There was power in the twist of my wrist. My stance was rigid, becoming part of the machine beneath me.
I rode with clarity, sharpened by contention, following the apexes of curves at 65mph up in the Angeles Crest. I kept telling myself to slow down, that it is Sunday, and cops are usually hiding around the corners. But there were cumulus storm clouds overhead, darkening with the hour, and the streets were clear. I was thankful to have the road to myself. I leaned my TDM over to the right, then the left, then back; the path twisted on with the tingle of proximity in my toes. I had to keep adjusting the position of my boots as the pegs scraped the curves of the asphalt reminding me of my speed.
I do not say for bragging rights, that in each corner I pushed it to 20mph over the posted black and white signs. I say it because I remember the first time I rode up the Crest on my KLR, barely three years prior, when I was hardly comfortable going the speed limit. With practice I had come a long way. With practice I can change things.
Even though the streets were clear, my head was not. I composed a letter that was long overdue.Dear Self: I am sorry for hiding my vulnerability. I am sorry for not listening to and respecting my heart. I forgive you. Love, Alison
I thought it was going to be a longer letter than that, but that was all that needed to be said. I should rephrase that, I wish it could be said. I write because when I speak I have blockage in my throat and things don’t come out the way I intend. Yet when I hold a pen, it is a direct line from my heart.
With practice I can change that vulnerability doesn’t come easy. Like the sloppy lines I once took on the road ahead of me, with practice, authenticity can become common.