May 19, 2021 Barrman rides again.

Barrman awoke at his mountain home.  He was excited for the day, he felt refreshed and invigorated. The blue sky looked like he could reach out and touch it. He stood and embraced the view. The silence enveloped him as he breathed in the clear air.

Peace filled his soul and he held the moment. There was a sparkle in his eye as he turned to go.

With a grin, he jumped aboard his Honda ST1300 motorcycle. His body groaned in protest but his soul soared in anticipation. He knew the road from Big White to town like the back of his hand, mostly in winter’s grip. Riding his bike was a new chance to dance with the road. 

Slowly Barrman paced his way up the hill and then down toward a winding switchback. He resisted the desire to open it up, it was time to enjoy the view of the Monashees in the distance. Snow still capped the mountains and they gleamed in the sunshine. The blue sky framed overhead like a painting and the world was the canvas. The ride in front of him filled him with a cold rush of peaceful adrenaline. There was no one on the road and the corners stretched out in front of him. 

Barrman rounded the last curve past the entrance to Snowpines and felt the road slide on him. It happened fast and he recovered right away. His heart stayed behind him for the second his grip on the road loosened. The road cleared of gravel and he breathed deeply seeing the corners ahead in his mind’s eye. 

Nimbly he slowed for the switchback turns that descended from the village toward the Westridge parking lot. Leaning into the corner his eyes scanned intently for any gravel in his path. He straightened up on his two-wheeled machine and opened the throttle as he maneuvered the sweeping S turns down, down, down. With the road, the temperature went down as well. It’s a strange phenomenon that the Westridge part of the mountain is always colder than it is in the village. On a motorbike, those few degrees make a difference. 

Barrman grabbed the throttle as he cruised by the Westridge parking lot. He resisted the temptation to really open it up. A series of dipsy dos and bad spots in the road kept Barrman alert as he slowed for the last of the bumps before the next corner. The feeling of freedom and joy intensified as the road smoothed out and he continued to guide his metal beast around winding corners as if designed as a taste of motorcycle heaven.

The road finished off with another series of winding switchbacks. The last of the corners straightened back out just as the cattle guard glanced beneath his tires. In the back of his head, the cattle guard was the finish line of his descent from the mountain paradise. He approached highway 33 with a smile plastered on his face.

The dance with Big White Road was over. 

Barrman cruised gently down the highway and back into Kelowna. He was refueled by his connection with the road and his machine. Forty-five minutes felt like a flash, yet he savoured every moment. Every lean into the corners and every lean onto the throttle held a place inside his soul. 

It felt good to be reminded of the things in life that are really important. Sometimes people just need to ride and connect with the world in any way they can.

For those brief moments in the coronaverse, Barrman was free.