Yes, we've all heard the platitudes about greeting the colors of autumn as a sign of renewal, the end of a growing cycle that prepares us for another season of gloom ahead. Back home, on the farms of Michigan, it's just the first chance to stand back and admire the work that was accomplished through the spring and summer. We pull out the shotguns and rifles and begin thinking about storing our motorcycles for winter. It's a bittersweet time, full of beautfully crisp afternoons that demand we choose between hunting upland game or a quick ride over familiar roads.

It's a tough choice to make. Bird season is only a few weeks long and bonds the hunters to the earth. As we carefully walk through the harvested fields of corn it becomes obvious just how difficult it is to be a successful farmer, or even an unsuccessful one! Each bird flushed is a triumph, regardless of the hit or miss. Four or five decades ago it would be unthinkable not to come back at the end of the day with a bag limit of birds, partridge or pheasant. Now, for so many reasons and most of them bad, the number of birds even seen can usually be counted on one hand. So it's a treat just to spend that two or three hours communing with nature on the back 40.

But what about the motorcycle ride? Isn't it just as precious? After all, at the end of the bird hunting season it's usually too cold, rainy, windy, or gloomy to enjoy any sort of ride. Indian Summer is virtually the last chance for a northern rider to reach into the pocket for the keys and find that last wide grin as the motor turns over and the fingers of the left hand coordinate with the right for a pleasing feeling of power just under the seat. At that point the magic really begins. The route is dictated by the direction of the wind and position of the sun. It sounds odd, but it's true. We plan the route to take maximum advantage of the wind at our backs and the sun in our faces.

Early fall is a swirl of leaves from the pavement as we breeze past the piles gathered at the edge of the road. Later, as rain overtakes the sparkling colors the darkened leaves on the roadway begin to become a skid hazard and the first real decisions about prepping the bike after the last ride come to mind. It's not an abrupt transition, but it is a shock on that last day when you look around and accept that it is the last ride of a great season. The heart becomes a bit heavier and the wide smile much more difficult to find.

So, I am pining for a fall afternoon ride through the leaves. One that leads around a few graceful curves and past a lake glittering with the low reflected sunlight of the autumn sun. I won't find those scenes on familiar roads this year. There will be new sights on new roads and with unfamiliar outcomes. The wide grin will still be found and will certainly be accompanied by a gasp and comment about the spectacular fall colors along a mountainside. It's bound to be a feeling of excitement and adventure, but at the same moment I'll be thinking of home and those harvested fields. The sense of loss will be offset by one fact, that this fall season will not end as soon and not even demand the motorcycle be given over to the care of a trickle charger and cover for the winter. There will be days in the coming winter that I may find that wide grin because the southern climate allows for such things. Moments in the sun when winter steps aside and lets the heart rise briefly with the sun and track joyfully across the sky.

Remember, "Ride today - Tommorow you may not be able!"

-LW