One For The Road

Today, my normal Saturday routine was broken.  I usually leave home around 8 a.m. to pick up my 12 year-old son.  I usually arrive in Baton Rouge around 10, depending on how much coffee I drank before leaving home.  Sometimes Jake and I head straight back, other times we make planned stops along the way, every now and again we follow the wind and find ourselves on unanticipated adventures, roads not usually taken, and creating memories we could never have planned.

Today, he participated on his school's Quiz Bowl Team.  I arranged to pick him up after the competition.  Thus, I found myself with some free Saturday time, a rare commodity.  I suppose I could have done more repair work on our home which has yet to be completed since being damaged during Hurricane Katrina. I guess if I could have completed the project today I may have done just that.  However,  I have been working on it for the last year and a half and today would not have been the last.   I reasoned a few hours lost today would go unnoticed in the big scheme of things.  Besides, I had an opportunity I could not pass up.

I have owned three motorcycles and  if circumstances were different I would now have my fourth.   The next best thing is having a compassionate older brother who is also a rider and happens to own a beautiful navy blue and silver Suzuki Valousia.  The newer model of the same bike is called a "Boulevard."

Over a year ago, my brother received a very serious leg injury in an automobile accident.  Since that time he has not been able to work or drive.  Only in the last few months has begun walking with a cane.  Needless to say, he has not been riding the 850cc cruiser.  What he has been doing, with the help of  dedicated friends is preparing it for the day he can ride it once again.  He has added a small wind shield and lower wind reflectors, leather saddle bags, a tool bag, a hew seat with comfortable back rests for both the driver and passenger, highway bars, and full foot rests.  Since my last outing on the bike he has added a set of great sounding exhaust pipes, and additional front and rear lights to increase the bikes visibility.

Being the great younger brother that I am, I called him early in the week to offer to help keep the battery on the beautiful machine fully charged.  He played along with my game and this morning he even let me borrow his prized leather jacket and gauntlet gloves to set out beneath South Louisiana blue-bird skies with a perfect riding temperature of 55 degrees.

With a twist of my wrist, my world changed for a while.  Like taking a mechanical drug, my mood was instantly altered as I cruised down the narrow blacktop away from his home.  Right on Brown Road and a left on Juban. Soon, I was easily gliding down open road that snaked between stands of tall pines that lined each side.

A short few miles later I down shifted approaching the stop sign at Pete's Highway.  On my left was an ancient feed and seed store with various makes and models of pick-up trucks parked in its graveled parking area.  On my right was a very large pasture surrounded by white board fence.  Horses grazed on rye grass.  The large brick house beyond was once the home of Louisiana's ambassador/cook/comedian, the late Justin Wilson.

Accelerating, I rode eastward on Pete's, passing, in the distance, my first home as a "married man."  For some reason I opened the throttle to cruise a bit faster.  I caught the light green in front of "Three-Way Grocery" and veered onto Vincent Road.  A long straight away and a few "S" curves and Vincent terminated at 4H Club Rd.  When I was a kid, long before I ever heard of anything called a "water park" some forward thinking entrepreneur built a three-lane water slide that remained crowded for the six hot months of the Louisiana year.  Today, the only clue that anything existed there was the mound of dirt that served as the base for the slides.

By the time I was blinking in and out of the sun that shone through the gaps of the overhanging oaks along 4H, it occurred to me that I was back in the groove; clutch, shift, accelerate without conscious thought.  The new pipes sounded super, especially on the down-shift.  The mechanical drug heightened my sense without thought.  Long ago, at the beginning of my addiction to these machines, I trained myself into alertness, never assuming that any other vehicle on the road knew I existed.  Left onto Florida Blvd and across the Amite River into Baton Rouge, I was back into constant awareness of the road ahead and on my sides. 

Right on Old Hammond Highway, again in the dappled light and shadow I cruised passed miles and miles of memories.  I moved into more and more concrete, more buildings, more cars.  Some things had changed, some were changing, and some needed to be changed.  I turned right onto Sharp Road, wondering for a moment if I would stop if anyone were standing outside Fire Station Thirteen.  I never really decided.  When I passed, the engine bay doors were closed tight, I cruised on by.  I road slowly through a labyrinth of residential streets chasing old names, old faces, woulda, shoulda, coulda........

I rode my time quickly away.  As I headed out of Baton Rouge and back across the river I cruised the main highway through Denham Springs.  I began to notice a few cars parked alongside the highway with people gathered around.  A bit further into town, the numbers increased, lawn chairs, children chasing children.  For just a split second I let myself fantasize they were there to watch the guy on the navy blue and silver cruiser who had learned the new "motorcycle wave."  But anyone who has ever been through a small town in South Louisiana on a Saturday during carnival season would recignize the strategic dance of staking ground for the Mardi Gras Carnival Parade.

It was a super ride on a beautiful day...but it wasn't my favorite.  Though I had gotten a much need two-wheeled fix and respite, one thought rode with me the whole way.  I wish my brother was back in cruising form.