Thursday had been a perfect day for a ride, but I found some excuse. By Sunday the guilt had overcome me and, on another perfect day, I’d set out with barely a clue as to where I was headed. Up the familiar Rt 501, our escape highway to and over the Blue Mountain, I had an inspiration. Hadn’t I, last year at about this time, taken a right off 501 just north of home, and found myself in a hill and dale wonderland? And didn’t I write about that ride for KMP? And wasn’t there an amazing moment when I discovered a gap in those hills that seemed more like Colorado than Pennsylvania? Let’s find that gap again!
Well, that previous ride had been one of those completely trackless endeavors, turning here or there based on the name of an intersecting road and what might lie in view to the right or left or straight. At least then I’d had my GPS. This day no GPS. No map. Nada. Woefully unprepared. Still, after a lot of discovering new roads and new views, I happened upon something that looked familiar. There in the distance was the mountain that I knew had that gap.
Running parallel to it, and trying various side roads that seemed to lead toward it, I encountered numerous dead ends. Finally, I found a road I was certain was the one that had led to that amazing remembrance. It wasn’t. It just took me over that mountain instead of through it. Looking at my onboard clock, I saw that I was right at the time I’d allotted for the outbound portion of my ride and decided to leave the search for that mystical, beautiful gap for another day.
It’s not the only significant mystery location I’ve encountered. Some years back, ascending one or another ridge on the south side of the Lehigh Gap, I happened on a truly magnificent mountaintop vista. There were a few houses there, so no obstructing trees. I swear, I could see into four or five counties. Several times I’ve been back to that area trying to find that spot. I’ve combed terrain maps online and looked at aerial photography. But all to no avail. It’s something, like that gap, that I hope I can re-discover before my old body calls motorcycling quits.
Maybe those fruitless, two-wheeled searches are simply some kind of physical metaphor for my trying to find myself? Did some unknown force lead me there to inspire my own introspection? To provide a glimpse into my destiny? Am I the motorcycling equivalent of the Flying Dutchman, cursed to wander forever without reaching port?
Naw. I mean we’re not talking about the precincts of a black hole. Where space/time distorts. It’s just friggin’ Pennsyltucky. And it seems I’m just too friggin’ lazy to stop and take notes.
©2025 David B Bucher
SoEast 