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“The more you look, the more you see.” Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

I am not sure why I want to make a big deal over Flamings Lips flipping 50,000 miles to either you or me. You know, I wouldn’t say it is a small number, unless you’re thinking about something like grains of sand. I’ve watched the number draw closer with each ride. It just didn’t seem right to let it quietly go by. I am increasingly appreciative of longevity.

I can’t exactly say what the connection is between riding and writing, but I can say with complete conviction, there are times on the bike, for which there are no words and you don’t even bother looking for them. I wish I could remember how the idea of melding mind and motorcycle became my moniker. I know it is extremely trite to indicate that the bike is like a muse, having been done to death by too many, two-wheel poets everywhere. 

I’ve owned bikes at two other times in my life and they were memorable, that’s for sure. When I was living in NYC, in the late 60’s, in the East Village, I briefly owned a 250cc Honda. It was an interesting time in that part of the City. It was still kind of rough, with the Hells Angel house right up 4th Street. Of course, it was a time in this country and many other places, when young people began flexing their social and political muscles.

I rode that little pony over bridges and through tunnels, squeezing on and off urban highways. I had no idea how dangerous all that was, doing it on a little bike. I remember getting a black, cracked- leather bomber jacket to go with my meandering mindset, searching for an identity, as if externals matter all that much. My Steve McQueen moment. It was quite a time back then.

Twenty years later, living in northern NM, I got an old 550cc Honda, with a big,  fat fairing, which I didn’t like at all. It was like riding with a couch in front of you. There I was, living in a land created for breath taking rides and I was never truly comfortable on any of them, truth be told.

Today, all these years later, I can close my eyes and imagine myself torpedoing through a landscape only the Gods could create, but I am here now and not complaining for one minute. My time around Santa Fe was one of transition, distancing myself from who I was supposed to be, to the person I wanted to be. For those of you younger than me, which is likely most of you, you will be continually amazed at your emotional and intellectual evolution.You ain’t seen nothing yet!

When I got here in 2003, I had a short “to-do” list, with only three items. I got a very special, Tibetan Endless Knot tattooed on my right shoulder. I swear, I can’t tell you why the tattoo idea became important. In a way, I felt like a bit of a pirate, sailing away from the world to be right here, very much on my own.  The image was important to me, with a great personal history, a detour we’re not going to take right now.

A kayak slipped on to the short list, because being out in the Pacific Ocean had a very adventurous feel to it, complementing my deep seated buccaneer issues. While I haven’t been out in a while, whale encounters were my sole motivation, because schlepping the thing around was a pain in the ass.  I had my share of “up close and personal” moments with Mobius Dick.  I always went out alone, my ocean going motorcycle fix.

I launched my trans-Pacific odyssey, after having spent the previous 15 years around Santa Fe, living a life. I knew for certain  this island meant for me to have a bike, number three on my short list.

It is a very personal kind of thing. So often, it can feel like a machine with a heart. There she is, asleep, leaning on her stand. You get on, straighten her up and bring her to life. These days, I will definitely talk to Flaming Lips, especially when I first start out on a ride for the day. Before moving anywhere at anytime, my music has to kick my Kickers into action or it’s a no go. Putting these two passions together was revelatory, changing my ride forever.

There are just some days here that seem like a perfect tryst between God and Nature. You ride a motorcycle into the midst of this dreamy masterpiece and for an instant, heaven embraces you and you become what you see. The motorcycle is a joystick catapulting you through this perfection.

The mileage on the odometer has its own mechanical story to tell. I know Flaming Lips is a machine, an orchestrated configuration of seemingly disparate parts. We take so much for granted. Over the course of 50,000 miles, how many times have I started the bike, not ever giving a thought to malfunction? We have become partners on the road.

Mileage and chronology are harmonious, one impossible without the other. I guess that’s why I care about this metered measure of distance and why it resonates so strongly with me. 

I appreciate the accomplishment, celebrating for both of us. 

“The longer you look, the more you see.” Lawrence A. Feinstein, Halloween in Portland-Diary of a Mind