Riding, Part Three
The sky is the grey that mothers wear to weddings. The wind is sharp. It hits and keeps on hitting until the engine stops. The sound is at first a slapping. Then as we head out of town and pick up speed to mount the hills and go down, it sounds less like a hand on bare flesh than a heavyweight boxer's glove.
Soon, the sound of the wind is greater than the engine. Yet, it is soothing as breath can be. I am reminded of an uncle when I was a child. He let me once doze on his chest. I say doze but I only pretended. I was riding the waves of his breath. Up and down. I am back there now.
The wind does not depend only on the speed that you ride. What is on either side of the road makes a difference. Hedgerows and houses soften the blows on your helmet. There, the sound resembles that of sheets flapping in a good breeze on a drying line or the sails on dinghies moored at yacht clubs. Ride beyond the small town or row of village cottages with the last pub for miles and on a two lane road with nothing but field either side the wind turns from flapping to the lightest patter of a tablecloth softened by years of wear as you flick crumbs off the back porch in summer.
Then, it changes. The sound becomes the pounding of a punching bag, the little one up high in a gym. As your speed increases, the guy with the gloves goes at it as if that prize title were one fight away. It is. On the highway, he is waiting. Between his knuckles and your brain, there is just your helmet.
Somehow, it holds. Yet, the vibrations continue long after he is done. So, does the warmth that it gives to your ears, not the furry warmth from drinking vodka, nice, though, all the same.
When you come to a stop, the stillness makes for shallow breathing. There is less air than it seems before. You are still pumped with the ride. Road air, smells of woods, oil and leather scents fill your lungs, more types and flavors of air than you can begin to name or classify.
Indoors, you sit and put up your feet, until the next time you pull on your boots and helmet. The same as closing a good book makes you want to rest, Thanksgiving-like, you feel sated. Still, you will go on to other books like meals and rides in time. There is no disloyalty in that.
