When riding a motorcycle, (or I should say being the passenger on a motorcycle,) there is one main thing to take into consideration, (other than wearing a helmet, gloves, boots, etc…)
The main thing is as a passenger you must:
Trust the one riding the bike, and if you don't trust the rider…. get off the bike.
If the bike leans, as it will, you must let your body lean naturally, go with the flow of the movement, or the one riding the bike will have to fight against your weight causing the bike to be off balanced.
(and let me tell you leaning into a turn is not as easy as it looks! Imagine leaning into hairpin turns, where the road is flashing an eyelash underneath you, where trucks rush by with enough force to send you and the rest of Europe on a Hawaiian vacation… and you quickly understand why someone mentioned to wear knee pads and steel toe boots.)
The answer: Let go and trust. If you do yoga imagine the root of the lotus position is where you want to center your energy… allowing your movements to come from that point. Or think of yourself as a dancer, letting your movements come from the center on out. Or become one with the rider by mimicking the rider's movements, or hold on tight and close your eyes. Whatever you do, trusting the rider is the main thing.
Photo: Croatia, one of the many passage ways that made me want to abandon everything and go explore the new horizon.
When riding on a bike your thoughts are cracked open, they run long with the road, get caught up with the scenery- blend, mix and match with pieces of yesterday, recall passages of time not taken in years and bring peace of mind.
At one point I started to cry uncontrollably, and with a helmet on it was a wet mess of snot and tears that could not be whipped up with leather gloves. It did not matter the experience baptized me: Freedom to be a mess and no one around to notice.
You see I thought of my father as I often do, and when I think of him he is often in his hospital bed. Then I think and rethink and wonder if I did everything I could have done to maybe have saved him from that pain and eventual death.
But the other day on the bike my thoughts lead to something powerful. I was thinking of him, he was in the hospital bed and my thoughts carried me to the last moment when my family was around his bedside as we let him go… but at this point in my thoughts I saw my father sit up, he smiled, grabbed my hand and we walked out of the hospital. One outside I saw him sit on the motorcycle, touch my knee with his left hand, like a biker does when they love the person they are riding with, and said, "Let's go!" At that point I started to cry uncontrollably because Yann reached down and touched my knee at the same point as it was happening in my thoughts.
I felt my father next to me and I knew that he was free and he wasn't in pain and that he was smiling at me and wow, that felt soooooooooooooooo good.
Riding around Europe on a motorcycle has been healing. I do not want to stop.
Some of our stuff in the backpack case that magnetically attaches to the gas tank (Isn't that cool!) Inside of it we had two locks: One for the bike, and one for our helmets. We also had the interiors to our jackets when we weren't wearing them, my camera, a water thermos, a GPS, maps, a pen, a notepad, headache medicine and some granola bars. All in that little bag!
Then there was a time that this was the carry on.
I wish I could have attached it to Willow and take it home! I was tempted to ask the farmer if he wanted to part with it. French Husband did not give me the chance… that is what happens when one is the passenger on a motorbike: You can't always get what you want!
Our important papers: Money, Visa, Passports and insurance documents French Husband carried in a little pouch (see above.)
Oh I forgot we carried motorbike oil and kleenex as well in the magnetic back pack.
Rovinj, Croatia. I am not going to tell you how much I loved Croatia. I am not going to tell you how this is the place to come and see. I am not going to tell you that if you have only one place to visit and you want to experience the Mediterranean lifestyle that you must visit Croatia. No, I am not going to say anything good about Rovinj, simply because good doesn't cut it. Marvelous is too boring of a word.
I'll just keep Croatia to myself, thank you.
Whenever you stop on a motorcycle the first thing you want to do is take off your helmet and stuff your gloves inside. The top case often became a coat rack for our jackets.
In the photo above you see where the helmet is? That has been my seat for the last 21 days. Though I think my "seat" is bigger than the helmet.
My new found friends had a scale, I knew I should not have weighed myself… but tell me why did French Husband who drank beer at each meal lose weight? I know life is unfair, but gee, really how could he lose weight and not me? I have been hanging on tightly for days, doesn't that count off some calories??
On pit stops for gas, we often didn't bother to take off our jackets. At one stop there was a group of "twenty-somethings" chic, well dressed, young, and riding Harleys to St. Tropez. They had a Audi following them packed with their supplies. The three young girls bounced out of the car looking ultra cool, sexy in their motorcycle minis and boots. The young men boasted how the four hour ride was exhilarating.
I stood next to them in my soiled jeans, mullet hairdo, smelly stretched out tee shirt, sweaty un-made-up face and grabbed the most delicious man around and kissed him hard. French Husband kissed me back.
We have had gallons of ice cream bars. I now know Koka means coconut. I do not mind the extra saddle bags it is giving me…honestly I do not mind, these ice creams bars are the best. French Husband can have his beer, I'll eat these instead.
Fancy attachments can be bought to attach your helmets to your bike. Or you can use a cord lock like this. Our helmets are the basic, solid models, no fancy gadgets, no earphones, nor music, or air conditioners, or maid service offered with them. Though I want to add a brightly colored flower or stripe to mine. I noticed we matched the grey black pavement and that kind of bothers me. I want the other drivers to notice us, and not think we are part of the road decor.
Motorcycle Mama stripped of most of her motorcycle gear looking literally as hot as hell.
I walked along the sea coast town wishing I could strip my boots and jeans! French Husband said, "You look like a motorcycle chic!" I took that to be the best ever compliment to date.
Clouds never bother me when I am in a car. Though on a motorcycle I imagined myself like Moses, and the clouds were my Red Sea. I like to think Moses and I had something in common, be able to split things is a good trick to have up one's sleeve….
Lucky for us splitting worked most of the time.
Taking photos on the back of a bike is not an easy task. Stopping is not either, because I wanted to STOP all the time, and well you know how far you can go if you aren't moving along….
Collecting memories on the back of a bike is like breathing, and often you gasp because you think you must be dreaming.
A view from inside Olja's home looking out at the banners.
Tomorrow I will tell you about the thundershower, Olja and Milan (her husband) and spending the night in their lovely home.
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