It’s always good to go away, but it’s just as good to come home.
I’m always reminded of this truism. The reminder rarely comes the moment I turn the handlebars for home again. It always comes at a point when suddenly I’m on the homeward stretch. It’s much like ground rush for a parachutist, when the feeling of floating way up in the sky, free as a bird, is blown from your mind by the realisation that you’re returning to earth and if you don’t get your mind on the job it’s going to hurt!
Except that in this case I want to be grounded again. I’ve been away, I’ve had my ride, and now I’m looking forward to my own little piece of the world.
I arc through my favourite familiar corners, each one bringing me closer to home. Up and over the pass that divides one weather pattern from another; so often it’s wet on the south side, dry on the north. Through the little towns and villages, each one a milestone on my journey — this one’s two hours from home, that one’s an hour and quarter from home, the next one tells me there’s less than an hour to go.
Past the old road that I still regret they bypassed. This straight stretch is no fun compared with the old route’s twists and undulations.
And eventually I take that last corner into my road. Accelerating down it is an exhilarating as it was when I left it. Yep, it’s always good to be home.
I park the bike, but not before spinning it around to face out again, ready for next time. It’s always good to go away…
By Mick Matheson