It was 12:30 am, and the moon is just past full, and the mountains are covered in mist - its raining off and on in southern california and Nevada. Roads were dry tho, and I pointed out Mount Wilson wasnt that far away.
"Want to go up the Crest?" part of me wanting to be up there in the moonlight, part of me wanting to be with him in the moonlight, much of me knowing that to get there would be a surrender of control, realizing that I was handing him my life.
"Sure," he said, just like many men who ride, not knowing how HARD this is for me.
Off went Jezebel, with me on the back, up the infamous Route 2, the Angeles Crest Highway. I try to imagine myself as not really on the back, sitting lightly, weighing nothing, letting the driver do all the work. Part of me is terrified - we are leaning way over. (OK, I lean like this, but not when I'm not in control, not when my hands arent on the throttle, on the brakes.). Finally, I give myself a mental kick and say, "If you don't trust him, you shouldnt be ON the back. Get off now." and realize I do trust him, implicitly, deeply, or I wouldnt have gotten on the back, I wouldnt have suggested the ride. Muscles calm down, body calms down, mind calms down - the moon lights up the road in shades of dark gray and green, and I lean into his body, my arms around him, I want to tuck my head between his shoulders and smell the leather, except we're both wearing helmets.
On the left is the cliff heading up, vague tree outlines and bright white rockface - I know there are wildcats and big horn sheep out here. I wish there were wolves, since these hills are the ones I dreamed off all my life, running with a pack, hunting deer and stealing sheep.
The turns are familiar to me, but not so to the driver, and so I resist anticipating the movements as the bike drops into the turns. I concentrate on looking thru the turns over his shoulder, and not distracting myself with his hair peeking out of the helmet, the lines of his neck disappearing into the jacket.
Only fear is that I know there has been some construction,a nd the bright orange "Loose Gravel" sign makes me tense up. I'd forgotten to tell him about them. We hit the grooved pavement and the bike drops two inches into the scarified pavement - in the apex of the turn. Breathing out, I allow the driver and the bike to do their thing and relax. Jezebel is great, we're fine. We hit the upper lip with the driver weighting the pegs and its solid.
I go back to watching the scenery - my bike, the headlights, the driver, his shoulders, his arms, the motion of his legs against me as he shifts, the road ahead, the turns - the clouds in the mountains, the other mountains far away. My mind wanders and I resist caressing his shoulders and arms and chest, promising myself I'd caress them later. The neat thing in the turns is feeling the bike go over, and allowing my body to fall into it. I want to fall into someone's heart and soul like this - just smoothly and gently and perfectly.
We make it up to the 11 mile mark and the Mt Wilson turn off - its too gravelly to do at night on the Sprint, so we just sit for a while and I howl at the moon, hoping to hear a coyote howl back.
The ride down was smoother - we're both more used to the bike and each other on it, and the moon was just laughing with me all the way down. I wish I had more air in the back tires, and I wish I could have told him to go faster. I want to feel Jezebel lean over like she wants to, like he wants her to.
Getting home at 1 30 am and life was just grand - the ride had relaxed me - always a good thing.