Article - In Search of Quality by J. Reviere

Why ride, indeed? A huge amount of paper and ink have been used as various writers have tried to put into cold objective words the essentially ethereal experience most of us have when riding. Still, why ride? Come along with me and maybe you can feel the answer as I felt it.

Imperceptibly, the big SE's 1520CC engine sounded louder and louder. Usually, quiet as the breathing of a new born, the gradual rising sound level signaled climbing. The ride had begun as a mundane trip to the post office to mail some letters. It grew into a memory; a memory worth having, a memory worth sharing.

About 25 or so miles northbound on I-25 from Las Vegas, NM, a side road caught my eye. I'd just the week before taken residence in this Winter Wonderland of spell-binding roads, beautiful mountains, meadows, and gleaming snow. It was time to exercise Lady Blue II. She'd patiently endured two snow storms in the garage, waiting... Now, today was her day to roam. Sure, it was cold... in a physical sense. Somehow, it was mid-summer season as the miles slid by, seemingly without effort.

The sign said: NM 161 Mora. Hum... I'd just been through Mora the day before in my box _ it is in a lovely location... The Sangre de Christo range hovers overhead, was now robed with winter's top coat of white. Lady Blue II turned, as if of her own volition._ the brakes came on, pause for a full stop at the red octagonal sign, then left. _ shift down and accelerate gently through the gears _ strange road _ snow piled on both sides of a narrow ribbon of black. _ luring me on _ with caution.

Robert Persig wrote of riding half across the country in pursuit of Quality. Does this mean, a ride must be long for Quality to exist in it? The road swings sharply to the right, then the engine noise begins to intrude, I become aware we, Lady Blue II and I are climbing. Ahead are the mountains, we're still out on the vegas _ the "meadows", the knolls are impressive however, and bald as my pate. Still with interspersing of arroyas _ the ride is getting interesting.The curves and switchbacks come more quickly. Yes!

Ski gloves, just purchased, are a must. The temp indicator on the left mirror hovers at 28/F. _ the hills are blanketed with white _ in spots snow is still piled on the road surface_ extra caution is required. Speed is building, have to back it down, might top a rise and find a surprise! Don't want rude surprises, not now; not anytime. Too, there could be a sheet of ice covering a shaded place by the looming wall of rock as I sweep into an arroya and bank left, hard. The surface is dry, I breathe easier. Lady Blue II seemed to know the road was "OK" for she urges me to loose the reins. I don't. Still, there's something ephemeral at work here.

Inside the helmet. _ silence. We are too far from I-25 for "trucker talk" on the two-way radio and too far from the pollution called civilization for the "good time" radio to be hearing anything but the strongest AM stations. Click, both radios are off. This is a time to feel, a time to experience. What is the gestalt at work?

I wonder as Lady Blue II again slows and sounds like she's working a bit in top gear, climbing again. I look around. The mountains ahead loom deep blue crowned with the most brilliant white the mind can conjure. Along side, the ranching land is all white _ even the air feels alive, the place has spirit. "No wonder," I think aloud to myself "New Mexico is called The Land of Enchantment." Phaedrus is alive and about on this day.

Here I am feeling, searching _ rationally I know I've never been on this road before. I've never been in this place before, but like Persig and his inner nemesis Phaedrus _ I've been here before. There is a sense about this I am feeling, an ephemeral experience, one if put in words is somehow diminished for like Persig's "Quality" if it is defined it ceases to exist; thus it has to be something felt; something experienced. Onward, I have no choice. Quality is in control. Quality is calling.

On climbs the road, there are some more trees along side now. We are climbing into the heavily wooded reaches of the foothills where the mountains shoulder up against the great plains to the east. The transition is slow, we aren't running fast. I still have enough rational control to exercise caution on a strange road in icing conditions. The sky, however, is a deep azure blue. The sun hovers in the south, above the mountains. I sense no wind. The movement of Lady Blue II and my involvement in being a part of the beauty all around me is all I know at the moment. There are no other travelers on this road. Perhaps they have too much good sense.

The trees thicken, the snow is deeper. This tells me we are higher now. I can feel it too _ feel it in a way which has nothing to do with the physical. I don't have an altimeter, but my ears pop. From long years of flying, I know this means dropping barometric pressure due to increasing elevation. I breathe deeper; Lady Blue II seems also to breathe more deeply; she's still urging me on. I see both the tachometer and the speedometer winding up. What's going on? Are we still climbing? Are we going down grade? My senses are all focused on the moment, on the place, on the feel and I am not sure. Still I back off the throttle purposefully. Like the Lady she is, Lady Blue II does not complain, but lets me know in a gentle way, she'd prefer to keep on `cranking on it'.

This is my time _ not her's. I resume command. I purposefully slow the pace. To the right is a stock pond. It is totally frozen. It looks to be a solid block of ice. I wonder if skaters will come from the ranch I see on a far hill. Not likely. They probably are glad to be indoors near a crackling fire, only a dreamer or a fool is out and about on a day this cold. What of me... and on a motorcycle too?

Warning! Dead end _ must turn.. It's an intersection. It is NM 518 just south of La Queva. A quick stop, Lady Blue II wants to keep rolling. I force the stop and make sure the way is clear. I'm a bit clumsy in all these clothes and with these ski gloves, control is not as fine and precise as when I'm wearing lighter coats and gloves. The road is clear, I swing left heading reluctantly homeward.

It's not the length or the speed of the ride. What matters is the Quality of the ride! This one was short, 65 miles, but.....If you felt what I felt _ you felt Quality! Isn't this what riding is all about, I ask you?

Front page