I'm Worth A Million In Prizes

If, my moto-brethren and sistren, you are anything like me, you probably wake up in the morning and think something along the lines of "I don't want to go to work today." Commuting by motorcycle lessens the pain, but it's still there.

There are varying levels of "don't wanna go," of course, depending on how terrible your job is. If, for example, your job involves sending ambulance bills to poor folks without insurance, you probably dread going to work much more than I do.

This may shock and appall some of you, but I've never been a big fan of mandatory structured daily activity. I am, in no uncertain terms, a dreamer and a wonderer. I love to learn new stuff, though I frequently get distracted from book learning by trying to apply my new knowledge immediately. Then I get distracted from that by some other fabulous new shiny concept, and so on and so on.

I believe every report card I've ever had said something along the lines of "daydreams too much." Every one of my teachers approached my parents, concerned I was having seizures in class. I wasn't. I was spacing out, having fantastic adventures that didn't involve filling in blanks in a workbook, or waiting for some slow-reading kid to catch up to where I was in the story we were reading. While the teacher recited grammar rules I had already figured out, I was road-tripping across America in a 30 foot black Cadillac with leopard print upholstery. Where would you rather be?

So although I have a good job (really, compared to previous jobs I've had, it's a great job), I don't get excited about going every morning because every day is pretty much the same as the last day. Excuse me while I put on my party hat.

Personally, I want to explore new roads, taste new things, see new places, meet new people (or, at least, see new people and avoid eye contact). I want to go bow hunting with Ted Nugent one day, write a novel the next day, then maybe lounge on the beach for a day sipping on a drink with an umbrella in it. I want to be a rock star, and the guy who rides on the back of the garbage truck.

I want, in other words, to live the hell out of my life, and having a motorcycle has only added fuel to the fire. Hours on a bike with only my brain and a howling motor for company opens up a lot of time for introspection and contemplation. Adrenaline-fuelled introspection is probably the most dangerous sort for those keen on maintaining mediocrity.

The trick, of course, is finding a way to live that life...

...but I'm working on it. Can you dig it?




*The first person to leave a comment correctly telling us what the heck my title is about gets their choice of a slightly worn copy of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" or a VERY worn, but still readable, copy of Hunter S. Thompson's "Hells Angels." Hey! Prizes!