When the calendar rolled over to 2015 and the Northeast was frozen in the icy grip of a polar vortex, I didn’t really expect to see any part of Route 66. I mean, sure I’ve always fancifully thought about it but never in a real “I should do this now!” sort of way. But here you have it – my motorcycle boots on Route 66 in Illinois.
Life is mysterious and full of possibility. Gotta take a leap of faith now and then.
Not only did I see the part of the eastern leg of Route 66, but I found myself standing next to the sign at the western terminus on the Santa Monica pier in the springtime. Again, when January showed its face I didn’t expect to be in the warm California sun during the year either.
Being impulsive has its perks.
Route 66 holds mythical sway over my imagination. Now that I’ve traveled a small length of it, I want to know more. The road seems to hold the ghosts and dreams of the people who went before you, the people searching for something, searching for themselves. There are images burned in to our collective consciousness that I need to see with my own eyes. I need to know the Mother Road.
Generally speaking, I spend most of my riding time riding alone. That means when I stop somewhere for a bite to eat because I’m not wrapped-up in talking to anyone, I often find myself eavesdropping on the conversations around me. I’m always curious about people and what makes them tick so for better or worse, it’s a simple pleasure.
On Sunday I sat at a diner counter, having breakfast. There were two couples to my right talking among themselves. I overheard one of the men say “when I get back to reality tomorrow,” referring to going back to the office.
Reality. How did this happen? How is going back to work our reality and the fun stuff outside of it something else?
As a little experiment on Monday, in my journal I wrote a line for each hour I estimated I would be awake for the day. The plan was to write something, anything, I was happy about, that I saw as positive, that made me feel good in each hour line. Nothing necessarily huge, it might be something as simple as I read a great article. Something positive, each hour.
When I came home from work, I realized that there were gaping holes of time in my journal page. Somewhere between “had a great ride in to the office” and “delicious fruit smoothie for lunch” then again between that same fruit smoothie and “beautiful weather on the ride home” followed by “great walk with Chloe and Lilo,” time disappeared. Nothing written. My problem area is when I’m at work. Wouldn’t you say?
My perspective needs to change for the sake of my sanity. I’ll give it another whirl today and see what happens. I need to change my view of reality.
1. 1. the world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them.