letter 4

Go ahead and look at what's on that flash drive already. If you have any trouble playing the video, use the CCCP (google for it, it's a codec pack) and Media Player Classic to play it.
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As I write to you, I sit in a burger joint in the middle of _______, the snow-capped peaks all around me. It's unbelievable to me how little time has passed, that I've gotten so far and so much has changed around me. I bet I've changed, too. Anyway, it's time to set these things down before they melt away...

I like your name, you know that?

_____ _____ _____. Man, it's got sharp edges everywhere. Sweet. You've got some sharp edges too, but you know, I like it. And I've got some pretty thick skin.

I made it up out of ______ ___ and all the way up through ____. Like, five million Jeeps everywhere there. I bet the reason the arches are eroding is because those funky nutballs keep trying to ride over the thinnest ones they can get away with. Just kidding.

Morale was low between here and there, and I just sort of rode through it all, the road slipping past my big, round, rubber feet, the land slipping through my eyes, the air slipping over my back, and the sky through my head. See, I say morale here because you only mention it when it's low, right? You know the saying.

I shouldn't mention it, but it's because I miss you like crazy. In keeping with this turn of events, I have responded to a recent riding difficulty with a new, "slumped" riding position.

See, I'm totally butt-hurt. No, like, really. They don't call it the Iron Butt Award for no reason. I figured out that the reason why it's been getting worse is not because of wear on the moving parts. The problem is, if I hang out at 100+mph, the wind gets serious. The thing is, I have a really strong neck. So, the force has nowhere to go, but all the way down to the first place where contact is complex: my knees and ass. One big torque.

So, I'm taking it easy for a bit. I slump over my tank bag and scoot all the way back to the tail bag. And kinda peer forward out the top of my helmet. Plus, every time I see anything that looks like it might be a cop vehicle, I flip the fuck out and slow down. Geez...

I looked at the map today and I thought about it for a while. I'm going to attempt to return to the laid-back attitude of a vague easterly direction, because I think I want ______ next. And because if I try to plan it out too hard I just end up contemplating how quick I can get out there and then back to ___. Which is totally not the point of a road trip.

But I need to make some deliberate spirit if I'm gonna get through this. So this is my second wind, and round two.

I've been dying for a letter from you. Like I said, I'm in my own time zone here. It feels like it's been maybe a week or so since I last saw you, from within this bubble. I look at the bike from here and I'm amazed I've done some of the shit I've done from on that thing. What the hell, seriously. But I'm doing an okay job of staying alive, I guess.


Did I ever tell you? I once thought that Siddhartha Gautama was the only man on the planet ever to be scared of -everything-. If you read the story of how he came to be twisted out of his royal lifestyle, you will see what I mean.

But I don't talk about those things anymore, and I don't really think about them, either. Rather, I should say that thought isn't necessary anymore. Instead of getting too close to the fire and getting burned, so to speak, I just went ahead and became the fire.

It's sort of like this. A week after taking the motorcycle class, I could talk all day about the shit that makes motorcycles do their thing, and basic technique, etc. etc. etc. And I understood it. A month later, after I'd had some miles on my bike, it was easy. Everything came to me right on time. Another two weeks, and I couldn't have told you how the hell I was riding the thing. I'd make a turn, and stand the bike back up, and wonder what the hell I'd done to do it. I had to go look it up again to figure out what I was doing.

Maybe Bruce Lee said it quicker. "Before I studied the art, a punch was just a punch, a kick was just a kick. After I studied the art, a punch was more than a punch, a kick was more than a kick. Now that I understand the art, a punch is just a punch, a kick is just a kick."

Next time we're together, remind me to talk to you about this. There's more I can explain but it really wouldn't fit in this letter.

But I want you to know that I know what you mean. People say that eating makes you hungry, I say, "What the fuck! Dude, I love being hungry, too! Cut me, man, so I can bleed! Scars are great stories! Let's go find trouble!"

I remember once I thought it would be great to go out with a bang. Then, I thought it would be good to pass silently, seamlessly. And then,

I realized I'll go out however the hell I damn well please. I froze my ass off in that desert, but all I had to do was wake up every 3 hours and flex every muscle in my body for 30 seconds to warm up. I -like- trouble. The only reason I didn't stop and skydive in ____ is cause I want to do it in ________ first.

Anyway, I'm fucking it up now, but I'm trying to say that as usual, your thoughts are mine. I can just see you clenching your arms and fists, your teeth gritted, telling this bullshit argument you got into to fuck off already. I think you're beautiful.

And as far as what I got myself into, trying to ask myself what the hell I was doing this to myself for? Well, I know exactly what's up now. More or less. But you need to think good and hard about whether or not you wanna hear it. And whether or not you wanna hear it when I get back, in person, or whether or not you can get the most out of it when it's just text on a computer screen.

Because I want to tell you about it really badly.

Love, joy, and admiration,
-_.

PS: I'm gonna sit here and read your letter one more time. I love reading it. I can hear you when I do, and I can see you when it gets really intense.