As Sheldon already posted, for the moment, the focus of our wanderlust has narrowed to the isolated stretches of road that will carry us to paradise in the coming days. My conversion to motorcyclism was predicated on my insatiable desire for travel -well, that and my testosterone.
If our sole intention were to ride the road and allow the serentity of the road to escort our minds into caverns of thought for which ordinary life never allows, the trip would be sufficient for our purposes. Yet, it will be so much more than that. We will stand at the edge of panoramic mountain vistas which beg the very same question asked by Cicero,
“Who is he, to whom human affairs seem great, when one contemplates the Earth in all of its glory?”
We will build a bond of brotherhood, sharing experiences which excite our senses – experiences like cliff jumping into the icy clear waters of glacier-fed lakes, sharing stories over delicious meals in roadside cafes, and immersing ourselves in the grandeur of God’s creations.
The road is ours. We long for the smell of pine, for the warm-to-cool transitions from sun to shadows, and for the sensation of flying through narrow valleys between steep, towering walls of granite.
We do not have souls. We are souls who have bodies.
