I can smell it. I can smell the mold release cooking off the engine of my new Triumph Tiger 800XC. For me this is the way birth smells. Vibrations tickling the bottom of my Sidi boots. Cold wind stinging my exposed neck. Leather covered hands twisting the throttle while two fingers rest lightly on the brake lever, ready for the next second. There is a connection between some animal part of my brain and the power pulsing at the back wheel. The top millimeter of my spine hears the language spoken by the asphalt under my Bridgestones. When I move my ass off the seat, lower my center of gravity and tip into a corner with the throttle pushing weight onto the back wheel, I am the turn, the bike, the universe.

I want to sit on the top of a mountain, alone, wind lightly blowing on my face, wing laid out and ready. I want to strap into my harness, feel the aluminum that hooks me to my wing, eyes taking stock of the tangles of thread. The way the wing listens to me when I give my A-risers a little attention makes me feel like a god. More pressure, a little upward tug and I marvel again at the magic of my wing lifting overhead. I want to feel my leg straps pull on my crotch as my knees bend to absorb the force of the wind trying to lift me. I want to dance right here forever. I don’t even care about the flight, I love the gravel slipping under my feet, my hips answering the wind, fighting to keep my wing level. I want that sick feeling that comes when you decide it’s time to go, that feeling that wells up in your tummy. Some call it butterflies, my friend calls it batts, I call it commitment. I turn, slight pressure on the brakes, push my shoulders forward like a lance and charge at the wind. I win. I’m flying.

I want to look up at the rock, touch it, run my fingers over the little nubbins of friction, taking stock, trying to understand what this hundred feet of mystery has in store for me. It’s cold, the same cold as when dinosaurs brushed against it. The dance of light between shadow and sun, algae and quartz make me forget climbing is the goal, because in that moment, just breathing it’s shadows is enough. I know I’m safe. The rope weight under me and the small groves that swallow my gear give me the peace to stand on the next dime edge, slot two fingers in the next hold and move up, and up, moving like chess on a vertical board.

Then comes the conflict. My magic, peace, and love of living is offset by hunger, struggles, and hopelessness of those I meet along the way. So many faces. How!? How can I ride, fly, climb in such bliss while so many are living on the streets in my own country. People are starving only a few thousand miles south of your home. Kids are working the streets instead of learning to read. How can I truly get lost in those magic moments when suffering is all around? How can any of us?

By doing what we can, that’s how. We are two. We’re just two guys who are really good at living magic moments, but who can’t pretend life is all bliss when faced with the hardships we’ve seen. Ours is a small effort, but ours is a daily effort and we aren’t alone. Passion and purpose. The world, both your inner world and the world around us, changes when we commit ourselves to lives of passion and purpose. This is a team effort. By doing what we can, together, the world begins to look a lot brighter, and those magic moments more magical.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 3rd, 2011 at 7:45 pm and is filed under Climb, Fly, Ride, Vision. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.