I shifted down into fifth and pushed the handlebars slightly to the right, leaning into the turn as we exited off I-10 in Winnie, TX. Someone once said that being on an interstate is like being everywhere and nowhere all at once. In Winnie, we left nowhere and found ourselves on a road where we could once again be ourselves.
An hour earlier, my lady and I threw our legs over the hawg, shut the garage, and made our way to the Houston highway system. Far from the romantic open road most bikers think of as somewhere between Arizona and Utah, the stretch from Southwest Freeway to I-10 is crowded and hazy, a congested mixture of anxious people. It got better as we left the city. But nothing compared to that feeling after leaving the interstate, stopping at the gas station where an old timer kept staring at my bike, and then getting on a backroad where the only thing in the world was the synergy formed between Jen, me, and the bike.
These "quiet" times allow for long periods of reflection. (Only bikers, by the way, can understand how the rumble of a 96 cubic inch motor can be "quiet.") Lots of reflection.
Slight bends in the road. The satisfying sight of pelicans soaring along the coastline as waves hit the sand. An open-air pub on the peninsula for lunch. The ferry ride over to Galveston Island. A last-minute emergency purchase of flip-flops at Walgreens for later in the day. Stopping to pay the toll as we made our way down to Freeport. A beach hotel that served for almost 24 hours as a true sabbath rest.
It is on such quiet journeys that the heart recalls its' true loves. For me personally, the open road reminds me of what is most important. Whether the love of my life sitting behind me with whom I have shared the last twenty years, my kids (who are at camp this week, by the way), the people at Bering, and even new friends who also share the love of this life, everything comes together under the auspices of a God who gives us gifts, most of which we are only beginning to see.
As I get older, much of my former knowledge-based confidence about God and church and people is being replaced by mystery and acceptance. I spent far too many years of my life waiting to talk when I should have been listening. Granted, my life has been a series of transitions between learning and teaching. Just the way it is. But because of this truly wonderful last year and a half, it feels like I am entering a season of learning once again, ready to experience a broader world that takes advantage of the gift of abundant life.
Tuesday, as I inhaled the fresh gulf air pounding against my face, I remembered what it means to be alive. Be with people you love. Do things that bring you joy. Move through life with unencumbered eyes ready to learn. And brush your teeth.
Yesterday, as we left the hotel, we spent a couple of hours weaving our way back into the city, surrounded at one point by suburbanites in their Suburbans entering and exiting parking lots on their way from Target to Hobby Lobby to Chili's. But after our couple of days together, hundreds of miles, ocean air, great food, and even better conversation, we returned home, sustained by a new memory of what it really means to be alive.
