Musings of a canyon carver

[jphillips]

Canyon Roads.

It is an acerbic expressway, hardened by time and fluid to the touch, yet built through the prism of a window to another era. Egalitarian in construction, its rambling mass flows from one hillside-avenue to another, clasping hands with the countryside as it sways from one event to the next.

A collection of individuality, which runs together as a sequence of dreams laid out before you. The means to its survival fleeting, perhaps even dated. For godsakes there are new homes to build and schools to construct ââ,¬â€œ society desperately needs to advance. And yet itââ,¬â,,¢s the road that shows us the past. The virtue of our survival. How it got here and why it still stands are pondering questions, thought provoking in their indignity but far less useful than the experience held within them. The experienced held by riding through them. By becoming one with them.

Roads are such majestic creatures. Built by man yet brought to life by nature. By the very means humanity wishes to admonish. We donââ,¬â,,¢t need another shopping center. We donââ,¬â,,¢t need more movieplexes. We need more twists. More turns. More Events in our lives. Yet so much of regular society bemoans the journey ââ,¬â€œ that extra corner, or extra bend, the two-laned highway that desperately needs to be widened and straightened out ââ,¬â€œ Because the traffic is unbearable in rush hour. Yet who champions the middle of the day? Who says, ââ,¬Ëœyeah, but itââ,¬â,,¢s a blast to ride when itââ,¬â,,¢s empty?ââ,¬â,,¢

And really, is there anything better than a brilliant corner flush with excitement? Anything that beats feeling like youââ,¬â,,¢re running on the edge at the top of the world? On a canyon road captivated by rock and wilderness? By the very past?

The way the yellow line frequents each quadrant of the emotional spectrum. You feel the fear, you see the excessive joy, taste the determination of the desire to create it, to build it, to be it. And then you go. Faster. And faster. And faster. And then youââ,¬â,,¢re simply existing above an asphalt adventure.

I donââ,¬â,,¢t need to trek through Africa and I donââ,¬â,,¢t need to climb Everest ââ,¬â€ I need to ride every fucking curvy road between here and there. Thatââ,¬â,,¢s far more powerful. Far more majestic. Far more of a journey.

Because itââ,¬â,,¢s everyday ordinary in excess. Because itââ,¬â,,¢s alive and breathing and fluid and dynamic.

Soon the fences and hedges fly by in a blur. The farms disappear. The singular rustic windmills pace into oblivion. The tactile feeling thatââ,¬â,,¢s being transmitted through the handlebars shatters the deeper thoughts and the rhythm of machine etches itself into your consciousness. You feel the undulations below. You touch that realm where blurry becomes a different kind of focus. You watch the clouds climb over the ridge, over the top of the mountain pass. You feel the moisture in the air. The dampness wrapping around you. The way the sea salt can be smelled. You feel placed in control. Seated before your sins and on top of the world even though youââ,¬â,,¢re diving down into the valley below.

Now it is just you and the surface and they way they connect.

A connection riddled with the flaws of humanity but so damn beautiful at speed. The way the brush blows by, the sound of the empty nature, the way the wind basks in the brilliant sunlight, the taste in the air of an eternal landscape. And even the fog in that lies in front of you.

In the hard winter light, you squint into the distance and stare down the gradient sunset while it fades into the horizon line. Lick your lips at the opportunity to chase what remains of the day. A cattle call for adventure and an admonishment of the grind. Here you stand away from so much and yet surrounded by even more.

Who needs a GPS system when you have a hunch?

Once there was an Indian scurrying around this very peice of land. Then a settler came roaming through the plains of this very canyon. Eventually the horse became the car and the dirt transformed into this very asphalt. This very avenue of advancement.

And now youââ,¬â,,¢re here.

On the same road as a million other men and yet itââ,¬â,,¢s completely different. Completely new.

Dedicated to the task of chasing the very light you crave down a dark twisted piece of tarmac in the middle of individuality.

[EightySix200SX]

thanks jeff! i love canyons!

