Savior

Amongst the thronging crowds, the parades, the endless inaugural balls, the speeches, poems, and millions of spectators, I think the masses have forgotten something.
Something painfully poignant and obvious in the photograph. Something that we all know, yet it would seem fewer and fewer people actually believe it. The reality?
Barack Hussein Obama is a man. A speck of existance on a planet with 7 billion specks of existance. Nothing more. His power ends at the rule of law. It is quite possible there is nothing to be done for the economy. It is possible that again we will again be attacked by terrorists, and with greater force and magnitude than we have seen before. It is possible for fires, earthquakes, hurricanes and tornadoes to rip the country with in every corner of it's borders. Calamity may come upon us, through no fault of our own.
Yet somehow, we have convinced ourselves that one man can save us from these things. It is eerie looking at these pictures and films of the inauguration. People gathered, singing, dancing, cheering, screaming, and erupting in joy and ecstasy. People lifting their hands and shouting. It looks like a pentecostal church service on a mass scale of political exuberance. Why? Because of one man's rise to power. No other reason.
Obama is a man, nothing more. What is unbelievable is the expectation placed upon him by the people of this country. People loved to hate President Bush for Katrina, Iraq, and many other events and decisions of the past, some of which were beyond his control. But what about the future? What if future disaster awaits? What if the economy cannot recover? What if we are attacked again? What if more hurricanes and other natural disasters ravage our cities and our people? Barack Hussein Obama cannot stand in the way of these things any more than President Bush or the other 42 presidents of our history could.
Looking at these pictures, seeing these films, hearing the songs, watching the audulation, praise, and and excitement it is not hard to see that the masses have elevated this man to something he is not and never will be. And if the events of the future tear at the illusion we have fostered, then will we understand? If hurricanes, riots, fires, wars, and soup lines are in our future than there is little Barack Hussein Obama can do to stop them.
When these things come about, who then will we turn to as our Savior?

Riding

Riding a motorcycle is something akin to flying in an open cockpit biplane that is powered by a jet engine. You feel everything. Every crack, every raindrop, even dip, bump, gust of wind or bug death against your helmet. You can smell the smoker in the truck two cars ahead of you. You can smell the ocean's saltiness, the grease and fries as you past the restaurants, the exhaust, the lush valleys, the trees, the world around you. There's something exhilarating about it. You are a part of it.

In a strange way, you are more connected with the road on two tires than you ever will be on four.

The road effects you more, it influences your moves and decisions. There's something emotional about it. Your feelings effect your experience, and sometimes you use the experience to effect your feelings.

The road gives nothing freely. Your machine she may forgive you, the road never will. The road may give you and your machine the ride of your life, but she may also give you the ride of your death.

Your machine is your only ally, along with your wits, your wisdom, and your skill. They call riders “Road Warriors”, and it is true. They do battle every time they ride. Not a bludgeoning, clumsy brawl or match, but a graceful combat likened unto a martial art where every move is graceful, beautiful, and lovely in a dark and sinister meaning. It is in this fluidity of movement, physics, speed, and grace that we find the reason we ride. It is the experience that we crave. It is the moving of our souls. It's something man has longed for as long as man has existed, and that is freedom. One might ask why the underlying philosophy and political nature of the motorcyclist genre tends to be bent towards a conservative mindset, and the answer is the understanding of freedom. Freedom from worry, oppression, and restriction. Freedom just to be.

Two wheels move our souls. Four wheels can move the soul, but it takes so much more on the part of the machine. No one's soul is moved in an ordinary car; it takes something of magnificent power and grace to move us while we are enclosed in the frame of an automobile. It takes so much less on the alloy horses of our motorcycles. Even the smaller bikes can and do move our souls to the point where when we put the kickstand down the very thing we long to do is put the stand back up, and let the roar of our machine fill our ears, a grandiose cacophony of a machine working in perfect harmony, performing it's tune like an orchestra of renown, and we the conductor by the will and grace of Providence. For this reason we strive to be better conductors and feel the power of the engine beneath us, it's roar in our ears, the bars in our hands, the curves ahead in our eyes and the freedom that resonates in our souls.

For this we count ourselves fortunate to own the machines we do, and enjoy each day and each road as a grace to us from the hand of Providence. To thank Almighty God for this freedom, perhaps this last freedom we do have to enjoy and make the road our stage, our medium as a means of self-expression of who we are and the freedom that our souls enjoy.