Friday, September 6, 2013

Home is Relative

Abandoned farmhouses speckle the countryside amid weathered, tattered barns. In every state were cornfields, so many cornfields I began to wonder where all the wheat had gone. Rolling hills of prairie grasses gave way to thunderous traffic and heavily wooded forests succumbed to city streets smatterred with busy people. Purple flowers pushed through concrete, children rode bicycles and vegetable stands dotted the roadsides.

Rivers flowed gently, creeks had run dry, doors stood open in the summer sun, the moon rolled overhead and we continued. Another road, another bend, another town, another bed, more people. Everywhere we went, more and more people, all different and all the same.

One motel is like the other, varying in degrees of comfort and cleanliness. White sheets, white towels, and bar soap. Connecting to WiFi becomes more essential than clean clothing. There will be a laundry room at the next place. But Internet is crucial; my only link to the real world. But isn't this the real world? How could something so spectacular and beautiful, awe inspiring and frightening be real?

A world without mail, neighbors, commitments or schedules cannot be real. To declare homelessness is to declare utter failure to humanity. No one chooses such failure, do they? To languish in the chaos of uncertainty, to linger here or there and roam about aimlessly must be insanity.

"Where do you live?"

"On my motorcycle."

"But where do you call home?"

"America."

The wet, green alfalfa pastures of Arizona are my home. The filthy, bustling streets of Memphis are my home. The winding roads of Pennsylvania are my home. The blazing yellow grasslands of Nebraska, the narrow, potholed lanes of New Jersey, the sprawling open lands of Oklahoma, the Pig Trails of Arkansas, the bar strewn streets of San Diego are all my home.

My home is all of my journey, all if the stories, all of my days and nights mixed with yesterday's memories. All of the food and photographs, the tears and laughter, the arguments and kisses, the smiles, the waves, the miles, the dotted, yellow lines; all of this is home. For a moment I stood in a lighthouse and it was where I belonged. For an hour I listened to bluegrass on a Knoxville sidewalk and my soul sang along. For an evening I strolled the boardwalk with my husband, stealing kisses, laughing like children, completely alone with one another on the Maryland beach.

I'm at home in my own skin, at peace with my own soul, alive in America.

Whether I am standing beside you, on top of a bluff overlooking the land, or listening to my wheels chew up asphalt, I am home.








6 comments:

  1. I'm getting the distinct image of a curtain getting pulled back from a window and suddenly all this sunny day comes steaming into a room that's been dark for a long time...

    ... the the color of your story has changed since the early days of your ride... just those few months ago... pretty cool.

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  2. So well said. There just may be something to the old saying that home is where the heart is.

    Your heart is right where you are living in the moment and that too is home.

    Ride on.

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  3. Sash:

    In some respects, you have more of a home than I had on my recent trip across the country. It was your plan to stay a few days at each location and explore, thus you had a base for planning your outings.

    Everyday I had to make a decision as to where to stay. My planning would start after lunch when I looked at my maps and tried to figure out how many miles I would ride and then find a town near there. Most often I would have to ride longer or shorter as towns don't magically appear where you want them to be

    Once I found a place for the night, it felt like home to me

    bob
    Riding the Wet Coast

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  4. I really enjoyed this post. Very nicely written. At first, I was thinking you might be having second thoughts about living on the road and the nomadic lifestyle you've been experiencing but then you described the positive parts of the experience. I think you may have a figured out a new title for your blog...Alive in America! Enjoy everyday and ride safe! ~Curt

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  5. I really enjoyed this post. Very nicely written. At first, I was thinking you might be having second thoughts about living on the road and the nomadic lifestyle you've been experiencing but then you described the positive parts of the experience. I think you may have a figured out a new title for your blog...Alive in America! Enjoy everyday and ride safe! ~Curt

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  6. This was a cool post and I enjoyed it quite a bit. Have been following you and your husband's blogs for the last couple months and am enjoying your motorcycling thoughts.

    I ride a Vulcan and can relate to a lot of what you two talk about. Keep it up, I'll be out here reading!

    ReplyDelete

About Sash


People call me "Sash" because I'm a former beauty queen in my old home town. My father used to ride in an MC which got me interested in the culture. After my last divorce I said "goodbye" to Susie Homemaker and became the rude biker chick I always felt inside. (Read more...)