10 Feb 2025 Life is a highway

By Mike Kemp

I can remember the first time I had an epiphany while riding.

It was early in my riding career. After being infatuated with motorcycles my entire life, I finally got to the point where I could make a purchase. It was a yellow 2003 Kawasaki Ninja 250, sporty enough to be fun, but approachable enough that a new rider could minimize some painful mistakes.

I had been riding very cautiously for a few weeks, but was returning home and decided to open it up a bit on a neighborhood street. As I rolled on the throttle, the feeling of flying suddenly overtook me. Not in a literal sense, but more like a rush of freedom with a hint of risk.

I checked my speed; I was doing every bit of 30 mph.The feeling, though, was intoxicating. I was hooked.

Actually, I had probably been hooked from a very early age. I’ve always had a fascination with performance machinery. My collection of Hot Wheels cars from my childhood was well-used, with the cars scratched and flaking paint from hours of races on my mother’s oval rugs.

So when my uncle showed up at our house one day on his motorcycle, he became the coolest guy in the world. And it set me on a path that I still seem to be wandering.

But it took a few years before I was at a place where finances, maturity and assuring concerned loved ones intersected before I made the plunge. I was 38 — that was important, since I didn’t want anyone to think this was a mid-life crisis.

It had to happen before I turned 40.

The Ninja 250 also broke the mold that many riders take of buying the biggest, fastest motorcycle they could afford. It was small but capable. There were ardent fans on forums who took cross-country trips on the “Ninjette,” as they affectionately dubbed the bike. It was perfect for a new rider who had a goal of becoming an old rider.

With time and more miles, my range began to increase. Trips became longer and longer, and more and more those little epiphanies crept in.

One in particular underlined that feeling of freedom I had experienced earlier.

It was on a day ride where I planned to explore Arkansas Highway 7. The road is also known as Scenic 7 and runs from the southern border of Arkansas to the northern border. I was just north of Hot Springs Village when I topped a hill.

As I came down the other side, the vista just seemed to open up in front of me. It was one of my first times to really get up close and personal with the Ouachita Mountains, and it felt like I had entered a totally new world. Only this world was within driving distance of my front door.

I was overwhelmed at the experience of being immersed in the environment, the road becoming an endless ribbon winding its way around mountains, feeling the changes in temperatures as I ascended and descended the hills. It was like what Robert M. Pirsig wrote in “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” In a car, you are more like a passive observer watching a screen; on a motorcycle, you are in the scene.

Similarly, years later on a different motorcycle, I experienced it again north of Mountain View, this time on Highway 9, coming down a hill into the small community of Allison.

I had spent a good bit of time in Mountain View, visiting grandparents and cousins who lived there. I had grown so familiar with the area that I really didn’t give much thought to the hills and trees that I passed so frequently. But on this particular ride on that stretch of road, it happened again.

The view opened up, and it was like I was seeing it for the first time. I remember talking in my helmet about just how beautiful this place was. The greens were so much more vibrant, the topography so breathtaking that I was ultimately left dumbstruck.

There is probably more that I could add to this. Every ride is a feast for the senses. The smells, the sounds, the changes in temperatures are all part of the experience and always lead me to an appreciation of the moment I’m in.

I’m going to be writing a column once a quarter for this magazine, and the biggest thing I hope my ramblings impart is this:

Do it.

Get the bike. Get out there and experience what the world has to offer.

You’ll be better for it.