From the Desk of The DBeazy One-Man-Think-Tank

The evening was beautiful, cool, by comparison, at least for a late August day. The expected clouds were gone as if the outing was ordained by the spirits of good luck. Spirits which, by-the-way, shine briefly for a season, but as is so, seasons end, and the Springs and Falls offered by those spirits, are not that dissimilar to the same Springs and Falls we experience here in the South. The outing began as a brief impromptu jaunt, with the possibility of getting rained on. But with the new bike underneath, the threat of a getting wet refused to bridle the horses.

I suppose, the adjective “new” to describe my current scoot would be vastly incorrect. But “new-to-me old bike,” would be more precise.  I mentioned brief seasons and spirits of luck because it is the way it has always been for me. I have learned to grasp the mane of the fiery mare when she’s primed for runnin’ because, there’s almost certainly a hurdle ahead, and one after that. Not just for me, but the end of the year 2019 marked the end of one of those seasons and 2020, well, we are only in the third quarter and little, very little has been seen of the “Spirits of good luck.” I’ll not elaborate, because my story is nothing compared to the stories of many on the planet. Yes, 2020 has taken a toll on old DBeazy, but here sits a guy who sees the glass not as half empty or half full, and my query is, “Is this glass re-fillable?”

The struggles of the year 2020 forced me to make the transition from a $30,000 motorcycle to a $3000 bike. Some would look at such a complete failure, but for me, the value of it all lies out there on the road. The curves, the wind, and the power, that is the common denominator. It matters not to me the monetary value, the brand, or the mystique, it only applies to the rush, the excitement, and the freedom of being out there.

For a little over 3 weeks, while I was between rides, the longing, desire, or complete emptiness I felt could only be compared to that of a broken heart. Like a painter with temporary blindness, a musician gone deaf, or a writer without words, I made my way, day-to-day, through the motions, not pretending, and acknowledging precisely just how miserable I was. But as the feature image shows, I’m back in the saddle, back in the wind, back ready to run, back on two wheels, and back on the road. As Dwight Yoakam promises, “Cause you know, things can change.”

I was admonished once to “keep them doors open,” to allow God to act in his time. That is the nature of my existence today and why I see a so-called “setback” as nothing short of progress. I believe that my God is at work and I believe that HE is the instrument in which prayers are answered according to HIS will. Regardless of my own desires.

As for my Monday evening ride, we dressed and started in a generally westward direction. After refueling in Tylertown, Mississippi, I found highway 27 and considering the time, elected a southern direction. Ms. Hwy 27 and then La Hwy 25 provides peaceful landscapes on either side, with its broad shoulders and generally runs parallel to the Bogue Chitto and Bogue Falaya rivers as it makes its way to Covington, Louisiana.  Along the way, one will see a large trucking outfit, a very large farming operation, cypress trees, Pine trees, and the fenced, gated, and garish estate of well known, federally convicted Pentecostal Pastor Jerry Wayne Cox, complete with statues of lions, gorillas, and deer. Within a half, an hour or so sits the town of Franklinton, Louisiana, home of the largest free fair in the United States.

From Franklinton, we picked up Hwy 10 towards Bogalusa. It was along this leg of the trip, walled mostly on both sides of the road by pine trees, that I felt myself loosen, relax, and breathe. It occurred to me then that the frills, the bells, and the whistles of the Harley were nice but totally unnecessary. The “new-to-me” old bike lacks the fuel gauge, the navigation system, and the music, but I found myself enjoying the wind and the engine. Mostly I enjoyed the peace and the ability to free my mind of the stresses of the day and to grasp the more pure motorcycle riding experience. I don’t know if I’ll make an effort to add a music delivery system to this bike.

Leaving Bogalusa, Louisiana, and the infamous smell of the paper mill, and heading North on Hwy 21, the weather was still beautiful and cool. Traveling north, we passed through the village of Angie, Louisiana and I briefly wondered how much revenue had been lost there since neighboring Mississippi legalized participation in lotteries. I know I have crossed the state line many times to dream of that longshot.

Not far into Mississippi, I first saw a narrow band of low and black storm clouds, almost perpendicular to the highway. I was not alarmed, but my initial thought was that it would be nice if we can reach the other side before the clouds decide to release their contents. There on Mississippi Hwy 35 North, I looked at the clouds ahead and cruising easily at 74 miles per hour, my mind began to react to this visual stimuli, and on the noticeable change from just a couple of days prior, in my spirit and the realization that the difference was the bike. I thought about how I’d already weathered several storms this year, and many over the span of a lifetime. I thought about how life is often a series of hoping to get to the other side; to a better time, greener pastures, where the chase is over and rest is the reward. There, without the distraction of music, the words of a George Strait song popped into my head,

“Whoa, my, my
I’ll see you on the other side
If I make it
And it might be a long hard ride
But I’m gonna take it.”

I didn’t know any of the words before or after that and it was not totally relevant to the inner conversation going on in my head, so I drove on. Clouds are deceptive, though, and at first glance, what seems like a wide and narrow strip looming just ahead and low, is in fact, much deeper and much farther away.  Taken in the context of the vast sky, and possibly influenced by hope and positivity, my perception, I found was skewed and the storm was farther away than I had originally hoped. As the bike plunged forward, the “other side” I learned was farther away than first judged, revealing a bigger chance that we would not be able to escape it in time. A second trick perpetrated on my mind by the storm was my failure to take into account that while the position of the clouds was controlled by the wind, the relationship of the clouds to the road is not constant due to curves and directional changes. Hence, the clouds failed to remain in that perpendicular position and the “other side” no longer existed. We made our way toward our junction with Mississippi Hwy 98 at Foxworth, Mississippi and we felt the first pelts of rain. The time of day can greatly reduce visibility on a motorcycle, and the time of the day was about as bad as it gets. Add rain on the face shield and the windshield and the ride can quickly become treacherous. This is the way it often plays out with the “storms” we encounter in life. The clouds seem to align themselves directly with the path that we are on and with every change of direction, the clouds remain, the rains come and we lose clarity.

So it was on this day, the good luck gods emerged victoriously, but not until suffering from the fight that bad luck put up. We made Foxworth in light but steady rain, and for the most part, the “new old bike” performed well. There was this one point when, at a four-way stop, when the rain, a little loose gravel, and the performance of the bike, could have been dangerous, but we pushed through, and made it home safely. With this train of thought, I’m reminded of how often folks tend to point out how dangerous a Motorcycle is. While I do not deny it, I’m also reminded that life just seems more rewarding when one faces the storms, takes a few chances, and refuses to sit back and watch life happen from a spectator’s seat.

While some would view this year as a wicked plot perpetrated by some pernicious Gollum, I do not necessarily concur. I can’t allow myself to sit down or to give in to a run of bad luck. I’m just not wired that way. I can only pause to look at the year 2020 for a minute, I can Ill-afford to allow the approaching shadows to reach me. When I see storm clouds, I will merely tighten my collar, gird my loins, and remain steady on the throttle.

Note: To be clear, the Monday mentioned above, was Monday, August 24, 2020.  My reference to the weather being “cool,” means that the temperature was in the upper 80’s in South Mississippi.

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