Waiting

If you've been following this blog for any length of time, you've probably noticed something.

One day I'm writing about tragedy. The next it's heartbreak. Then I'll rant about work, motorcycles, government, or whatever fresh irritation wandered into my life. Then, without warning, I'm writing about love, hearts, and enough happiness to make Hallmark blush.

It probably feels like emotional whiplash.

Welcome to my life.

I don't curate these posts to fit some carefully crafted brand. You get all of it. The victories. The failures. The anger. The joy. The dirt. The wind. Or, as my late Uncle Shifty used to say, "the whole nine."

This week was supposed to be about adventure.

I'd spent months planning a ten-day ride through Nevada, California, Arizona, and back home through New Mexico. Thousands of miles. Empty highways. Desert sun. Coastal roads. The highlight wasn't even the riding, though. It was finally getting to spend time with a dear friend in California. We've known each other for years, but life has a funny way of keeping good people separated. After my accident, she reached out, and somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, a genuine friendship took root.

I was looking forward to finally giving that friendship some face-to-face time.

Then the universe laughed.

Nyx was scheduled for a cam upgrade before the trip, something I'd been looking forward to almost as much as the ride itself. Instead, she developed an electrical problem that left me stranded at work.

So the next morning I grabbed my pickup, rented a trailer in Albuquerque, hauled my disabled Harley home, and parked her to wait for my mechanic.

And that's where she still sits.

I haven't heard from him yet.

I'm okay with that.

He's one of those increasingly rare people who's earned my trust. He tells me the truth, fixes things the right way, and doesn't waste time making promises he can't keep. It's just him and one helper, and this all happened over a holiday weekend. Parts don't magically appear. Good work takes time.

So I wait.

As patiently as I can, anyway.

I was supposed to be somewhere in Nevada yesterday. Instead, I'm sitting in Santa Fe looking at a motorcycle that isn't here.

Funny thing is, I keep saying the trip was cancelled. It wasn't. It was postponed.

And maybe that's for the better.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized I'd really love for Dawna to be on that ride with me. My friend in California wants to meet her. I want them to meet. Maybe this was never supposed to be a solo trip in the first place.

Besides, let's be honest. Crossing Nevada, Southern California, Arizona, and New Mexico in July is an excellent way to discover exactly how much heat the human body can tolerate before becoming medium rare.

Would I have done it anyway?

Absolutely.

Weather has never had much say in whether I ride. Sometimes it's hot. Sometimes it's raining. Sometimes the wind tries to push you into the next lane. Sometimes it's cold enough that your fingertips begin negotiating with your brain about whether they're still employed.

That's just riding.

I've never understood the fair-weather crowd.

You know the type. The motorcycle comes out on perfect seventy-five-degree Saturdays, spends the rest of the year tucked under a cover in the garage, and somehow accumulates a thousand miles... in a year.

Hell, I ride a thousand miles while deciding whether I feel like going for a ride.

Nyx came home with me at the end of January. It's early July now, and she's already somewhere around thirteen thousand miles. Assuming she stops trying to invent new electrical problems, she'll probably see somewhere between twenty-five and thirty thousand miles before the year's over.

So no, I don't really understand fair-weather riders.

But I'm glad they exist.

They keep the used motorcycle market stocked with beautiful, low-mileage bikes for people like me.

Everybody wins.

Maybe that's another blog for another day.

Right now, though, this one is about waiting.

Waiting for a phone call.

Waiting for parts.

Waiting for the next ride.

Waiting for the trip that wasn't meant to happen just yet.

The funny thing is, a year ago waiting would have driven me absolutely insane. Today it just feels... temporary.

I still have another motorcycle to ride.

I still have a woman in Colorado worth riding toward.

The roads aren't going anywhere.

Neither am I.

Sometimes life doesn't tell you no. Sometimes it just says, "Not yet."