Pavement Ends

            It is early in the morning on a Sunday; the sun warms my skin, but I can tell that it will be very hot soon. Right now, there is still a bit of moisture in the air. I feel the wind tingling over my arms as we ride. I look into the woods as we pass through and can see the sunlight dancing with the morning mist through the trees, tinged with green. I have stepped out of my comfort zone, and it is either crazy or brave.

            I can’t hear the sounds of the woods, the birds chirping or the cicadas calling. There is only the sound of the engine and the wind in my ears. I’ve heard the stories, songs, the legend of the “open road”. I realize that it’s true. Sitting on the back of the motorcycle, tearing the peace and tranquility of the forest to shreds, I feel more connected to nature than on a quiet amble through the heart of it. There is no explanation. I am in awe.

            We drive for miles. Few words are spoken, it is hard to converse while astride the beast, but the silence is comfortable, and yet, strange. It doesn’t feel like conversation is necessary, but it is ingrained in me to make small talk. I wonder and worry that I should be trying harder to be appropriate and witty. Single sentence exchanges don’t seem adequate, yet are relaxed and easy. I allow my mind to wander. I contemplate the morning, the scenery, my companion, the ride, the implications of the circumstances.

            Once I trusted blindly. Words were bond and, once spoken, were galvanized into truth. I look back at that trusting girl and realize how hard I worked to try to consign those words into legitimate meaning. They had to be cast and hardened into reality. I searched so valiantly for the earnestness within them that I neglected to notice that the conviction that should accompany them didn’t exist. They filled all the spaces in between and when those spaces were difficult, throwaway words were tossed in to distract from the challenge. The overabundance took away all their worth.

            We ride for miles. We stop and sightsee, then climb back on and continue on our journey. Some stretches of the route are so beautiful I want to cry. Some of the miles feel endless; the same as the one before and the one to come. The rolling fields stretch on, as far as I can see. Rows of corn swaying in the gentle breeze we bring as we fly past. Just when I think I can’t bear another minute, we round a bend and beauty stretches out again. The sun begins to warm and feels too hot. We have to slow and it becomes uncomfortable under the blanket of high summer dressed in heavy boots and jeans. The sunlight waltzes across my back and shoulders; I am enamored with its heat, but aware of the pain it will leave me with tomorrow.

            It is time to rest. We step into the gloom of the interior and the cool of central air. The smoky scent of barbeque twirls out to greet us. The drinks are cold and crisp as we sit in anticipation, the tantalizing scents teasing and heightening our craving. The food comes, and as we share the best parts of each plate, an ease settles around us. This should be more-something. There should be more tension or more euphoria. This shouldn’t feel so easy. It is too new, too different, too far removed from what I’ve learned to expect.

            Stomachs full of food and heads full of laughter, we head back out. Our destination is near, we have adjusted course, but it is a seamless transition and segued naturally from the original plan. We are at a crossroads. Do we turn back the way we know, or continue in the direction we began? Where do you go when the road ends? Breathtaking views as we travel down the road keep my attention and stimulate daydreams. I allow my mind to wander back to the years past. No regrets, but often sadness fills those memories. Those years were so difficult. It shouldn’t have been such a struggle. Nothing worth having comes easy. If you truly care, you’ll never stop fighting. If you respect yourself, you’ll let it go. You are a team. It’s not a team if both players aren’t giving 100%. And around and around we go. I learned to believe the lies as truth and doubt the truth as designed to undermine the façade we had built.

            We are off the beaten path, and then, literally, the highway ends. One minute we are driving down a country road between green walls of corn, and suddenly there is only a gravel track running through a marsh. I feel the machine downshift and slow, but it does not stop. There is a mutual understanding that we will continue. We creep forward. Minutes become hours, feet become miles. Internally, I am screaming in terror, but just wrap my arms tighter and clamp down on the fear, focusing on the road in front of us. Slowly, we glide through the grasses. Locusts leap out and clamp onto our clothes, skin, hair. They hurt when they impact, but just as quickly, turn away toward a more receptive landing place. We toil through the beautiful prairie. Panic prevents me from watching the wildlife and taking in the beauty of the Preserve. Every muscle of my body is tense, in an attempt to become as one with the machine and make as few movements as possible. I watch his arms as he grapples with the handlebars and holds us upright. The path tries to derail our efforts, as potholes and small boulders appear periodically in our lane. He maneuvers us safely through and the miles pass. What feels like hours and a great distance prove to be only a short glitch on our expedition. The pavement begins again and I find enough words to ask to stop. He complies immediately and I don’t know how to express my gratitude. A few deep breaths are all it takes to collect myself and we continue on, he remains unruffled and patient throughout.

            After the short break, we continue to our next oasis. Once the rough road is behind us and we have had a minute to catch our breath, we drop our guard. I confess my panic and he shares his struggle. I profess admiration for the strength he showed, holding us like Atlas, while he expresses appreciation for my apparent cool-headedness.

            The ride continues for the afternoon. There is no choice, if we want to make it home to our separate responsibilities and obligations. We don’t discuss in greater detail what has just happened. It’s as if we both acknowledge the magnitude of the incident, but don’t want to dwell on the implications. It is too much, yet it is only five miles in a day of 400. The detour didn’t really take us off course, and we weathered it with aplomb.

            How do you go from here? How do you proceed after the ghosts of memory have quieted? The sun has set, and we have arrived at the other side of the surreal journey. There is pizza and beer waiting. In the simplicity of a quick meal, there is relief, exhaustion, and triumph. There is good food and good company. There is relaxation and care. There is companionship that has been missing and maybe something else. There is uncertainty and fear, but there is also a sense that perhaps the same could be said from a different perspective. Maybe when the pavement ends, something else begins.