Hey party people. I am feeling very good today. Elated, you could say.

Last night, I had the opportunity to attend the opening ceremony for the First People’s Celebration at Yellowstone. It was wonderful. A lot of heart and story and wisdom shared. We danced in a circle and bowed our heads as a woman played the flute.

Ride or die

I really had it locked into my bones last night what it means to live ride or die. I was on the back of a motorcycle. A beautiful Harley. I love bikes. I always have. My dad got me riding as early as Mom could bear. Grandma was worried when I left, too. But we all prayed. I prayed again when I got on the bike. And, honestly, nerves and excitement feel the same in the body, and I was really excited to ride.

I’m usually maneuvering the bike myself, not riding passenger princess. It’s nice to just enjoy the open road on a bike. You get to watch the mountains pass by and see the sky change. You get to put your trust in something greater. There were Bison in herds, and the Yellowstone River to my right. I’m in one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, and I’m cruising with my shoulders to the sun and a pretty beautiful man in front of me. It was a dream come true.

It doesn’t pass me, I promise (to Grandma and all my family) that we’re going 80 miles an hour on a two-lane road. Riding a motorcycle is a spiritual fucking experience. It binds your soul to your body. It puts you on the edge of being here and being somewhere else. It’s both all sensation and transcendence.

It’s fucking being alive.

I knew, and I know, it’s not my time yet. It’s not yet time for God to take me to somewhere else. He knows I’m here, a good soldier in service of Him. But I can know that deeply and still have the voice that says, what if? And there it is again, the practice of faith. The trust in God and ultimately the release, relax, and acceptance that even if it was, it would be okay. It would be what God wanted or maybe what the world needed, and I’m okay with that. The bike is like a portal for destiny and fate. You’re on the edge of control and surrender.

You have to believe in something bigger as a rider. If you don’t, I just can’t imagine how you ride with any joy. It’s not like being in a car. In a car, you have a lot more physical protection. In a truck, you can be pretty sure you’re gonna be the one okay on the road, in most circumstances.

On a bike, the protection is outside of you. From God, from prayer, from friends and family. It’s a spiritual protection. It’s a bright white dome of safety that only you and God can commune. It’s belief and faith in something higher, as best as you can. And the bike, the bike teaches you that. The bike puts you on the altar of life, in communion with the Absolute, Mother under you, and Father above. There’s no more illusion about how you exist in the world. The bike just strips away any false sense of who and what you are.

I don’t want to try and describe riding as totally only risky and something to worry about. It’s the worry by friends and family that’s actually the issue, in my opinion. It’s like if you’re gonna be anxious, you have to leave the room. Because no one needs that energy. Kiss us goodbye. Say, I’ll see you later, have fun. The anxiety doesn’t keep us safe anywhere in life. It’s no different here on the bike. The same things that keep you safe going to the grocery store are the same ones you have here: Faith. God.

Riding is beautiful and powerful and one of the things I hold sacred. For which my dad taught me, and her dad taught her. My dad gave me my first bike, a Yamaha V-Star 650. It was a good-sized cruiser that we lowered (I’m short). I learned to drop that bike first and pick it back up.

There’s a reason people wave on bikes. It’s something you only do from one motorcyclist to another. You take your hand off the clutch handle, and you lower your hand to your side, usually with two fingers out. I’ve always taken it as a salute of sorts. Today, it’s more of a prayer. I see you, ride well, go fast, enjoy.

It’s really very special to me. Especially to do it with someone else. To be locked in, fully present with the bike, the land, and another. You can’t be anything but present. I mean holy fucking shit is that some magic. And it never won’t be.

I’m just feeling really grateful, really alive, really in my power today. I love riding, and riding like that is just awesome. It reminds me that I want my own bike, bigger and faster than what I’m on right now. But lots of bikes will come in time. Lots of rides. Lots of beauty and prayer. Lots more time to be alive and well. I look forward to doing more and more in life of what just feels good. And the kind of stuff that feels good because you’re tapped into something bigger, and in that, you’re here just a little bit more.

Love,
Val