I believe that anyone who is passionate about anything has to be a bit of a lunatic at times. I think it’s a prerequisite. Living in a state that actually experiences snow in the winter, I’ve made it my personal goal to be the first biker to start commuting in the spring, and the last to stop in the fall. Why?

Well the short answer is that the enjoyment I derive from it far outwieghs any disadvantages. After a hard days work there’s nothing that can refocus my mind like a motorcycle; watching traffic, balance, shifting and throttle. A successful rider must be totally focused on where he is and what is going on around him. It’s that focus that takes me away from work. It’s a mental and physical signal that they day is done.

There is one aspect of motorcycling I find even more calming; riding through a thunderstorm. You would think I would have the opposite response, but I actually look forward to riding in a storm.

Before I continue I need to say that riding in extreme weather is even more dangerous for motorcyclists. It’s not something to take lightly, and should generally be avoided. Motorcycles are hard to spot with clear skies, let alone pouring rain. Slippery road surfaces demand respect.

This past week I had the fortune to ride through my first thunderstorm of the year. Yes the first. They don’t often last long enough around here to be a great concern. I want to relate this experience in the hope that maybe you will understand part of this passion I have.

I was at a party at the time and my friends tried to convince me not to leave. They are good friends, but sometimes I need to be a lunatic.

As I left the protection of their home and stepped into the night, the sky flashed wtih lightening but the thunder was distant. Rain spattered against my helmet in a staccato rhythm. I let the bike warm up slightly and then moved off into the night.

When the drops are heavy you actually feel each impact as they hit. Even through the thick fabric of my riding gear little pressure points blosomed and faded all over my arms and shoulders.

The water in itself is cool and once the bike is moving it sucks more heat energy from you. You become a two wheeled, living swamp cooler. I gripped the tank harder with my knees, capturing some of the radiant warmth provided by the engine. It’s not a numbing cold, but a coolness that requires just a little warmth to ward off. A welcome respite from the summer heat.

The miles peeled by as lightning arced through the night sky. The rain varied in intensity, like waves crashing on a beach and then receeding back into the ocean. I felt every change in the rhythm beating against me. It’s a metaphor of life for me; relentless and ever present it’s sometimes gentle, sometimes harsh. It’s beauty, peace, anger and fury.

Before I knew it I was home again; across town through the late night traffic. Wet to be sure, but calmer. My friends asked me to call when I got home and I did so. I have good friends.

“Some guys polish their bikes, I like to wash mine.” Yeah, I’m a nutcase sometimes. But what’s life without passion?