above the road on which to lay our sleeping bags.
This act marked a first for me: Before this weekend, I had never slept under the stars without a tent. Both of us laid our pads on the unforgiving rock below us and placed our sleeping bags on top.
Surprisingly, I did not have issues with mosquitoes considering how close we were to the lake. Sleep came easily around 10 p.m., but not before I admired the bright crescent moon and the countless stars in the black sky, surrounding the Milky Way. I woke up at Dawn, greeted by the silent landscape of the still lake and dark, surrounding peaks like a loving partner would do in bed.
We had the fortune of watching a sunrise over the lake, and we saw how much it developed, changing by the second. Sunrays exploded every direction in slow motion, placing a spotlight on clouds far out to the west. The orange-reddish color of the early morning sun mixed with the purple and blue of the surrounding water and sky, and it set fire to the clouds closest to it.
All we had to do was sit back, sip some instant coffee and enjoy the show.
It was a weekend filled with joy, peppered with bouts of giggling and a pinch of wonder. Twice I enjoyed skinny dipping and once I dropped the bike onto its side. And once, I made it back to the century mark on the speedometer somewhere in the area of Pollock Pines on Highway 50; the world travels by quickly at that speed, and nothing else matters besides the loud whine of the hard-charging engine and the feeling of a wide smile refusing to vacate my face.
16/7 - To celebrate being rejected for yet another job, I rented a motorcycle for 24 hours this past weekend in Sacramento and headed into the mountains with a fellow motorcycling friend.
The last time I rented a bike, of course, was during those five glorious days in England back in 2015. This time, I saddled up a 2014 Honda VFR800 sport touring machine. It was similar to the Suzuki SV650S I rode in England, but this bike had more power. It also came with two saddle bags, in which I stored my sleeping bag, water and a pair of shoes. It cost approximately $200 to rent the Honda for 24 hours, and that includes the insurance and rental of other equipment such as Snell-approved helmet and gloves.
 |
| The Honda VFR800 is the white bike. We parked our bikes off the road and behind a tree for the night. No one bothered the bikes or us. |
Being in the saddle of these machines is the greatest high I can think of, one that is healthy for the soul. During my trip to Glasgow, Scotland a few years ago in a car with several other people and a dog, we found a quote on a shop window that was easy to miss, but it applies to this adventure:
"Four wheels move the body. Two wheels move the soul."
For 24 hours this weekend, the two wheels of the Honda moved my soul. If only for a short time, my issues and troubles melted away, ditched in the valley where they had no chance to follow (or keep up).
There was no destination in mind for this adventure. My buddy and I met on Madison Avenue in Sacramento, so we headed east on I-80 into Auburn and turned down Highway 49. We went through Cool and turned onto Highway 193 and rolled into Georgetown, where there was a large group of old, grizzled bikers with wild, gray beards outside of a bar, dressed all in black.
We turned onto Wentworth Springs Road and left most of the traffic behind, though we were still blessed with smooth, curvy roads. After a period of impressive views through patches of burned-out forest, we then turned onto Ice House Rode and eventually found our place for the night: Loon Lake. We parked our bikes on a turnoff right after the dam and found a spot on top of a rocky outcrop directly above the road on which to lay our sleeping bags.
 |
| We set up camp after all light had faded the night before. Tentless camping was a positive experience. |
 |
| There were thunderheads in the area the night we arrived. I heard raindrops during the night, but it was short. |
This act marked a first for me: Before this weekend, I had never slept under the stars without a tent. Both of us laid our pads on the unforgiving rock below us and placed our sleeping bags on top.
Surprisingly, I did not have issues with mosquitoes considering how close we were to the lake. Sleep came easily around 10 p.m., but not before I admired the bright crescent moon and the countless stars in the black sky, surrounding the Milky Way. I woke up at Dawn, greeted by the silent landscape of the still lake and dark, surrounding peaks like a loving partner would do in bed.
We had the fortune of watching a sunrise over the lake, and we saw how much it developed, changing by the second. Sunrays exploded every direction in slow motion, placing a spotlight on clouds far out to the west. The orange-reddish color of the early morning sun mixed with the purple and blue of the surrounding water and sky, and it set fire to the clouds closest to it.
 |
| This was taken with my iPhone 5. Sadly, cameras can not do scenes like this justice. |
All we had to do was sit back, sip some instant coffee and enjoy the show.
It was a weekend filled with joy, peppered with bouts of giggling and a pinch of wonder. Twice I enjoyed skinny dipping and once I dropped the bike onto its side. And once, I made it back to the century mark on the speedometer somewhere in the area of Pollock Pines on Highway 50; the world travels by quickly at that speed, and nothing else matters besides the loud whine of the hard-charging engine and the feeling of a wide smile refusing to vacate my face.
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