Author: Ted Edwards

My Soul Said Go

This is for you, mister random Yosemite Valley stranger who spun on your heels and approached me while I dismounted my bike that sweltering July day, who stopped your walk along God’s Country to ridicule my exhausted frame as I peeled sweaty gear off my back, who halted gazing at El Capitan so you could critique me.  You pulled your focus from where it should have been to where it had no business being, aiming your spiteful arrows at me to offer a cutting remark to this travel weary vagabond.
“Is it worth it?” you inquired rather sarcastically.  Then before I could respond, you turned and walked away.

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The Zombie Ninja, Pt. 2

Joining our squad of swift, veteran riders was my 16-year old son Matt, who earned his driver’s license and motorcycle endorsement simultaneously little more than a month before.  A motorcycle I nicknamed the Zombie Ninja was his mount, a Kawasaki Ninja 500R that absorbed parts and money like a giant, sucking black hole of bottomless misery until it roared to life just days before departure.  Before us lay the 30 miles of Canada’s 31A, technical tarmac where beauty reigns, crashes are frequent and speed is a punishable commodity.

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The Zombie Ninja, Pt. 1

Motorcycle parked in my driveway, I walked up the stairs to my front door as a dead man walking, dead man walking, I was a dead man walking. A 3-day, 900-mile tour of Canada complete, I was returning home without my 16 year old son. I had no idea where he was. Inside waited my wife whose blissful world was about to be ripped apart by the news, and I would deliver the blow that would drop her to her knees.

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GPI Pro Series Motorcycle Stands

I ordered the GP Pro Series stands from GPI Industries which set me back $249.99. GP Pro Series stands are mandrel bent from one piece of 1 3/8″ tubular carbon steel meaning no joints, no wobbly bolts holding them together and no major assembly, just attach the wheels and they are ready to use. A lifetime guarantee accompanies every stand but after looking over their one piece construction I can’t imagine where they would fail.

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Crows For Eagles

My engine thrummed while birds circled overhead, teasing the Columbia River air with their wingtips.  Expert manipulators of space they moved with unconscious subtle gestures, altering their trajectory in anticipation of the next wind shift.  Like a road racer making minute course changes with a lowering of the head to the inside of a corner, these birds were masters of instinctual flight.  I assumed they were eagles.

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Clouds of Doubt

The picture was a metaphor, an allegory that burrowed deep into spaces in my mind I pretend don’t exist, things about the sport of motorcycling I bury beneath the temporal joy of the next corner.

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All The Things I Shouldn’t Do

Standing at my workbench beneath the glow of my shop lights I washed the lingering taste of stale taco out of my mouth with another pull of moonshine from the mason jar, a solitary thought ricocheting around my head like the last, lonely ball on a pool table. As I fumbled for the drill that sole thought was that what I was about to do was wrong, way wrong, so wrong that it could either be the best thing I had ever done, or the worst.

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My Ace In The Hole

I pondered the unfriendly hand of cards life had dealt and the solitary thought poking through the fog of agony surprised me. It wasn’t about can I keep my job, will the surgery hurt, will insurance cover my illness, or will my dog still love me, it was this: Will I still be able to ride my motorcycle?

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Crash Course

I knew something was wrong. I remounted and ascended the grade slowly. With its rock face to the left and sheer drop to the right, running wide here meant endless airtime to consider what went wrong, get your affairs in order and picture your kids’ faces before gravity pulls you toward your inevitable handshake with the basalt rocks that lie below, waiting to mangle rider and bike. A couple of minutes into my climb I found Corey’s wreck. He had run wide.

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