Since returning to San Diego last month from our six month motorcycle trip, Sash and I haven't done any joy riding. Motorcycling has largely been a means of transportation.
On the one hand, after riding across the country, I suppose it feels good to just relax in our native Southern California and put more focus into our Internet marketing and publishing work. And even though we did a lot of work on the road over those six months, we still lost a lot of productivity with having to travel from state to state.
As I took my Honda ST up a hill this afternoon in the quiet and quaint Mission Hills community, I came to a stop sign and the sight of moms dropping off kids at a park for soccer practice. I then realized how connected to the hip I am of my motorcycle. Perhaps when you get to a point where a motorcycle is the only way you ever get around, you start to lose focus of its recreational points.
Oh, I still enjoy riding it, and I wouldn't give it up now. But because the motorcycle has become so much a part of my life, I don't see it as recreation anymore. Where one rider awaits the weekend to take his Harley through the back country, my ST is being ridden everyday just to help me take care of daily living.
If anything, driving my pickup truck is an escapism.
But I don't want that kind of escapism.
I actually like the idea that I'm so joined at the hip to my motorcycle. I realize that other people see me as either pathetic for having so little, stupid for throwing everything away, or brave for not having a safety net. But it really feels like escape when I have nothing real to stand on but my own two feet.