By Kason Williamson | The Trouble Journal
There’s something about getting on a motorcycle, hearing that engine come to life, and knowing you don’t have to be anywhere in particular.
No appointments. No schedule. No one asking what you’re doing next.
Just you, the road, and whatever’s waiting around the next corner.
That’s pretty much how my afternoon started yesterday.
I’d been sitting around the house for most of the morning, drinking entirely too much coffee and trying to convince myself I was going to get something productive done.
Tucker was stretched out on the living room floor, looking like he hadn’t worked a day in his life. Which, to be fair, he hasn’t.
I looked at him. He looked at me.
“Think I’m gonna get out of here for a bit, buddy.”
He rolled over.
Real supportive, that one.
There’s Something About These Mountains
Living in Asheville has its perks.
You’ve got good food, interesting people, beautiful scenery, and enough winding mountain roads to keep a guy entertained for a lifetime.
Growing up in Knoxville, Tennessee, I was never exactly a stranger to the mountains. But there’s something different about living somewhere that makes you want to get outside every single day.
I grabbed my jacket, helmet, and keys, and headed out.
Didn’t have a destination in mind.
Didn’t particularly want one.
Sometimes I think we spend so much of our lives planning every little thing that we forget how good it feels to just go somewhere.
I took one of my favourite routes out toward the Blue Ridge Mountains.
The air was cool enough to appreciate the jacket, the sky was clear, and the mountains seemed to stretch forever.
I wasn’t in a hurry.
That’s the thing about riding for me. It’s not about going fast. It’s about being present.
You notice things differently when you’re out there.
The way the sunlight cuts through the trees. The smell of the woods after a little rain. The temperature changing as you climb higher into the mountains.
Stuff you might miss when you’re rushing from one place to another.
A Little Peace and Quiet
Eventually, I stopped at an overlook.
There wasn’t much happening. A couple of people taking pictures, somebody eating lunch in their car, and one older gentleman who looked like he’d been standing there contemplating the meaning of life for about three hours.
I found a spot away from everybody and leaned against the railing.
And for a while, I just stood there.
No phone.
No music.
No distractions.
Just looking out over the mountains.
I think everybody needs moments like that.
We’re constantly surrounded by noise. People telling us what we should be doing, where we should be going, what we should have accomplished by now.
Sometimes you need to get away from all of it long enough to hear yourself think.
I’m 28. I’ve still got a whole lot of figuring out to do.
I don’t have every answer, and I probably never will.
But I’ve learned one thing.
You don’t have to know exactly where you’re going to enjoy where you are.
The Trouble With Going Home
Eventually, the sun started dropping and I figured I should probably head back.
I’d been gone longer than I intended, which is usually what happens when I tell myself I’m only going out for a quick ride.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was hungry enough to eat just about anything.
And who was waiting for me?
Tucker.
Sitting by the door like I’d abandoned him for six months.
I barely got my boots off before he started carrying on, wagging his tail and demanding attention.
“Buddy, I was gone three hours.”
Apparently, that was three hours too many.
I gave him some attention, got myself something to eat, and settled onto the couch.
He climbed up beside me, put his head on my leg, and fell asleep.
And I got to thinking.
I’d spent the afternoon riding through some of the prettiest country around, enjoying the freedom of the open road.
But somehow, coming home to that big goofy dog was just as good.
Funny how life works sometimes.
Take the Long Way
So here’s my advice, for whatever it’s worth.
Every once in a while, take the long way home.
Pull over somewhere beautiful.
Put your phone away.
Let yourself enjoy a moment without worrying about the next one.
You might be surprised by how much you needed it.
And if anybody asks where you’ve been?
Just tell them you were out looking for trouble.
— Kason
Usually outdoors, occasionally trouble.