Quitting time means different things to different people. My Aussie friend Jeanette, for example, has always lovingly referred to quitting time as “beer o’clock”.
Now that I have my Ural Patrol, and now that the weather is getting nicer, I think of quitting time as “ride o’clock.”
Especially today. Sunny. Near 60 degrees outside. Riding weather. A prelude to summer. Time to ride.
So I rode. I ran an errand at the homebrew shop, then headed to the south end of River Road. It’s a straight shot from there to the north end of the city, and then nothing but farm land and open road to the next town. I ran the smoothest I’ve ever run, shifting up and down and changing lanes and feeling like I’d truly, truly gotten the hang of my Ural.
The farther north I rode, the thinner the traffic got. Soon I passed the last stoplight in Eugene, and it was just open farm land and late afternoon sunlight on a perfect, perfect sunny day.
I put the Ural up to around 50, and cruised the way a Ural is meant to cruise. Not too fast, with plenty of looking ahead so I could gauge the road and then look around and take in the scenery. I cut out to a back road – I forget the name of it – and wound up on a great curvy stretch. I shifted weight and swung around curve after beautiful curve. I smiled, and laughed, and was so happy. The only way it would be better, would be to have Jodie and Ella in the sidecar with me. But today, on my own and feeling at one with this mess of Russian steel, I was doing exactly what I needed to do to know how ready I was to go anywhere with the woman I love and the dog we adore.
Today was also my dad’s birthday. So in a way, today’s ride was for the old man. I knew how proud he’d be, that I was finally running my rig down open road, understanding for myself that there is nothing – nothing – like the feel and look of the world when on a motorcycle. I can’t wait until the next time he comes out here to visit, so we can go riding together.
It wasn’t a long ride. All told, I was gone about an hour, hour and a half-ish, including the brew shop errand. But it was my longest ride yet, and the fastest ride yet, and the first time I took the bike out of town. And it felt as natural as breathing, as much of a relief as spring sun after the long winter’s chill. I was riding, and I am a Ural-running, sidecar-swerving, weight-shifting sidecar rig running bad-mother-shut your mouth.
There is nothing better – in public, anyway – then a Ural motorcycle. Speaking of, it’s about time to get back on mine, and head home from the coffee shop where I’m currently unwinding.
It’s good to ride.
And now, I always have ride o’clock to look forward to.
