This A/B living is interesting in what it does to my psyche. A being home in SLC and B being back in StG. It’s the transitions that give my noodle pause, the in-between, the commute where time and miles are now measured in thoughts instead of per-hour.
Thoughts like hoping the lawn hasn’t overgrown beyond the mower’s approach, or I told her I’d be safe so stick to the right lane and watch your speed limit, or how my rear-end now picks up every little nuance in ride and vibration, my hyper-aware ass constantly running its flat-tire algorithm in comparing suspension travel and rebound between the front and rear wheels.
Thoughts like getting beyond my wave-bias with Harley riders or my disdain for Richfield or how silly superstition is. And relentless.
Thoughts like why can’t I just relax when it’s time to go? Something I’ve inherited from my dad. Doesn’t matter when it’s time to go, when the day of departure wanes every damn tick to the second hand is time to go. And as I get increasingly antsy with every moment, does she take that as my wanting to leave? Because I don’t want to. Ever.
I don’t know if my brain is exhausted at the end of the day’s ride from the constant sensory-scan required of motorcycle riding or the hamster wheel that is my psyche. On the Blackbird I’d only think about one thing, staying alive. On the dual sport, its casual ambling down the road lets my mind do its thing. I think there’s a pill for that.