Mental Clarity from Riding

Mental Clarity from Riding

If you’ve ever ridden a motorcycle, you know exactly what I mean when I say: “I NEED to go for a ride.”

I’ve been riding the streets for forty years. The first ten were short little jaunts—my bikes were barely worth the effort. But over the last thirty, riding has become its own kind of therapy. I used to get on the bike, and an hour later, all my cares and worries were gone. That hour? My daily commute to work and back.

Over time, though, the clarity took longer to reach. One hour became a tank of fuel, then two, then three. For reference: these are five-gallon tanks, averaging 40 mpg. Do the math. Eventually, it wasn’t just the ride—it was the speed, the curves, the hazards, the adrenaline-fueled focus on staying alive that stripped everything else from my mind. There’s more to it, stuff I can’t discuss until the statute of limitations runs out.

It had gotten to the point I felt dead inside, and that adrenaline rush—the tempting fate, the doing “ding-dong-ditch” on the devil’s door—that’s when I would start to feel alive again.

It’s been three months since I last rode, thanks to brain surgery. And yet… I need to ride. I know I can’t, not yet. But I glance over at the ol’ girl and feel that desperate pull. I want her. I want the road. I want the clarity only she can give.