Midnight Train To Georgia: Motorcycling in Heaven

This past summer, Marie-Do and I went on a motorcycle trip up north. It began with two friends, so four of us on three bikes. Pierro of Sum Kai, La Cage du Coq – the greatest French restaurant east of Metropolitan France: https://www.facebook.com/La-Cage-Du-Coq-580617518744632/ and Marie-Do’s very good friend Prune, of Sacha Inchi.

The trip was fascinating in itself and it gave me much food for thought, especially where it opened comparisons with bicycle travel.

The first blaring difference was the ease of ascent. Now, ascent is a strange word. My very own ancestors used to use it to describe spiritual heights - שִׁיר המַעֲלוֹת - but what is missing when you are sitting in your armchair and you hit the words Song of Ascents is the notion of effort. The same is true on a motorcycle. Since I am not an off road motorcyclist, the only effort I put into the entire trip was articulating my right wrist so as to pump more petrol into the carburetor.

Question: was it a pleasure? Answer: yes.

And yet I was unhappy with the speed. Landscapes moved too quickly, villages ran in and out of each other like a wet water colour; the kaleidoscope of impressions was an inhuman pace. The English phrase, ‘can’t see the forest for the trees’ comes to mind although in the opposite direction.

For even though I could see the forest, I could not see the trees. There were too many of them and I was passing just too quickly. On a bicycle each tree is an individual, especially when you are sweating on a dirt track going up hill; each shrub and flower – even when they are being cursed in the drama of effort – has its own essence and personality.

On a motorcycle this is simply gone, erased, washed out of existence.

Likewise, landscapes lose their meaning. Hills, valleys, plains…even their very beauty seems to lack relevance.

Just in case one can think I am not grateful for the experience I am adding some photos.