The Roads I Didn't Take

Just pick a road and follow it, is what people often say.

A road doesn't offer any promises, doesn't claim to take you where you plan on going, doesn't guarantee any smooth sailing. It is only what it is, just a road.

It's a road less traveled, one that few ever want to ride, but seemingly combines glorious views of pristine Southern California wilderness, the trickle of running water, the songs of birds, and the aroma of wildflowers, yet it does so along a narrow, bumpy, sandy path filled with tight turns that kept me riding slowly between first and second gear.

I could have spent time admiring my surroundings, but the technical nature of this road demanded more attention, and left me wondering why such a road that offers such serene beauty, demands one to look at only pavement.


And it seems like that's how everything is, in opposite extremes that compete against each other. Whether it's beauty and ugly, rain and sunshine, love and hate, right and wrong, it's always a struggle to find our comfortable balance between the two. Did I choose this road to get someplace, or was it because I wanted to indulge my senses?

Another road up ahead comes into view and I wonder if it's worth following. I turn my head and look down as I pass it by to see if it might go somewhere or just dead end.

I'm already half-way along this route but decide to turn back and see where that other road goes. Will I find more beautiful scenery? Will it take me someplace memorable? Or will it disappoint and cause me trouble? Am I better off sticking to the road I was on?

I guess I'll never know if I don't check it out.


Perhaps if all I had to worry about was myself, it wouldn't matter. If I didn't have other commitments, or didn't make other promises, I'd have all the time in the world to take a chance on a different road, and uncover the mystery of what lies behind the next curve.

But I'm really only adding pressure to myself with these thoughts, ending up only confused, and constantly at odds with deciding what to do and where to go. Perhaps in life we pass by many roads that we chose not to take; the balance between keeping focus on the road, looking at all the wonder around us, and even the constant reevaluation of our decisions, leave us to second-guess or to justify our choices.

As riders always say, "It's not the destination, but the journey".

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It's Why We Do Things Like This

The transmission winds itself up into a whine as I kick the ST from fourth down to third, and coast into a tight, but sweeping 20mph switchback.

Riding the inside edge of the lane, I keep a straight line for as long as I can until the curve leaves me hitting the double-yellow. And then I make my move, dropping my shoulder, bending my elbow, pulling my foot back, and taking a hard lean to the right.

There isn't any time to think, only to do.

The painted lines along the road, along with the wooden posts of the K-rail, are all that I see ahead of me, streaming by like being in a rollercoaster on a 360 degree loop.


Just follow the lines.

Slingshotting out across the lane and over to the outside edge, I've only seconds to prepare for yet another tight turn to the left.

Thought processes in my brain calculates the approach velocity, the body positions itself again, and I make the next move.

It's like I've done all this before in video games as a kid, except this is real. The adrenaline is real, the dangers are very real, and the variables are so many. It's a mental exercise that leaves you feeling exhausted and satiated.


"Ahh!" the sip of a cold Oatmeal Stout inside a darkly lit cafe in the middle of a desert oasis, helps relax the body. The smell of burgers and french fries cooking up in the kitchen, creates a contrasting ambiance from just minutes ago.

After evaluating curves and calculating approach velocity in a relentless assault on the cerebral cortex, I sit back in my chair, close my eyes, take in a few deep breaths, and smell the aroma wafting out of the kitchen. Everything here is sitting still.

It's no wonder why so many riders along Montezuma Valley Rd choose to stop at Carlee's.

I take another swig of the stout.

The meaning of all this I wonder?


The road and the rest stop are inseparably joined. Perhaps Montezuma Valley Rd would not be as great of a road to ride if not for such a relaxing place like Carlee's to unwind, and Carlee's would be just another struggling hole in the wall if not for such a great stretch to road to ride.

To be, at this place and moment in time, in this mood and with this sense of awareness, because the road exists to be ridden, and Carlee's exists to put it all into perspective, is why we do this.

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The Unwritten Language of Motorcycling

Numbers like 12, 89A, 191, 212, 550 might not mean anything to most people. But when you drop two wheels onto long twisty stretches of asphalt, a pattern emerges from those numbers.

Despite the oceans that separate our continents, and despite the differences in language and culture, there's still an understanding common to all who set out on two wheels. The G-forces that pull you back, the centrifugal-forces that pull you down, the friction of rubber against the road, is a feeling that can't be explained but yet needs no explanation.

"So what were the most memorable points on your trip?" I asked Gary, who was on his last day of a five-month long motorcycle adventure across the United States.

"There was the Million Dollar Highway between Silverton & Ouray (US 550), there was Highway 666 (Coronado Trail US 191), the 89A through Sedona and Jerome, Bryce Canyon in Utah (SR 12), and the Beartooth Highway (US 212)." he answered, though not in those exact same words.

He had just read off some of my all time favorite roads ever. Even though Gary comes from England, from another continent, from another culture, and even though he's traveled all across these United States, the first roads that left his breath were the same roads that I would have spoken of. Gary might have been a foreigner, but I could easily recognize him as one of us.

I smiled and nodded my head in approval.


Later on, Gary was telling me about a moment when he stood at a viewpoint, photographing some really cool twisties, and someone asked him what the heck he was photographing.

There's an old saying, "If I have to explain, you wouldn't understand." But amongst those of us who understand, it doesn't have to be explained.

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