It is a warm, sunny day, and although I have to work my standard seven and a half (hours that is) the prospect of an evening ride makes it easy to get through the day. The first warm days of spring are precious to a motorcyclist. Bulky insulation and rain suits can be left behind, and you luxuriate in the comfort of well worn leathers. There is more daylight too. Instead of getting home from work within minutes of sundown, there are ever lengthening hours of evening ahead of you. I plan to ride out to Fitzroy Harbour Provincial Park, about fifty minutes from my Ottawa home. I had read some good things about the park, and friends who camped there recommended it as 'worth a visit'. Seems like a good excuse for a ride: give the park a look-see before hauling the tent, dogs, food et cetera, there for a camping trip. I like to have an objective when going for a ride, it somehow makes things more purposeful, more enjoyable. Even if the reason is a weak one. I have never been quite satisfied with the epigram: 'Live to Ride', which is often heard used by Harley riders. My version would be: 'Any excuse to Ride'.
My wife, new to motorcycling, is keen to come along. Phyllis doesn't ride a bike of her own, but her great enjoyment of being 'two up', only adds to my fun. My style of riding is 'moderately relaxed'. Wherever I go, at whatever speed, I am never in a hurry... but on the other hand I don't waste any time either. This suits my wife/passenger well. Wheelies, stoppies and knee-dragging I save for solo jaunts. My machine is suited to my, slightly relaxed, task. A 20 year old Suzuki GS1000, it is not able to carve up the twisties quite like its more modern superbike descendents. On the other hand, the bike happily accomodates cruising anywhere between 60 and 160 km/h. And the bike is not the only one that is happy, the rider and passenger are too.
We are setting off, heading west, straight into the setting sun. My polaroid shades really help, without them I would be blinded, with them I just squint a bit. The GS is air-cooled only, and warms quickly through the first kilometer of suburbs. Then with our sense of escape rising with the engine, we boost out onto the highway, and it feels like were flying. Blue sky, whispy clouds. Canada Geese flying overhead in a vee. This is great. My passenger taps me on the shoulder and points down. At first I think: "What's to look at on the road?" Then it occurs to me that there might be a problem... duh! I glance back, hoping that nothing has dropped off, and realize the left passenger peg as flipped up. I smile inside my helmet... she hasn't quite got the hang on flipping the pegs down with her boots on. One passenger leg is hanging in mid-air. Reaching back, I flip down the peg with my left hand. She gives me the thumbs-up sign. A Ford Ranger passes us, and the guy is smiling at the minor crisis he has just witnissed. I'll bet he has a bike back at home too.
The evening air is fresh, and as we leave the city, there are layers of mist hanging in the fields. The road dipps into a valley, and as the mist crosses the road, it flames golden around us. Stubborn pockets of snow lay in north facing hollows, but the trees are greening and you can smell the whole world coming to life. That is one of the things you miss when travelling in a car: the smells. It is always amazing to me how much more vivid they are when riding. The pines, the cedar, the grass... the skunks. Watch out! That one crossed the road without looking. Nothing like a black-and-white to clear your head. A map is layed out underneath the clear plastic of my tank bag, and I look down to check the road number of our turn off. I like to be sure where I am... but navigation is no worry today, the park has well posted signs. The sun is almost set, and it seems like we are racing it to the park. As we make the last turn through the park gate, the big orange ball is burning its way through the forest of trunks. How peacefull it seems here... the place looks empty. It is empty, and the camp-site gate is chained closed, so I pull up near it an kill the engine. Quiet. Then, taking off my helmet, I hear a robin. A little stream gurgles into a culvert beneath us.
"Are you warm enough?", I ask.
"Yes. Did you see the geese?".
"There must have been hundreds in that field. And the waterfall! Did you see the rapids?"
"Hmm..." smiling, Phyllis looks around. "It's nice here".
"Let's walk past this gate and check out the campsite".
"Okay".
The sun is almost down, and the sky is every shade of the rainbow. The wind is calm, and all around us there are birds and creatures singing and chattering. We walk down a short hill toward the river. The trees are lit up with the gold of the sky. What a beautiful evening. Someone is calling ahead. There is the sound of voices. As we round a curve, three young boys appear on thier bikes. One has a fishing rod.
"Hi there", I said
"Hey, are you riding a motorcycle?", asks the fishing rod.
"Yeah, but we had to leave it at the gate... it was chained."
"Oh... it's a street bike". He sounds dissapointed.
"How far to the river?", I ask.
The orange-coloured bike stops and points behind. "Around the corner... not far". The bike looks old and well used. Much older than the boy riding it.
"Thanks", I say.
"Hey, were you here last week?", demands the fishing rod.
"No, must have been someone else."
"Oh, to bad.", he sounds dissapointed again.
"Bye." I wave and turn back towards the river.
I would be surprised if the fishing rod wasn't hoping for a ride... from someone with an off-road machine. Too bad I couldn't oblige... but, fun as they are, I prefer my 'GS' to a two-stroker with knobbies.
We approach a small bridge spanning a shallow river and the sky seems to open out as the trees make way for the water. Stepping out on the the wooden walkway, I look down to see ripples through the cracks, and hear chuckling as the stream hops over stones and dives into hollows.
Phyllis takes my arm, and says: "Charley would like to jump in there".
"Yes. So would I on a hot day. We could wade down the middle, its so shallow. I'll bet it'll be warm in summer."
"Daisy would love to go paddling too"
"Yeah. We'll come back and camp here. It looks really nice."
There is something about a river that is hypnotizing. You can look a the surface, and let the ripples and reflections take over your conciousness.
The sun has gone now, and the evening is starting to chill. I hear someone say: "Let's get back"
Returning up the hill we travel through the gloaming. The air seems bluish and secretly bright, but this is disceptive because we cannot see as well as before. The trees now appear to be a fairy land of colours not quite real. Everything seems to have a vitality that it didn't have before, hinting at sights not-quite-visible, sounds just beyond hearing. My favourite time of day.
The sight of the bike is like seeing an old friend. Curious, considering I haven't had this machine a full season yet. I get attached to a bike so much more quickly other vehicles. It is not just transportation to me, but something more. Each one I have owned had a distinctive character. My Virago was a laughing sumo wrestler full of grunt. My Zephyr like a cabriolet, a light dancing animal. My Bandit was an F16 with its afterburners lit. The GS? The GS is an old a reliable servant, of great strength and determination. An aging locamotive. Out of date, but still full of power, and capability.
The starter brings the engine to life immediately, and as we roll through the gate I notice the stars are appearing. I decide to take a regional road on the way back, the speed will be slower, and the scenery more interesting. As we turn east, and the landscape opens up before us, I get a sudden rash of goose flesh. Full and bright-bright, the moon is hovering just over the horizen. There is a faint haze rising high into the air, and the haze is luminous with moonlight. The whole landscape looks like it is steaming, and we ride into a scene of strange beauty. To the left and right are plowed fields and farm houses, copses and barns. We are assulted by the smells of the countryside: tangy and sweet and full of vitality. I feel elated. Indeed I am doubly pleased because I am sharing the wonder of it all with my partner behind me. We approach the Carp river, and some curves. The fog thickens, and streamers of condesation fly at us, highlighting our speed. Oh, what a joy to be alive!
The miles click by, and the journey is over too soon, as are all great trips. We are tired and happy as we flop down on the living-room couch, faces wreathed in grins. Sometimes words cannot do justice to a really great ride.
