3,345 miles from Las Vegas. Right now I’m heading toward a town called Harrison. Riding through all this greenery feels surprisingly good.
Up until now, the scenery had been bare rock, wasteland, and ancient earth that felt like it had been standing there for tens of thousands of years. Under the merciless sun, I rode through scorching deserts.
But I love those deserts and wastelands. When I throw myself into that ridiculously vast land, I feel incredibly small. I mean— humans are tiny creatures, right?
We can be blown away so easily, yet we cling to trivial worries and pride…
Ride through here. The wind will wash all that nonsense away.
But—
Nature hates being lied to. Try opening your heart and facing it honestly. The moment you do, a refreshing, gentle wind flows into your heart. If you face nature with an open, pure heart, you’ll be healed and filled.
“Come on, open up that delicate place deep inside your heart. Let everything go and let nature hold you. No need to hesitate. No one will laugh at you, no one will mock you, no one will turn it into a joke. Nature simply accepts you and heals you. And it won’t charge you an outrageous fee either, haha. Humans are part of nature too. We’re all companions.”
Right now, I’m being embraced by nature and healed with deep love. But my wounds are deep, so it’ll take a little more time. I asked nature:
“Why does it take so long for me?”
And the answer was:
“Because you’re still clinging to the past.”
…Touché.
Now I’m riding through the green forests of Arkansas— a completely different landscape from everything before.
Here, I can strongly feel the presence of the forest spirits. Time seems to flow slowly.
When I wanted to feel the forest air more deeply, I happened to find a rest area. I slid my partner into the space without hesitation. The scent of the forest felt wonderful.
When I arrived, the forest residents hid their presence to observe the noisy intruder. The forest grew quiet. I could feel the tension— they were still watching me.
After about 20 minutes, the forest gradually became lively again. I guess they decided I wasn’t dangerous.
I closed my eyes and matched my breathing to the forest. Slowly… I melted into myself.
Then suddenly—
DODODODODODODODODO…
A deep rumbling sound approached. Two Harley‑Davidsons. Fellow riders.
They parked next to my partner. I’d meditated enough, so I went to meet them.
We shook hands, exchanged greetings, and talked for a while. Then one of them asked:
“So where’d you come from?”
“From Las Vegas. My partner is a rental bike— so I’m basically a traveler from Japan!”
“No way—seriously!?”
American reactions at times like this are always hilarious. They lean back like they’re about to fall over.
We hit it off immediately and rode together until evening.
When we stopped for fuel, I said: “I’m going to look for a motel now.”
Then they said: “Alright, we’ll go with you. There’s a Super 8 Motel nearby.”
So that became my lodging for the night. We said goodbye there.
It was a brief encounter, but one I’ll never forget.
I mean— meeting for the first time and immediately riding together… That’s amazing.
Motorcycles are incredible. They cross race, nationality—everything.
“What? You’re a biker? What do you ride? Oh yeah? Alright, let’s go ride.”
This seriously happens all the time.
It’s the biker privilege— the power of being a rider.
My journey continues. I wonder what kind of encounters and joys tomorrow will bring.
To be continued…
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