The Call of the Winding Road

If you’ve never ridden a motorcycle, all that follows here will seem foolishness. “It’s just a motorcycle, a death trap,” you say, and from a certain perspective, you are correct. I might have felt that way at one time. That was before my husband and I bought our first Harley, and my eyes opened to a different world.

But this is not the tale of how we started riding as a couple and joined the Harley Owners Group. Instead this story is about NOT riding.

Once you join the HOGS, you become accustomed to riding every weekend. Your calendar fills with day rides, events, and overnighters. Your riding buddies become your family. Nevertheless, every so often, the rest of your life intrudes, and you don’t get to ride.

At first, you don’t notice anything, because the activities that replace riding are usually important, like grandchildren’s birthday parties and writing retreats. However, after a few weekends pass and you “like” all the pictures your HOG group posted on Facebook, a restlessness settles into your soul.

When you drive to work, you notice every motorcycle that passes, automatically comparing it to your bike and finding it lacking. You start to see motorcycles everywhere, growling custom Harleys with smiling riders. You’ve been busy, you reassure yourself. And it’s been raining, and cold. It’s only March, and in most other states, they’ve not even started their riding season. You ignore the longing and get on with your busy schedule.

Late at night, you begin to hear that haunting voice as you try to sleep. Riders recognize it. It’s like in Lord of the Rings when Tolkien talks about the irresistible call of the sea. The sea gulls and salt air. With motorcycles, it’s the roaring engines and wind in your face. Once you’ve experienced it, you can’t get it out of your mind. The call of the winding road.

“Come follow my curves,” it offers in its siren voice. “I will take you into wild lands where cages (automobiles) fear to travel. At every turn, I will catch your breath as my majestic beauty is revealed. Your companions wait for you to join them. For a time, you can forget your responsibilities and dance with me.”

Finally, your restlessness and discontent turns into downright grouchiness. That’s when you know what you need to do. It’s time to take the cover off your Harley, put on your helmet and leathers, and ride.