the beginning of the beginning
The cogs and wheels of more motorcycle diaries are being lubricated. The thick glob of procrastination had gone on long enough...and we'll see how long before the next lubrication.
and there's no better way to start it by putting in an inspirational diary piece by one of my favorite motorcycle traveller, Glen aka striking viking.
Beginning of The Beginning?
May 11, 2007
Mazatlan, Sinaloa
When embarking upon this impromptu, multi-nation detour, there was never a specific goal or particular destination in mind, just scratching the itch to watch an odometer spin while lost in the bliss of covering ground. And for two and a half weeks I resisted the urge to panic about what was going to happen if an important agenda was temporarily suspended. As the fantasy winds down, yesterday, I considered the remaining options; extending a final, long day-ride home into two, or a high-speed-run to arrive in Mazatlan just after dark. Up until that moment, I’d been good about not worrying over stuff to do when returning.
But the notion for a bonsai-blast down the Autopista prevailed and when stumbling back in through my front door, I instantly confirmed lurking suspicions—I already missed the road. Grinning in the realization that in spite of my careless irresponsibility, the world did not end and little had changed since departing Mazatlan. But along with visiting seven states of Mexico, I managed to spend a few nights in two Central American countries while making dozens of friends in towns I can’t recall the names of. A five hundred mile work journey stretched into nearly four thousand and while submerged in deep introspection, I somehow finished resolving just about every issue that’s ever annoyed me since birth.
Yet this tale of escaping the mundane is not limited to the means of a man on his machine, animal rides can be equally effective. There are equal versions for cowboys and Camel-boys. When visiting Middle Eastern Bedouin tribes, young Arabs described their methods for relief. “When I angry or hurt, I ride camel into desert. When I come back weeks later, everything is good.” Sometimes we just have to disrupt life’s blueprint to restore its balance.
Yet why is it that when we return to familiar surroundings, a thousand petty issues arise that we otherwise would never have cared about? Life on the road is far simpler as we eventually slow to a casual pace and digest parallel realities. And for blending in with how the other half lives, with its fabulous food and captivating music, Mexico is the ultimate environment for positive thought. More concerned with enjoying life than rushing to outpace it, Mexicans are culturally programmed not to hurry. When hiring local workers, it makes no difference if you promise to double their salary or hold a gun to their head, they will arrive on the job just as soon as they feel like it. And no matter the frustration of impatient foreigners, Mexicans will choose savoring life before being consumed by it.
If not living in Mexico and adjusting to the mentality, it’s unlikely that I ever would have ever taken this plunge that so many motorcyclists dream of—on the way to or from work, unexpectedly canceling the future to just keep riding. While noting the date at the top of this page, I realized that I should have posted this journal last week but I was too busy living in the moment. Maybe Mexico is not as much a country as it is a state of mind.
All the best,Glen
and there's no better way to start it by putting in an inspirational diary piece by one of my favorite motorcycle traveller, Glen aka striking viking.
Beginning of The Beginning?
May 11, 2007
Mazatlan, Sinaloa
When embarking upon this impromptu, multi-nation detour, there was never a specific goal or particular destination in mind, just scratching the itch to watch an odometer spin while lost in the bliss of covering ground. And for two and a half weeks I resisted the urge to panic about what was going to happen if an important agenda was temporarily suspended. As the fantasy winds down, yesterday, I considered the remaining options; extending a final, long day-ride home into two, or a high-speed-run to arrive in Mazatlan just after dark. Up until that moment, I’d been good about not worrying over stuff to do when returning.
But the notion for a bonsai-blast down the Autopista prevailed and when stumbling back in through my front door, I instantly confirmed lurking suspicions—I already missed the road. Grinning in the realization that in spite of my careless irresponsibility, the world did not end and little had changed since departing Mazatlan. But along with visiting seven states of Mexico, I managed to spend a few nights in two Central American countries while making dozens of friends in towns I can’t recall the names of. A five hundred mile work journey stretched into nearly four thousand and while submerged in deep introspection, I somehow finished resolving just about every issue that’s ever annoyed me since birth.
Yet this tale of escaping the mundane is not limited to the means of a man on his machine, animal rides can be equally effective. There are equal versions for cowboys and Camel-boys. When visiting Middle Eastern Bedouin tribes, young Arabs described their methods for relief. “When I angry or hurt, I ride camel into desert. When I come back weeks later, everything is good.” Sometimes we just have to disrupt life’s blueprint to restore its balance.
Yet why is it that when we return to familiar surroundings, a thousand petty issues arise that we otherwise would never have cared about? Life on the road is far simpler as we eventually slow to a casual pace and digest parallel realities. And for blending in with how the other half lives, with its fabulous food and captivating music, Mexico is the ultimate environment for positive thought. More concerned with enjoying life than rushing to outpace it, Mexicans are culturally programmed not to hurry. When hiring local workers, it makes no difference if you promise to double their salary or hold a gun to their head, they will arrive on the job just as soon as they feel like it. And no matter the frustration of impatient foreigners, Mexicans will choose savoring life before being consumed by it.
If not living in Mexico and adjusting to the mentality, it’s unlikely that I ever would have ever taken this plunge that so many motorcyclists dream of—on the way to or from work, unexpectedly canceling the future to just keep riding. While noting the date at the top of this page, I realized that I should have posted this journal last week but I was too busy living in the moment. Maybe Mexico is not as much a country as it is a state of mind.
All the best,Glen
bitched Vanwacoireion the Elven Adventurer at 4:12 PM
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