Excerpt from ‘Motorcycle Therapy’
The serpentine road between Durango and Mazatlán bears the name el Espinazo Del Diablo – the Devil’s Spine. Terrible beauty overshadows the hazards of the road as it carves through the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains, tempting motorists to follow its precipitous path and leading many of them to crumpled metal graves.
An ominous fog enshrouded the Devil’s Spine as we left Durango. The cold penetrated every layer of warm clothing, and my fingers tingled with pain. It was both a relief and a revelation when the clouds began to lift and we could see farther than 50 metres in front of us, down into the valleys.
The bank dropped steeply away on one side and rose sharply into towering columns of volcanic rock on the other. Elaborate memorial shrines dotted the narrow shoulders. One particularly deadly corner, its banks proving too steep for any recovery effort, displayed dozens of crosses and the twisted shells of vehicles that had plunged over its side…graphic reminders of the frailty of life.
The sound of our engines rising and falling to negotiate sharp curves and steep hills added fuel to the flame of exhilaration within. Wind whistled off my helmet and snapped at my blue nylon jacket. Perhaps, more than anything, it’s the sound of riding a motorbike that makes you feel alive and transforms every man into a boy.
As I approached a sharp hairpin turn, I could see Trevor below, riding in the opposite direction. It was a perfect moment. I became acutely aware that this snapshot in time would remain in my mind forever. At that moment, there was nothing else I would rather have been doing anywhere on earth. It took me 30 years to learn this, but perfect moments happen more than we realize. The trick is to recognize them when they appear and really live in them. You can ruin a perfect moment by worrying about the past or the future. Perfect moments fade – there will always be time to worry when they are gone.
