Subject: a ride
Date: Oct. 14, 1997


I went for a ride last saturday morning. I almost didnt meet the rest
of the group at the Shell station at the bottom of the hill - I never
liked riding in groups and the past few months have been hard for me
to break any of those dislikes - I like riding on my own or with just
one other person - there is some level of trust in the other riders,
but I simply haven't been trusting myself lately.

There are visions I can't get out of my head - a downed bike, a rider
in the road, her body like a rag doll tossed by the wind, the tears
and screams of pain and anguish from the souls of the fiancee and
family she left behind, and most vividly, sitting on the side of the
road, holding onto him, just holding him and letting him scream and
cry and beat me, knowing I never ever wanted someone to love me like
that, and lose me like that.

I can't get those images out of my heart - sometimes, I'm riding
along, and the day is bright and beautiful, like that day was, and I
see her at the end, not the way I met her, alive and bright and
beautiful, and my heart is empty and heavy. On my trip to Canada, I
passed a yellow FZR and just saw her again... the rest of the ride was
mechanical and hard, because I'd have to remind myself, that wasn't
her, that wasn't Liane anymore - that was just her body and I would
forget about how much I loved riding and forget how much SHE loved
riding.

Then Yves died, just four months later. The difference is.. the
difference is that I'm having trouble being sad for his death. I am
sad I can't be with him anymore, that I cant ride, drink, hang and
talk to him, but I'm really having trouble being sad as I am sad for
Liane for not having the chance to live her life. I feel a sort of
responsibility to live my life as passionately and deeply as Yves did
to make up for Liane. That has to be strange, but its how I feel, and
I'm still coming to grips with it.

So we rode up the Crest, a huge group of us, and I led part of the
group. It was a slow Pace ride, about 50 mph, and I think I let off
the throttle once, and I tapped the brakes twice to let the person
behind me know I noticed a cage ahead. The day was beautiful, as many
days are in Southern California, and suddenly, I heard Liane laughing
in my ear, the way she laughed when I first met her, and she said,
"Its ok, you know." and I heard Yves saying to me, in that gravelly
voice, "Hey, this day's for you, darlin'," the same way he said that
morning at breakfast, "I wore this shirt for you, darlin'."

And something clicked inside. Something fell into place. And I'm while
I'm not less sad about Liane, and for those left behind without her, I
am not as scared about riding anymore - I accepted the fear and the
pain. This is what I do. This is too much a part of me for me to think
about giving up, and while life just isnt always fair or happy, I've
met some amazing wonderful people because of my passion - and that is
what life is about - the connections we make and the memories we leave
behind and the lives we touch.

The rest of the ride was just... calm. Not that 'zone' or feeling of
'svaha!' that one gets when going at a pace that is challenging, yet
still within limits, but one where I felt really just connected to the
road, and while I knew I could push it faster, and tuck into those
turns harder, I just kept a nice smooth even rythmn.

I carry Liane's angel pin under my heart everytime I ride, and I'm not
really sure why - I didnt know her that well, but I hope that we could
have been good friends. Not even knowing her at all, she's touched me
in ways that I cannot see as anything but good and joyous. Yves's
passing reminded of those things and his life again is a beacon to
tell me that there is much much more to this world than meets the eye.

I've got to thank them both, someday, when we meet again.