From the Library

[Biggles]

I don't always have a specific destination when I begin a ride.  I let the mood of the moment dictate my direction.  Do want to find solace in a desolate back road?   
Do I want to be an exhibitionist?  Do I want the challenge of negotiating hairpin turns through winding back roads?  No matter what the discussion, it's all good!
At this point in my life, the rush doesn't come from speed; it comes from the freedom. I enjoy getting glances from a passer-by or cruising through a crowd.  I love accelerating through a turn on a mountain road or just tooling around the neighbourhood.  What I am trying to say is that the feeling of what the ride represents is as important as the ride itself.  The freedom is my fuel if you will.
When I return home from one of my journeys, I feel exhilarated!  Could it be from the wind pounding my face and chest?  Or does this feeling come from the clearing of my mind?  Am I exhilarated by the physical or mental stimulation?  Who cares?  The important thing is that I can't wait for my next ride!
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p98

[Biggles]

Why don't I feel the same while driving a car?  A car has way too much insulation.  I can't hear the birds, the engine; I can't smell the fragrances that are so abundant when I'm riding a motorcycle.  Most of my body goes into a sleep state while driving a car; on my motorcycle, every part of me feels alive- especially my brain.  I am processing information, controlling my hands and feet, and absorbing sounds, smells and sights that tell me I am alive and that I am an active participant in my life.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p111

[Biggles]

When I ride I become exhilarated.  The adrenaline soars as I feel the power beneath me.  Sometimes, I can be at peace with the world on my motorcycle when a cruel thought invades my pleasure- "It could happen now."
"It" means another accident.  I realise "It" is my own doubt caused by negative thinking.  "It" spoils my pleasure.  I quickly push "It" out of my mind so that I may concentrate on my surroundings and the motorcycle beneath me.  Mental balance allows me to enjoy the ride.  Without a positive outlook, fear invades.  In turn, the fear steals my concentration.  Without concentration, I know I'm danger of having another accident.  Without concentration, I can have no pleasure.
It takes strong mental discipline in order for me to concentrate and enjoy the ride.  At the end of each ride, I celebrate my victory over fear and negative thinking.  I feel awe at the power of my mind and the forces that allow me to control "It" rather than "It" control me.  I feel more confident, powerful and ready to accept new challenges.  I know that I can do anything I allow my mind to imagine.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p122-3

[Biggles]

I can recall getting up at dawn and pulling out in the damp grey chill of a fall morning to see a gopher munching on greens along the side of the road and a hawk soaring overhead.  In a car, I would have been warm, insulated, surrounded by metal.  But through that band of windshield, I would not have been even aware of the hawk soaring over the roof of the car or of the gopher.
In a wealthy country like Canada, we are too often insulated in our warm comfortable houses and cars.  With such comforts, it is easy to lose awareness of what surrounds us in nature and how we impact on the environment.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p132-3

[Biggles]

The motorcycle is not designed for the city.  It does not like to be constantly stop and go, or to be stationary.  It is meant to move.  And like Tai Chi, when that energy is being expended, it more easily managed.  The motorcycle longs to be moving on the open road, or cutting through forests and mountain passes.  As one riding a motorcycle, I have learned that I need to harness that energy and to use the path of least resistance to keep the energy flowing.
Tao Of The Ride  Garri Garripoli p133

[Biggles]

Skipping a few details, suffice it to say that one day after twenty years of marriage, Sheila calmly said, "I'd like you to leave. Go find your happiness. It's not here."
Two days later I was staying in a motel, two weeks later in my own apartment. When the assets and liabilities were decided, the divorce was final. In one of my fits of inspiration or insanity, (they often resemble each other and I get them confused), I decided to sell almost all of my possessions, except the motorcycle. By shedding my entanglements, I thought I'd be free to search for the elusive meaning of life, i.e., happiness. I knew the answer was out there waiting to be found.
I fantasized about riding my cycle to California and mile by mile becoming enlightened to the truths of the world. Yes, in my ecstatic moments, I saw myself as America's saviour. I was making this journey not only for myself but also for every unhappy being in the world, for every individual who hated his job and for the down-trodden and humbled masses. "America, I hear you calling and I'm on my way."
In my depressed moments, I knew I was running away. I had no idea where I was running to, but that didn't matter. Running just felt very good.
Only two negatives stood in my way. The first was that I got terrible leg cramps after riding my motorcycle for as little as fifteen minutes. The second was that I have no sense of direction. For most of my life I lived in a town with a population of three thousand people and one traffic light. I still kept a map on the front seat of my car.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p2-3

[Biggles]

The receptionist at the auto club doesn't understand that I only want directions to the auto club. "When I get there," I explain to her, "you can give me directions to California."
I carefully write down her instructions and take them the motorcycle. Where do I put the directions so I can check them as I ride? A flash of insight tells me to get masking tape at the apartment rental office so I can affix them to the- I can never think of the name of that dial, the one that shows RPMs. I never use it anyway. 
Actually, I don't know what it's for, so I follow my impulse and tape the directions on it.
The motorcycle is packed with my few remaining possessions. I get on and I'm off to find America. But first I must find the auto club. The AAA sign is right where the receptionist said it would be and I pull into the parking lot. Balancing the cycle carefully, I try to pull it up onto the stand, but it's too heavy. The kickstand is facing uphill so I can't use it. I back out of the space, turn around and back in. This time the kickstand is aiming downhill and seems to hold the weight of the cycle. I carefully get off, lock my helmet under the seat, and go inside.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p5-6

