Motorcycling can be very Stimulating
Once again I brought the beast out of the garage, releasing it to carry me abroad. Less floridly speaking, I checked the motorcycle, the weather, and the calendar and decided it was a great day for a ride. It amazes me still that something so simple can make me feel so alive.
The Honda was a little thirsty, so we stopped at the Marathon and popped in about twelve dollars' worth of regular (still expensive, even pumping less of it). The windshield was clean, so off we went again, just me and my friend the 27-year-old CB900.
The trip took us north on Forrest Hill through residential streets of Peoria. I could have turned west on Wisconsin in order to miss the construction, but continuing without a turn gave me easier and quieter riding time all the way to Prospect Street. The smooth, warm streets and grassy lawns seemed comforting at nine in the morning.
Turning left on Prospect put me within a quarter mile of War Memorial, where the bike and I would turn toward the Illinois River and higher speeds. Of course, on a ride it's not the speed that's important; the important things are enjoyment of the place and the means of exploring it. With the engine purring, we made our way across the river to the possibilities on the other side.
I Think I'll Go Over There
I pulled out no maps today, and the bike really seems not to care which way we go, so long as oil and gasoline are in good supply. "Arriving" is really having a chance to take another road, but the first turn off of US-24 led to nothing. One U-turn later, we were back at the previous light, looking for the next trip.
US-24 seemed like a good choice, so I turned the motorcycle east and continued as we had before, toward though no "to" Eureka. Before too long I spied a road off to the left. It looked like an interesting road, meaning I hadn't used it before, so left we went for the grins and giggles.
We ended up in the midst of cornfields far and wide, so I turned back east and found a main cut-through road which eventually took us to Metamora. It's a nice little town, with restaurants and car dealerships, and I took it all in as I looked for the next place to explore.
I Found THE Place!
As we came to an intersection, I saw a sign telling the world that Washburn is up state road 89. This is a nice place to ride, considering it has trees and hills and curves. And these are all a part of the same road!
So off we went to Cazenovia, Washburn, La Rose, and Varna, none of them big, but all of them part of the stimulation of riding a motorcycle and being free to turn where you will. Cazenovia and La Rose don't really amount to wide spots in the road, but Varna proved a good place to rest my backside and get something to drink at Casey's.
There Is a Mystique
Motorcyclists are just people. We were reared by parents, had pimples in high school, and raised hell as young people. Most people don't act like that's the case, though.
Walk into a small-town convenience store wearing boots and a motorcycle jacket. Note the little knot of farmers in the corner, having soft drinks and discussing the fertilizer they're using this season. Then everyone's eyes track to you.
I wanted to feel my forehead to check for that third eye, but I ignored the feeling. That reaction to someone who is acting differently is almost universal. I don't own a pickup truck, and what I don't know about crops is huge. People immediately sense something different, and maybe it's the aura of freedom I exude when I'm riding that does it. It's as good an excuse as anything else.
On the Road Again
At 350-person McNabb I decided to turn back west and head for the river. As tempting as Spring Bay is at this time of year, I have a little friend named Fritz at home who likes to be scratched. I turned left on the McNabb Blacktop (I swear this is the real name), and we came out not much later onto state road 26.
SR-26 carried us back south through even more lush greenery, adding occasional glimpses of the east back of the Illinois River. Given the "tree cathedrals" coming north on 89 and the tree-lined expanse of SR-26, we weren't likely to burn up, and it was simply a nice day for riding a motorcycle.
Restful or Stimulating?
I suppose Honda and I could have had either rest or stimulation in mind for this trip. You see, it's hard not to feel stimulated when you're controlling your own path, riding a bike you like, and have gasoline in the tank.
Motorcycling is also restful when you just watch the miles and cornfields and cares trail on by. You get a lot out of those hours spent in contemplation, and we found a great day and place to get it.
