20
Aug/2008

by xyzauto

Stealth Rider, I don't remember exactly when it was I decided to slip my factory pipes back onto my V Star 1100. My friends on their Harleys didn't like the quiet sound of my bike. It offended their macho sensibilities, which equate loud noise with masculinity. Next to theirs, it barely whispered. So I gave in to the macho vroom-vroom for a couple of years slapping on a set of loud pipes until I noticed my hearing wasn't so good on the cell phone anymore. Then one day out of the blue I switched back. Its on days like this that I really appreciate that move I made. Gliding along at a moderate speed between the glimmers of light, which cut laser-like through the trees. As I wind my way quietly along another country road, the cool wind wrapping my body in a refreshing jacket of peaceful crispness. I float like a butterfly and zip like an arrow which builds up a stream of air resistance around it. The only detectable noise is the rush of the wind. I am invisible and inaudible. Yet I pierce reality like a dart. I offend no one, neither animal, nature nor man. I feel like a paintbrush on a soft canvas. Fully integrated with the reality I appear in. Huge white wings unfurl behind me, as my bike morphs first into a gallant steed and then into a soaring glider. Along the Delaware, and through open fields, meadows, and winding roads, to the crest of a hill to catch the sunset I glide alone. Amid the creatures of the forest that barely notice me; amid the tranquil waters and mountaintops I sail. Sometimes like a bullet from a silenced barrel, at others like a spear hurled accurately toward its target. The noble horseman, angel of light, the unobserved observer. Kick it down a few notches coast undetected at forty. Breathing in the aromas of the forest as shades of light and dark dance before me. Birds cross in front and play tag with my helmet. I am upon a carpet, a magical and powerful instrument of propulsion whose deep rhythmic thud is like the heart of a long-distance runner. We are one, man and machine indivisible. We are spirit, we are pure thought, and we are alive. I like the solitude my bike affords, the opportunity to meditate as I drift along. I often pray when out on the road. I feel close to God and fellow man, transfixed upon this icon of unfettered freedom. The quiet makes it all possible. One does not need to be loud to be powerful. I move mountains of thought, and create peaceful harmony in the process. When I am quiet, I am in Him and he is in me, and together we are one. In quiet I hear the voices of angels. I hear my own heart speak to me. I feel the exhilaration of being in the here and now. I am a stealth rider upon a wave of beauty, a ripple in the stream of life. Christopher Cole view all images

Tags: Quiet Zen Riding

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