[Biggles]

Instantly, I know not to tell him that I'm searching for America and enlightenment. With a moment's deliberation I say, "I'm heading for California. May I have directions?"
He turns to get maps. Safe, I think. Even though I lost my number, I handled that part okay.
"Where in California? Panic! I hadn't thought about that. "Los Angeles," I decide quickly.
"Nice place. My brother lives there."
 I'll tell him you said hello if I see him. 
He just looks at me.
Too much, I remind myself. Relax. He lays out a map of the United States and highlights lines. "Take Route 30 to 83 to the PA Turnpike. Follow the Turnpike to Route 70. Take Route 70 the whole way to Utah. Then 15 and 10 to Los Angeles."
"That's it? I won't even have to tape that on the tachometer. Tachometer!" I say with great enthusiasm. "That's the name of the dial I couldn't think of earlier."
He waits patiently.
"Thanks," I say and leave. As I walk away I hear him call number 48. Instinctively I reach into my pocket to check if that's number and pull out number 47. Where had it been? I turn back towards the counter to show him I really did have the number, but second thoughts intervene. Somehow I don't think he cares. I put the number back in my pocket and walk outside. The cycle is still standing. Things are looking good.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p6-7

[Biggles]

Nevertheless, here I am on Route 30 heading... east, according to a sign I just passed. California is definitely west. Even I know something's wrong. I take the first exit and pull into a convenience store. With helmet still on I go into the store and ask the clerk for directions to the PA Turnpike. She looks at me strangely so I take off the helmet and try again.
"May I have directions to the PA Turnpike?"
"Route 30 to 83," she says.
"East or west on Route 30?"
"West.
"Darn.
"Pardon?"
"Nothing." I hesitate a moment, then ask, "How far am I from the Turnpike?"
"About an hour," she answers.
Four cramps, I think.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p10-11

[Biggles]

Suddenly I come around a turn and spot the twin towers of the Delaware Memorial Bridge. My heart beats faster. I start up the bridge. I look straight ahead and realize I have no idea where I'm going in life. I look to my right and see nothing but sky and water. A strong wind could suddenly blow the cycle and me over the side. Meaningless life before me and possible death beside me. What a choice. I keep riding.
Motorcycle Enlightenment  Charles Sides p12

[Biggles]

Rolling off a boat on a motorcycle into a foreign land is one of the most exciting experiences I know. No matter where it is in the world: freewheeling down the ramp, the metallic clank that marks your arrival, and your first glimpse of a strange land. Everything looks different, sounds different, even smells different - you feel different.
Lois On The Loose  Lois Pryce p1

[Biggles]

It was around this time that I was given a significant piece of advice. Naturally, plenty of opinions start flying around when you decide to do something like this, usually along the lines of "DON"T!" from people who watch a lot of television. But this pearl of wisdom, given to me by a world-traveller friend of mine with thousands of miles under his belt, was:
Make it a mission. Don't just meander here and there. State your goal before you leave, whether it be to motorcycle around the world, or from A to B, or whatever. 
But this sense of purpose, even though it's self-imposed, is very important in keeping you focused.
Now I must admit I scoffed a bit at first as it sounded rather too regimented and organised- all the things I wanted to get away from- but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense.
Lois On The Loose  Lois Pryce p13

[Biggles]

Although it was many years later that I finally got round to acquiring motorcycle licence, the obsession with all things noisy, greasy and rocking had never gone away, and against the advice of experienced and, frankly, sensible motorcycling friends, I cut my biking teeth on a 650cc 1963 BSA. This scheme initially involved more gnashing than cutting of teeth, but after a series of "character-building" breakdowns, accidents, electrical failures, oil leaks, snapped chains and the many miles of obligatory pushing associated with British bike ownership, (wo)man finally triumphed over machine and the suitably shiny black and chrome BSA became a trusty friend, providing me with many happy road miles.
Lois On The Loose  Lois Pryce p14

[Biggles]

Most importantly, I wanted a bike that could go anywhere, that would be a friend, not a foe, in a tricky situation, and whose paintwork I didn't have to worry about scratching. Cheap and cheerful were my watchwords and after much deliberation I decided to fly in the face of perceived wisdom and opted for a 225cc trail bike: the Yamaha XT225 Serow. It was small, light, economical and named after a stocky little mountain deer. What more could I ask for? What I wasn't prepared for were the howls of derision and hoots of laughter from those who considered themselves in the know.
"You're going to do it on a 225 dirt bike?" they would exclaim. "I pity your arse!"
"Sixteen thousand miles? At fifty miles an hour!" spluttered another.
"Fifty-five," I corrected him.
Lois On The Loose  Lois Pryce p15-6

[Biggles]

But for some reason that I still can't fathom, the need to keep moving was stronger than the need to keep warm. The truckers howled with laughter as I donned my extreme-weather clothing. I'd picked up a new piece of kit in a gas station, the Emergency Poncho, ninety-nine cents for a see-through yellow plastic cape that I'd been saving for a day like this. Surely, this was just the kind of emergency it was intended for. To complement my new look I had also taken to wearing a pair of rubber washing-up gloves over leather ones. Like a low-rent Caped Crusader, I trundled off into the snow, a mass of billowing yellow plastic flapping noisily behind me. Ten miles down the road my super hero outfit hung in tatters around my shoulders; this was clearly more than a ninety-nine-cent emergency.
Lois On The Loose  Lois Pryce p44