The Joys of Dissipation

The healing power of a solo motorcycle ride


This joke was making the Internet rounds a few years ago: A wife comes into the hospital to visit her husband, Mort, who has just had surgery. They exchange a meaningful glance and silently join hands. Painfully, Mort lowers his oxygen mask and says, in a barely audible whisper, “You know, Mary, you were there when I lost my business. You were there when I had that terrible accident. You were there when our house burned down. And you’re here now that I’m so sick.” Mary’s eyes well with tears, but Mort suddenly drops her hand and frowns.

“You know something, Mary—I think you’re bad luck!”

Which is a funny way to lead into something not so funny. I lost my mother a week ago. When I learned of it, I did as I have in the past when something has gone terribly wrong in my life. I grabbed my riding gear and rolled my bike down the driveway. Pulling on my helmet seemed to crush all the worries and sadness into my skull. Then I started the engine.


I rode out to my favorite road, a twisting snake of a California canyon that starts at about 1,000 feet and soars to more than 5,000 feet. Its 40 miles are laced with broken pavement, curves and challenges. Soon I had the bike rolling hard, leaning way over to the left. I felt the cornering loads building on my shoulders, tires biting asphalt, then a quick flick whipped the bike into a right turn where it settled on its suspension and the tires fought for traction.

From 25 years of riding this road, I knew that dirt would be around the next corner, that moisture could be in this hollow on a spring morning, that one could pass in this brief chute but not in the next one. Up ahead I could whack the throttle and let the engine breathe. It was familiar territory, ridden hundreds of times with good friends, to wonderful experiences. And today I needed this purposeful act and focus and coordination more than ever.

Miles later, I pulled off at an overlook to find that much of my tension had been dissipated by focus and concentration and wind, and replaced by a quiet reverie. I contemplated how my grandfather had emigrated from the Ukraine in 1909 to work on the Trans-Canada railroad, how my mother had moved to Chicago and met my father, how they had moved to Michigan, and how 30 years later I had moved to California. Our family had been in motion for 95 years, and I was grateful for where it had brought me.

And I was grateful for motorcycling. Riding changes the focus momentarily so that we can break the tension and think more clearly. Riding allows the cares and sorrows crammed into a helmet to dissipate in the wind. Riding a motorcycle may not solve our problems, but it does change our perspective, clearing our heads so we can solve problems ourselves.

Like Mary in the joke, motorcycling has always been there for me, and it has not been bad luck. Instead, motorcycling has been the focus of many of my good times and has made the bad times better. There is still a lot of living to do.

I love you, Mom. Thanks for the ride that made it all possible.