It came to me today that I “am a cruiser†and looking down at my chromed out machine, I thought “It’s not you, it’s me.†It’s as much a personality trait as a choice in bikes, I am laid back, so I ride laid back.
I am just not in any kind of hurry. I am not opposed to going fast, but usually only so I can get to somewhere new to take my time. I love to tool around old town squares and county court houses and spend entire afternoons trying to get lost on little roads with names like “something Church†Road or “someone’s Farm†Road. My favorite roads tend to be “Townâ€-“Town†roads that lead, as promised, from one interesting little place to another.
Don’t get me wrong, I do like the twisty roads and can spend a day in the North Georgia mountains; I am not opposed to scraping a peg on occasion, but not so much on purpose and even then I am likely then to change my line or my speed in that corner next time to avoid doing so again.
But what I really love are the in-between roads that wind and roll me between the little towns and where massive oak trees that sprouted before “when in the course of human events†still stand alongside the fence and shade cows, horses, and little white farm houses with tin roofs. Americana towns with tall, white columned homes on streets where the trees arch to touch in the middle and places where Magnolias that trembled as General Sherman passed reach for the sky and are thick with thick, green leaves and huge white flowers.
I love pre-interstate numbered routes where the ruins of infrastructure can still be seen by someone who knows what life was before pay-at-the-pump. I bypass nothing; but take the business route and see where the road really goes, by storefronts and parking meters and old folks still sitting on the porch swing and wave as I cruise by, not in a hurry at all.
