Mornings....
by Tony Peters on September 8, 2006
It's cool today. As I pull on my jacket, the leather creaks as the zipper closes. The engine, a bit reluctant to turn over in the brisk morning air, settles into a rumble as I finish donning my gear. Helmet, sunglasses, gloves all go on as I prepare for the ride to work. There is something different about riding a motorcycle to work that is so much more spiritual that driving a car...maybe its the cold September air or maybe its just that one isn't surrounded by a cage. I swing my leg over the seat and shift into first, my dog barks as she watches me idle down the driveway. I turn onto the street and roll on the throttle a bit to accelerate away but not so much that I wake the neighbors with my exhaust. Turning again on Rt1, I pass by the city park and across the river and into Connecticut. No traffic yet which is good...engine RPMs climbing as I gain speed, I veer onto Rt234 for the highlight of my commute. Down through the wooded neighborhood and out into the pastures of east Conn. farming. What you would expect to see...fields bordered by stone walls, made from rocks removed from those same fields a century or two ago. A low fog covers the fields turning the green to a grey and adding a bite to the winds. I cross this rural stretch before riding into a residential area studded with wine grapes growing in neat rows next to the road. The CT wine trail...colonial houses with an acre or two of grapes growing in the back yard. They are classic views of what a tourist should expect to see but since it's not a destination, rarely does. Regardless, it makes for an uplifting sight as I roll past. The road approaches the interstate and I turn away. Wide asphalt and fast moving trucks are not what I want to see. Back onto my favorite Rt234, Pequot trail, I roll through turn after turn consciously keeping my speed down as I count the seconds between each turn. I know each bump my wheels roll over, each tree that lines the road, having ridden this stretch 200 times or more...it's by memory that this winding piece of road goes past. Alone through it all, I rejoice in the beauty that is New England until the last steep decent into Old Mystic...I glance to the outside of the last corner to see the wild turkey family crowded next to the wall, they stay and I rush past.
The world intrudes and cars populate the roads as I cover the 1/4 mile up Rt27 to Rt184. Another classic road, Rt184,is known also as the New London Turnpike. It used to be the main road between New London Ct. and Providence, RI before the coming of Interstate 95. This stretch is still in good repair and used by many who eschew the hustle and bustle of the hi-way, for the gentle rolling hills and turns of a back road. I pull out and roll hard on the throttle to get up to match speed of the approaching traffic. As so often happens traffic is moving in unison at the speed the terrain dictates and 10-15 miles per hour over the limit...like me, all who are taking this route know the road intimately and know that there is little chance of police presence. More miles roll away under my wheels, I wave to familiar faces on motorcycles passing the other way. I see these same people every day yet other than their bike and the eyes behind the face screen, I don't know them. Yet seeing them each day tells me both where I am according to time and that others are also enjoying the road. Time...it has no real meaning other than how fast or slow I am moving. The trip can take as little as 20 minutes as much as 45 though rarely over 30. I don't care how long it takes, just that the trip is pleasant and it always seems to be. Stop lights pass, cars turn off, new cars and bikes turn on as I approach my destination...traffic starts to bunch so I turn onto Gungywamp Rd...tar snakes litter the road as the tight turns of this little shortcut around urban sprawl winds it's way closer to work...a new neighborhood appears and people preparing for their short journey to work are apparent, two more turns and the base approaches...the ultimate reality intrudes but that's Ok, my morning is already perfect. I roll up to the gate raising my faceguard and the guard says "Welcome to SUBBASE" I mumble a thank you and roll away careful not to be too loud. Its a short ride up the hill past all the kids on their way to class. I'm not so careful about the throttle now and actually take great joy in making noise...one last turn into the parking lot and its over...I'm at work and ready for the day...
One Reply to Mornings....
vagabond-punk
The musings of Tony Peters, a perpetual child, no matter where I am I will find a way to climb something or go skateboarding Read more »
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Jackie Mason | September 9, 2006
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