The detachment from all forms of electronic communication was both refreshing and uplifting. For example, when visiting with our grandchildren, we went out to dinner and then played together in the family room. When on the road with my buddy of more than 50 years, we'd stop periodically for coffee or a meal and talk about family. At the end of the day's ride, we'd clean up and adjourn for dinner and chats over a couple of beers. Some of the chats were about the day's ride, with others about the upcoming reunion of our 8th grade class that we'd be attending. When meeting with family, we'd talk about talk about favorite memories. And, at the reunion, we talked about everything, but politics, news, or world and national issues. One of the gals came up and said, "I remember you." I thought, did I date her in high school? So I asked, "Is it is a good memory or a bad memory?" She merely smiles and walked away.
Damn, but it so great not being aware of what was happening for two weeks. I was able to focus on the people and activities that mean the most to me. Additionally, I was able to enjoy the awesome and majestic beauty of the Oregon coast line and mountains. Nothing beats the natural beauty of Oregon in September, before the rains and cold temperatures set in. We even stopped at a unique place for lunch one day. Great fish and chips, with fresh fish.
For four of the days in the saddle, I was riding solo, which provided ample time to just reflect on my good fortune. As I've written before, riding a motorcycle is a fully engaged activity. No windows up, air conditioning on, stereo blasting cocoon transporting you from A to B. It is total immersion in the environment, when means experiencing the cold, the heat, the rain, the smell of smoke from wildfires, the sounds of the ocean, the smell of the sea, and the idiotic maneuvers by some of the motorists encountered along the way.
Being unplugged is also a state of mind, as well as the electronic reality. I found my smiles were more frequent, my laughs more robust. The meals tasted better. The beer was more enjoyable. The smiles from my wife more meaningful. Sure, there were times I felt like the bad ass biker we seek to somewhat portray. For example, when my buddy and I stopped in a local bakery for a nosh and cup of coffee. The looks from the people on the street were actually humorous. Being unplugged also felt rebellious, if you follow the theme. A sort of, "I don't give a damn" attitude.
Certainly, there were times we interacted with strangers and which could have been tense, but weren't. For example, the gent from Dallas, Texas we chatted with one morning at a motel on the Oregon coast. Imagine you were him, seeing two "reprobates" walking out of the adjoining motel room in full leathers, loading up their bikes. He could have shook his head and thought, "Damned bikers." Instead, he said, "Nice looking bikes." With a positive introduction, we chatted for a few minutes, smiles all around. No Dems vs. GOP. No Obama comments. Nothing negative. Such as written about earlier, I detected a bit of envy as we finally cranked up our bikes, toed into first gear, and roared across the parking lot.
Well, Bubba, you are only young once, so if you want to ride, then get a bike and do it.
Back to the main point. Being unplugged was one of the best things I could have done. During the two weeks family, friends, riding, places, events, and the majestic countryside occupied my attention. It wasn't until I returned home that I learned what the idiot politicians were doing. Nor was I aware of the news of various tragedies around the world.
Could it be the old saying is absolutely true? Ignorance is bliss.
I long for the smell of the trees in the mountains of Oregon, the sound of my grandchildren, the touch of my wife's hand, the smile on my mother's face, the laughter of my buddy, and the rush of riding through beautiful landscape.
Unplugged - and loving it.
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