Our motorcycle weekend, in 6 words: Open road, so many corn fields.
And if you're still here, there’s the full version:
We almost didn’t go, when my in-laws couldn’t make it our way after all. At the last minute M arranged for LP to spend the weekend at his (single) sister’s and it turned out to be a great idea. He seemed to be invigorated by the change of scenery and it felt as much of a little break to him than it did to us. He was all smiles and excited when telling us all about his weekend.
So in the end, a little later than we thought, we left on Saturday morning, and headed straight to the nearest border station, a 25-minute ride on the slab (how highways are very negatively referred to in the motorcycle world. In short, the slab is something you must try to avoid at all costs). Unexpectedly, there was a 2-hour wait, so we quickly turned around to our backup, smaller station, which was just as full, as was our third and last back-up one.
We had laid out a nice itinerary in
The orchard was packed full of people, making us fully realize why they wouldn’t have accepted to hold our wedding later in the season… It felt great and emotional to be back there, like it still held some of our good vibes, but maybe I was the only one feeling that.
The blossoms of your wedding day have turned into fruit… I know this is corny but I still think it's a great metaphor for a marriage…
We then finally crossed into
M’s favorite part of the trip was getting to ride again on his favorite road ever to do on a bike: the scenic 108 pass between Stowe and Smuggler’s Notch, which is beautiful and narrow and full of curves and excitement (and closed in the winter).
We headed back to
Riding on beautiful roads, at a somewhat slower pace outside of our usual daily commute, totally reconnected me with how much I love being on the bike. It’s a bit of a cliché but it’s tough to explain it otherwise, after you’ve gone for a while and let go of your apprehensions and let your mind wander a bit, the feeling is incomparable. When the sun is out, when the wind blows just slightly in your face, when the light hits the horizon with a certain intensity, when you suddenly breathe in the bright, fresh, sweet smell of wildflowers, when the music is good (among other things, we listened to Alain Bashung (RIP), Dallas Green, +44, Coldplay and The Killers’ Springsteen infused newest), it’s pure bliss. Kerouac is never far.
And for the requisitory tidbit of LP while we were gone: during a walk with the stroller, he ordered his aunt to stop in a very urgent manner, which made her jump to his side and ask: “Gosh, what’s wrong?” Nothing. He had just become mesmerized by a parked car and wanted to look it over. A bright yellow Porsche, of all things.
P.S. Did you know that bikers have a secret handshake? When you cross another motorcycle on the road, you must do a little left-hand wave, and hold it for as long as there are bikes in front of you (that can be long when you see a big group of people traveling together). There are also additional rules, like technically people on Japanese racers do not wave to people on Harleys, who fall on the opposite end of the spectrum, and so on. But since M’s bike is a bit of an in-between oddity (a BMW), he told me he just decided to wave to everyone. So, for good measure, and to make fun of him a little, I made sure to wave at every cow that we saw.