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Do you ever feel your day catapults away from you? You have to pay that bill, upgrade your phone, take your pet to the vet. You haven’t started any of your Real work, the work that keeps your mortgage company happy, or your toes manied. You’re even too busy to tweet, let alone ride. Ride? How do I get there from here?
Perhaps by borrowing the approach of author Stephen King, who advises writers to write in the same place every day, “So the muse can find you?”
Translation? Create a routine, a ritual, something you can count on— without any thinking— to meet up with the moto muse for a ride. It’s just three steps. Here we go.
 Keep your gear near. Think of this move as the opposite of a diet. On a diet, you put everything out of sight, right? Counters clear, snacks gone, the ‘frig full of metal shelving …we’ve all been there.
Instead, the next time you head for your home office, grab your gear from the closet or garage. Adorn a chair with it: jacket on back, helmet and gloves on the seat, or hang it near your desk so its there when you look up.
No pressure, just part of the décor. You will be amazed how this one move secures your commitment. Just as we use two, four and twelve second lead times to perceive road hazards, use helmet, gloves and jacket to lure the moto muse. Our gear near signals the muse we are ready to ride.
Roar to the store. For gas, for a kick-ass lip gloss (never leave home without one!), to pick up a cheese sandwich at lunch. When I first started riding, I spoke with rider and racer Sarah Schilke at the Women’s  International Motorcycle Conference in Keystone, Colorado, who advised, “as a new rider, go for short distances, start with errands.”
Why not apply this approach when pressed for time? A small errand heralds a destination. Then, with a few rotations under your tires, confidence extends its hand, tugs you to turn left instead of right back home. Head for an intersection to practice your four-way traffic safety: check for cars behind, check for oncoming traffic, head-check left, head-check right. Don’t forget to flash your brake light if you see wheels approaching from the rear.
A store run puts a short ride in place—something you can count on, like lunch tomorrow.
Make a cell sandwich. What’s the best ritual for a stress-free solo ride? Make yourself a cell sandwich.
Cell sandwich? It’s cousin to a pre-ride inspection. It puts your mind at ease. It puts your ride on someone’s radar. With this ritual, you boost safety — with the benefit of staying in touch.
Couldn’t be easier: just think TRT. Text. Ride. Text. Text a friend when you throw a leg over the seat. Ride. Text when you slip the ignition off.
I reach for a cell sandwich when I raise the stakes. Like the day I planned to ride over the tempestuous Benicia Bridge in the San Francisco Bay area.
It began with a text message, a cell sandwich slice of bread. The message to my husband read, “hon, heading for the BB.” Biting into a cell sandwich, like taking a bite of brownie, means no turning back. Even if one of your mirrors wobbles loose, then laughs at any effort to tighten it into place. Ha! That’s exactly what happened en route to the Benicia Bridge.
As I pulled over to adjust the mirror, I noticed three men near a manhole, with a truckload of tools nearby. I ran over to the closest worker, pointed to the swaying mirror, and within a minute was back on the road en route to the bridge. The best part? Watching him exercise that wrench.
 Since the first cell sandwich, I have traveled eleven round trips on that blowy beast, surrounded by motor homes, big rigs, and teen-filled convertibles. The last time I soloed over it, en route to coffee with my playwright friend Kathy, I forgot to make the sandwich. In fact, I didn’t even think about it until dinner when my husband asked, “did you ride today?’
“OMG, forgot the cell sandwich.” (Whoops. Seeing his smile fade, I realized how much he enjoyed the text, so no doubt your friends will too.)
And the mirror trouble? I realized, when storm clouds appear they flush angels out, ready to fly right by your side — as long as they know where to find you. Just like the moto muse.
Photos by: Will Southard |
