Buzz

The motorbike runs smoothly. Single cylinder, it's known as a thumper because it thumps as if someone is knocking forcefully and rapidly on a door. Sometimes the motor seems to be sputtering out, but it's only the thump slowing as I shift to lower gears. Somewhere between thirty and sixty miles an hour my body matches the bike's rhythm. When slower, tipping over appears inevitable. When faster, my hands grip and the landscape rushes past. After hours like this a vibration flows from my fingertips to my elbows, shoulders, and head. It's sea sickness of a different kind. No throwing up, but the brain and skull move in different directions. The hands need time to relax. I massage the palms and stretch the fingers. Two legs on round earth feel solid, but they move slowly as the head recalculates its position. An endurance of a different kind supports this means of travel, which is slightly crazy in the land of four wheels, not two. The vibration subsides after a rest on the lakeshore. Boots on, leg over and face shield down, I tap the gears from first to second, third to fourth to fifth, and ride to the next destination.