The Thrill Of Reality: Part 4

Through rain obscured visor I could see the flashing lights of the tow truck’s chase car in the far distance. He and his entourage was the biggest thing on the road. I was the smallest. Then again we were the only people on the road. Traffic had completely vanished. If I was catching up that meant he was going slow.

That probably meant there was a crosswind.

I felt the cold rain against skin. Only a few hours ago, I’d been caked in sweat and sawdust. Now I had the best chill a man could ask for. I felt completely rejuvenated.

I thought about all the cringing sorrowful people who’ve recently castrated themselves and, to the extent they could, the world. What would they think of me; soaked and grinning, a madman carefully navigating a swirling dangerous environment?

They spent two years hiding in their basement. How many precious moments have been lost? What portion of a limited mortal lifespan can be burned on the altar of safety before it hurts too deeply. For me? Steal a minute and I’ll never forgive. For them? The prison of their mind is a comfortable safe space.

Whatever it might have been, we know what it is now. Covid is not the Black Plague. The dead were not stacked like cordwood on the streets of Manhattan. Yet, society reels from the orgy of terror. Why did they do it? Perhaps they enjoyed it?

This has happened before. On October 22, 1844 the Earth was not destroyed by fire at Christ’s Second Coming. The sun rose just like any other day on our glorious green planet. The Millerites were so vexed they coined the term The Great Disappointment. There was no fire and brimstone… what a bummer.

They must lust for it. Not actual challenge. Anyone who wants can find actual challenge. Select your mountain to climb; give it a shot and either summit or fail as appropriate. What they covet is the idea; not the reality. Lifestyles that grind to a halt over the possibility of danger. A worldview that confuses social media with reality! How many of their “triggers” come from bots and how many from self-limiting humans. For that matter, what’s the practical difference between self-limited humans and bots?

How sad. To have carefully avoided life’s vital energy has got to be the worst death of all.

Lightning struck a few miles behind me with a terrific crack. It illuminated the road ahead and I could see a patch of trees ahead flailing wildly in the wind. Their motion was subtly different. The wind was crossing the road perpendicularly and this particular terrain was something of a funnel. I moved toward the center line, checked my seating position, leaned slightly, and let my body relax.

Don’t fight it, ride it.

The predicted gust caught me on the side. An insistent but manageable nudge against a properly balanced motorcycle. I shrugged most of it off but also gave way a little. The bike shifted with the wind and away from the centerline; just a foot or two. No worries, I had the whole dam road at my disposal and I’d already slowed down. No muss, no fuss. I planned for it to happen, it happened as I’d planned.

As abruptly as it happened, it was over. We (the bike and I) were out of that little vortex and back in the regular stream of rain and wind. I wasn’t aggressively leaned over fighting it so I didn’t have to pull out of a sudden swerve when the wind partially dissipated. This ‘aint my first rodeo.

A turnip can drive a modern car. Strap a human slab of meat into a three point harness; equip it with anti-lock brakes, automatic transmission, sophisticated traction control, and all the modern gadgetry… it’ll drive exactly as well as any quasi-sentient meat out there. The beings you’ll find on an average road are almost entirely like that. Meat will roll along merrily, staying more or less between the lines while its empty head is distracted by a cell phone in one hand and its ass in the other.

Not so for me. A motorcycle surfing the leading edge of a windstorm has a lot less safety margin. I must handle the situation using mind more than brawn. Fortunately reality gives me all the hints I need. For example, when it rains I get wet. Who can deny that? Who would fail to acknowledge different traction conditions in the rain? I don’t need a computer for that. A skull and its contents are just fine.

Also, I have focus. Unlike the meat in an SUV, I have skin in the game. If I fuck up, I crash. I hope that doesn’t happen, but I accept that as part of life. Perhaps many people spend their lives without the singular focus I mustered just to ride through a storm?

It could be worse. I could be sitting home getting triggered by someone’s mean tweets.

A few miles further and I’d caught up with the tow truck. It was a whole lot of rolling mass to consider. A monster tow truck pulling a semi tractor still hitched to a sixty foot grain trailer; complete with chase car. The wind shifted again and I felt it tearing at my windward arm. Physics doesn’t give a shit about your plans. No fuckin’ way was I going to pass a towed empty trailer under those conditions.

A turnip would hit the blinker (or not) and rocket past, hydroplaning the whole way. No guarantee they’d be able to define, much less detect, hydroplaning. Their car would probably figure it out (or not). Expecting sensors in a wheel hub to anticipate the blast of wind off a hundred feet of heavy rolling stock in a windstorm is asking a lot. A good driver knows this but turnips aren’t very bright. That’s why insurance is so expensive.

Then again, the tow truck and I were both doing well. Nobody operates a tow truck (or a motorcycle) by accident. However bad the wind and rain might look at the moment, the flashing lightning behind us looked far worse. We’d apparently matched the front’s speed. We were in the rain but the mess behind us wasn’t gaining.

I stayed a quarter mile behind the tow truck and thoroughly enjoyed my ride. I felt the water seep through my mesh jacket. I felt the hum of droplets hammering on my chest. I felt alive.

In a dozen miles, too soon really, I was at my turn. I gingerly puttered down a few miles of very muddy dirt, and happily pulled into the open garage. Once inside, I killed the engine and put down the kickstand.

That’s when it hit! BOOM! Like a wall of physical resistance, the real beating heart of the storm swept past and through. It happened just seconds after I’d parked. Lightning flashed and rain came down in buckets; though I was already under cover. Retrieving my paperback from the saddlebags (bone dry!) I bumped into my cell phone. It was on. Mrs. Curmudgeon had forwarded a tornado warning announcement and sent a follow up text warning me to get my ass home. I scanned the horizon, no funnel clouds; though these certainly were the right conditions.

I couldn’t help chuckling as I closed the garage door. It had been a glorious little adventure. I’ll think about this day when some heartless Karen is going on an estrogen bitchfest about safety; GMOs, global warming, second hand smoke, recycle or die, wear a mask, get a booster, don’t go there, don’t go alone, don’t say that, don’t do that, don’t think that. Cower in your house and depend on everyone else to do everything that needs doing, because they’re presumably disposable… don’t you know how dangerous the world is?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I don’t fight it, I ride it.