A Motel at the Confluence of Two Roads.

The motel had no laundry. Too tired to care, I washed my riding clothes in the shower. Outside a strong, hot wind was still blowing. I hoped the last hour of daylight would be enough to dry them, as I hung my clothes on the communal line.

We had decided to stop in this two shop confluence of roads, so I could climb Lewis Pass in the cool of the next morning. For three days in a row now we had battled a strong, hot head wind for the last twenty kilometers of each day. It was beginning to wear thin but the sight of a motel and a café connected to it had buoyed our spirits; tomorrow was an eager anticipation.

The food in the café was just what we needed, big, hot and flavorsome, served with bigger and hotter chips. I harbour a latent desire to return to this café when I am fresh, nor tired, sun burnt or windblown, just to see if the “Alpine Big Burger” is as delicious as it was that night. Somehow I have a feeling I will be disappointed, but to its designer and constructors credit, it did its job that night.

Fed, washed, with our cloths quickly dried, we turned in. The sounds of the day receded, the wind dropped away, darkness enveloped our small complex. I was just falling into a well-earned sleep when the first rat ran across our motel ceiling. I could not see it, but I knew the sound. I hate rats in fact I am terrified of rats. Do not share an important secret with me, for your adversary or my interrogator, would only have to say the word, “RAT,” and I make no apology, your card would be marked, resulting in you being woken one dark night by a knocking on your door, to then disappear into a dark unmarked car……..

 “Ok” I thought “one rat, I can handle this, soon I will be asleep,” but no, one was soon joined by two, then three. How do I know this? You ask, trust me, being a fervent rataphobe I knew. By three in the morning the rat festivities had reached a crescendo with what sounded like an organised race across our ceiling. This was not any old race, but a heavy weight derby with some very closely matched participants pushing for a glorious win. The finish must have been breath taking for all watching, with three heavy weights going down to the wire, two falling as they crossed, oh how the crowd cheered their display of speed and power.

It was draining for all involved; slowly the crowd dispersed the last making their way home as the sun was breaking over the distant hills, the very hills I was destined to climb in a few hours. Turning, I pulled the sheets over my head and fell into a fitful slumber.

 

Are We Lost

“We need the weird people the - poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, musicians’ adventures explorers’ troubadours - for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.” Unashamedly copied and bastardised.

“Are we lost”?

“No”

“Well where are we then”?

“I’m not sure but if we keep going down this track we are bound to hit the road at some point”.

It was a late summer’s afternoon a simple idea of a ride had inadvertently turned into an adventure. We were lost no doubt but we still had a vague idea of where we could be.

 After a climb that turned into a push we linked on to an old farm road that went in the direction we had planned to ride so onward we road.

The trail dipped down a little too soon for our liking but with no other option and nothing to worry about we took advantage of the trails gentle downhill gradient and easy flowing corners. Following I always wish I could ride like she , her balance and  feel for the bike is natural the lines are always perfect I find myself mesmerised and drawn into following her wheel marks.

Down we flew round grassy smooth corners down down, when abruptly the trail turned uphill. Changing gear, upwards we cruised buoyed by the day, the moment, the company.

After nearly an hour of climbing we topped out on a lonely summit. This is where the doubt set in, and the conversation of lost stared.

So often in life we know what we are doing, when we have to do it and why. Little is left to doubt; caution is rarely thrown to the wind. Are we or our lives lesser for it? I know exploring a new trail that I have little or no knowledge for is a thrill not to be missed. The uncertainty the excitement of new discovery has a magical effect that lasts all day. In life that is now connected instantly information is at hand for all to see, risks are avoided sanitised reported and repaired. Couple this with the necessity to tell everyone what you are doing and where you are instantly leaves nothing to chance. Have we lost the art of getting lost?

As the sun set we retraced our tracks climbed a few fences and eventually found the road. Both smiling we rode back to we knew we had left our van, true adventurers and wiser for the experience.

Why has society always judged explorers, adventures and free spirits as not the norm, is it an inner fear of moving away from a comfortable being.

“We need the weird people the - poets, misfits, writers, mystics, painters, musicians’ adventures explorers’ troubadours - for they teach us to see the world through different eyes.”