When Rubber Meets Road

There’s something mentality creative - unique to and found only while driving.

As with all things, there will be those that find no resonance with what I’m saying. But for me, once rubber is freely rolling on the pavement, my mind rolls with thoughts seldom formed otherwise. The pivotal points of the sequel to my novel, came to me while driving. 

My mind broadens while on these little trips, perhaps allowing more room for the universe to drop potent, new thoughts. There was one scene, in my current novel, that came to me in such a hard-hitting wave while driving, I was forced to pull off to the side of the road. I scribbled down the cryptic notes while the tears poured from my eyes.

I will always give myself this form of solitary therapy. Although I’m out of touch for anyone who may need me (as the music is too loud for me to hear anything), I’m in touch with something that serves as medicine to my mind and spirit. Oddly enough, I often forget how critical this medicine is for my overall health. The need to feel the earth move beneath me is in my blood though; my father needed the same medicine. 

One could easily question the power of genetics; what can and cannot be passed down the family line. I feel more is passed on than mere eye color and height. I’m a third generation harley rider. My brother is a gifted artisan and mechanic. He built and customized my harley. The only guideline I gave him, was that I wanted a bike that embodied my personality. He did just that. And when I sit on my bike, I feel as though I’ve once again been reunited with my long lost twin. When downshifting, coming into a well-banked curve, I feel the deliciousness of gravity pulling my bike closer to the ground. I give in, and lean into the strong embrace until it is no longer offered. There is nothing quite like hearing one’s tail pipes scrape the pavement. It’s a noise that can only be heard because the bike was allowed to sink quite deep into a curve. There is freedom in those moments. There is freedom in trusting the invisible force of nature. There is freedom in letting go of the grips when descending the summit of a large hill; spreading one’s arms like wings. I took advantage of that feeling every time it was offered to me. I miss my bike, I miss its slender frame and how easily it camouflaged its deep throated, powerful roar. I’ll be back on it soon enough though, when the time is right. 

While allowing my body, and the rental car that surrounded me, to dip wildly through the curvy roads in the Hollywood hills, the title to my second novel popped into my mind. Instantly, I knew the title told the story. In many way, the title told my story: Chasing Nirvana. Others find their therapy elsewhere, but for me it is found with a ribbon of dry, curvy road unfurling beneath my wheels.

Sane