[jphillips]

ââ,¬Â¦And itââ,¬â,,¢s bangingââ,¬Â¦ Corner by corner, turn by turn, the bend of the asphalt and the rise of the road. The way your heartbeat races. That feeling of floating. The movement in the sky. The movement among the lines as you glide from edge to edge and see the way the world begets its next moment of maturity. Out among the leaves, the branches wave, and the sun shines and somewhere deep you feel the temperatures going up and up and up. The way the sweat beads and how it rolls down the shallow of your neck, that sense of moisture and the warmth it brings. The backhanded compliment of a day thatââ,¬â,,¢s almost expired. That feeling of physically forcing yourself to focus on the cause and forget the rest of the trail ââ,¬â€ The rest of the effect. The way the view hunkers down and somehow between there and here youââ,¬â,,¢ve forgotten what it is that ails you.

Then the sounds change.

The lung of an engine. The raising of the machineââ,¬â,,¢s voice. That scream. An ungodly satisfying howl. A wild Rev. The way the machine vibrates back and forth. So loudly and so arrogantly that you think safetywire might have to be the next upgrade. Thereââ,¬â,,¢s just too much movement after the rain. Too much force coming from the twin. Too much energy being blown out. Explosions. Revs. Rockets.  Red Glare. In the darkness of our daily lives we watch ourselves slide off into the background ââ,¬â€ one last hot lap amongst friends ââ,¬â€ but right now that seems so far offââ,¬Â¦ So many years from nowââ,¬Â¦ And yet so closeââ,¬Â¦ Or so you say as you bang through the gears one more time and nail that shift while feeling the foundations swallow up the asphalt adventure and spit it back out in a container called tomorrow.

Post Merge: 02:46:57 PM / 04-Apr-11
ooops - I'm a post behind...

Gears are grinding as the pistons churn and the machine envelops yet another twenty-four hour news cycle.

Another day that should be marked on a calendar and recalled many, many moons from now, when Iââ,¬â,,¢m old and gray and feeling frail, perhaps wondering where my youth once was spent.

We spend an entire lifetime living through moments and creating memories, but how many do we actually remember? How many do we actually recall in the rolodex of life?

A blast of wind forces the front wheel left of center. I feel the crisp wind slapping against the tank. The way it caresses the plastic curves, and dances down the narrowing fold at the back, before sauntering past the seat.

Ahead lies a cacophonic collection of curves. A series of jaunts that catalog an entire lifetime of racetracks and road courses. They slide left and twirl right and meander up and down the California countryside. They amble over hills and duck down into valleys. They dare to escape to a land where there are no ââ,¬Ëœhardââ,¬â,,¢ ââ,¬â€œ- or ââ,¬Ëœsoftââ,¬â,,¢ ââ,¬â€ shoulders.

Just asphalt.

Swooshing sounds halt the rabid advances of the moisture thatââ,¬â,,¢s quickly evaporating. The daylight breaks over the canyon walls. Shafts of light beckon. Yet around the next bend, patches of darkness still lie stranded in the tarmac.

Thereââ,¬â,,¢s a sense of mortality involved. A sense of movement. A sense of the moment. A purpose. That heightened sense of connection that comes from the vibrations that are being transmitted through the footpegs from the massive powerplant. The way the engine asks for more. How it speaks in hushed tones and loud explosions.

Conscious, or perhaps unconsciously, you pull back. Wick the throttle deeper. Feel the rush, the sensation of speed, the breakneck pace. The way the world moves faster, and faster, and finally faster, until you think you can see your bleeding edge being run down right in front of you.

A quick glance at the dash, and I think to myself the clock of today is ticking away, but itââ,¬â,,¢s all wrong; And thereââ,¬â,,¢s no reason to worry about it.

No reason to think about it.

No reason to bother with it.

Because today is simply breathtaking.

It is alive and marching to the beat of its own drummer.

Right now, there is absolutely nothing that I could be doing that is better than this.

Better than the addiction of movement, and passion, and performance, and speed.

Nothing better than the way it grips.

The ground flows beneath as the asphalt flies under the wheel. The wind creates chaos for you auditory system ââ,¬â€œ even with the ear plugs in ââ,¬â€ and alters the very fabric of your mood. That sense of tactile connection with an engine howls louder and louder. It revs up with the simple turn of a wrist. Yet stills dials down when you close it off. The bite of the brakes before a corner, or better yet, throughout the corner. The sound of the engine popping off.. Better, Faster, Quicker, One vistaââ,¬â,,¢s advancement to the next. And the next.

Coming around the latest bend, I bask in the glory of a California winter and look up and wonder, ââ,¬Å"Have I ever been here beforeââ,¬Â?

