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by Gary Charpentier |
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During
one of his entertaining monologues, Spalding Gray introduced
a concept I will never forget: The Perfect Moment. As I
understand it, the Perfect Moment is a point in time when
you realize you are absolutely content. Happy even. Not a
care in the world. For Mr. Gray, a Perfect Moment occurred
at sunset, on a balmy tropical beach in Thailand, with the
chatter of the bar girls in the air, and a cold, fruity,
intoxicating beverage sporting a paper umbrella in his hand.
I recall there were other chemicals more exotic than alcohol
at work in his scenario, but that has little bearing on the
spirit of his observation. If you had to pick one moment to
be locked into for eternity, your own particular brand of
Heaven as it were, this would define your Perfect
Moment. With as much
inertia as carries me through life, I have experienced
several Perfect Moments. Most have occurred on or around
motorcycles. Since becoming aware of the concept, I have
recognized and acknowledged these for what they are and
stored them away in memory to help me through the vast
majority of less than perfect moments that constitute the
rest of my life. This last week has
been one long Perfect Moment. This is so rare! It is so
often we anticipate a long-awaited event, building our
expectations, only to be let down by the reality of all the
little things that inevitably go awry. Seldom do
circumstances live up to the advanced billing. But the
return of Gogo to the open roads of Minnesota in autumn has
been better than I could have hoped! There are flies in
the ointment, certainly. My Perfect Moment is interrupted
daily, as I still have to report at the usual time every
night for my eight hour contribution to the wealth of my
employers. What makes this bearable is the fact that I can
ride my Ducati over any of several routes to get there, and
then park her in front of a window where she serves as a
constant visual reminder of why I endure wage slavery. But
out on the road, in the saddle, her desmo v-twin purring
beneath me, it clicks. Ahhh, Perfect Moment. The workday is
done; the sun is coming up; and there's a whole day ahead in
which to explore, experience, and live. If I didn't need
money, I would just keep riding to the end of the road and
then turn around and come back by another
route...endlessly. It's seven a.m.,
and I am sitting on a bench outside Bobs' Java Hut in
Minneapolis. My Gogo is backed into the Motorcycle Only
Parking section out front and drawing admiring glances from
passers-by (even the jaded, been-there, done-that
regulars!). I have a cup of Bobs' potent house blend in one
hand, a cigar in the other, and a smile on my face. Perfect.
There are unpleasantries to attend to later in the day:
bills to pay, appointments to keep, but I am not thinking of
these right now. Later, I will ride to places where serious
people will demand my attention to mundane matters. While we
are transacting our business, they will wonder at the smile
on my face. They just won't get it. I'll feel sorry for them
until I get back on the road. Then it will wash away in the
wind... M.M.M.
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