It takes a rare, fragile alignment to truly reach myself on the open road.

​I get it wrong most of the time—measuring the trip by the clock, fighting the asphalt, foolishly hoping a spot on a map will quiet my mind. I cut the power, but the static follows me right off the bike. Nothing shifts. Motion grants no peace, and the harder I reach for clarity, the faster it slips through my fingers. ​The most honest part of the journey is the stillness just after I arrive. I didn't ride to get anywhere; I needed the wind to wash away enough noise so I could finally face where I actually was. It takes trial after exhausting trial of getting out of my own way for the trip to catch up to me. ​When the engine dies, I remain suspended in the quiet afterglow. The world becomes muted, slow. The road was never leading to a map, but to meeting myself in the silence and the quiet contentment it brings—a sudden realization I can't explain, and the luminous weight of my own presence. ______________________________________ Excursion on a Triumph Scrambler 900 Buy me a coffee and help support and improve the quality & content. Your support is not expected, but it’s really appreciated. https://buymeacoffee.com/moonlitvmpr ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------