And I donââ,¬â,,¢t know.

Yet where I should feel lost, I feel the most secure.

Over the next hill I see the clouds collide. Itââ,¬â,,¢s Sunday and theyââ,¬â,,¢re holding mass above the center of the valley. The surface flicks left and dances right and beckons again for a more temporal advancement as it crests the ridge. The grip gets better as the sun grows brighter. Moisture dissipates and the day becomes far more than just another 12 hours of bliss. Itââ,¬â,,¢s beyond that. Beyond mere dreams, and how often can you say that? How often can you live that?

Shoulders shrug, moods change, moments pass ââ,¬â€œ to much time is wasted in our days. To many mornings start under false assumptions; itââ,¬â,,¢s too cold, itââ,¬â,,¢s too wet, itââ,¬â,,¢s too hot, itââ,¬â,,¢s too much, I have too much to doââ,¬Â¦ Itââ,¬â,,¢s always something that holds us backââ,¬Â¦ But not today. Not now. Not when itââ,¬â,,¢s like thisââ,¬Â¦

Not when itââ,¬â,,¢s perfect.

[Arro]

You wrote this?

Edit: didn't intend to imply you aren't capable, I just know you also tend to find other equally compelling things other people have also written.

[JonB]

Uh!? - I like twisty roads too.

Pretty good.

The problem, which you sort of mentioned, is that many people don't take driving as an adventure. They think twisty roads are dangerous; if they don't pay attention for just a moment and aren't using 100% of their concentration to drive, they crash. I find their findings strange, because I think most people's cars are so boring and soft, it's difficult to "feel" the road and know what's going on - I think that's dangerous.

Give them flat straight roads, so they don't have to pay attention and still get home at the end of the day. Everybody knows listening to the new song on the Sirus in a cooled 65degree vehical is way more important, and builds better character than getting the right gear on some archaic manually operated vehical. Why twisty roads? For some switchback that would make a large vehical look bad? When the people like that large vehical to look down on, and intimidate others as well as a visual representation of success? Doesn't make any sense - straighten them all. I'm buying an H1 limo and I'm gonna drive straight across those switchbacks, just like in the movies! - Now that's adventure.

Sorry, just entertaining my thoughts in your post:)

[jphillips]

wow.  At least I'm writing bro...  Weren't you boo-hooing about starting up a blog or something a couple months ago?  I can't remember.

[JonB]

Me? Nah, I'm not wanting to write a blog. Don't know that I ever was gonna write a blog. Wait nevermind - sorta bloging here aren't I?

I dig your writing. I love twisties to.

Kinda bumbed out cause I had to buy another car because my S12 got to unreliable for DD. I'm keeping my S12. Think I got a garage for it here.

I bought a Kia Soul. It's sucks. I find myself doodling with the radio and not watching for every pot hole. Big change in vehicals for me; Fairly quick and corners like on rails to really slow and needs rails to corner.

I'm broke so I got the Soul. Basically went as cheap as new vehicals go, then wient up another $4k for a goofy boxy shape. Figured if I was gonna spend, it better have some feature - like a goofy boxy shape.

Kia Souls don't like twisties:)

[Arro]

Jeff, I have something going, I just haven't shared it with car-related people at this time. Nobody's boo-hooing but you lol. As usual, your judgment is off the mark. Anyways I'm a full schedule student, and two of my classes are writing composition oriented... how about you?

Regardless, this piece posted here is article worthy. And probably a lot more relevant to a car site than what I write. Creatively expresses the experience of the road as the quintessential motivation for the adventurer's journey -- the journey itself. It's good stuff. But perhaps it would be better posted in something more substantial and more visible than... a nitche car forum? YOU could do better than here, too. Physician, please heal thyself

[jphillips]

I have something going, I just haven't shared it with car-related people at this time.

you always seem to have "something" going...

Nobody's boo-hooing but you

quite the opposite - I was pretty enthused writing this.  I was taking a stab at the fact that you can't seem to finish shit.

But perhaps it would be better posted in something more substantial and more visible than...

If I was looking to make a career out of it then perhaps.  Was simply trying to express some passion and exhuberance with like minded, Passionate and appreciative people - apparently that's not you.

you haven't had shit to say to me in months and your first comment is accusing me of plagarism?  Fuck you.