Celebrating BMW's motorcycle anniversary and finding contentment on the way home
Sharing an experience: a night ride
A faint silvery sheen from the moon penetrates the overcast skies. I push back the side stand of my motorcycle, put the engine into gear and leave the Shell service station, accelerating on the ramp to the Trans-Canada Highway. I'm in Langley, British Columbia, heading home to Vancouver.
Earlier it had been blustery, but now, after 8 PM, the wind has died down. So has the traffic, and the highway is clear. With no trucks and construction slowdowns, riding a motorcycle in these conditions feels safer. A pleasant ease settles in my mind as I focus on the route, a distance of about fifty kilometres. It's March 30th. I'm wearing the right layers, so cold temperatures at freeway speed are not a factor tonight.
I rode to Langley in the late afternoon to attend a reception celebrating BMW Motorrad's one hundredth anniversary as a company building bikes. I don't own a BMW motorcycle, but I enjoy being part of the community, ogling new models and meeting people at these events.
Heading west, I’m travelling at about the speed limit and it’s comfortable. The most enjoyable aspect of this section of the Trans-Canada Highway is the crossing of the Fraser River at the Port Mann Bridge, a wide, cable-stayed span connecting the city of Surrey, on the south side of the river, to Coquitlam on the north side. It's an impressive engineering marvel, carrying ten lanes of traffic. The road surface is more than 40 meters above the river.
Just before getting on the bridge the road dips downhill as it leaves Surrey and then rises slightly on the bridge itself before dropping down again on the other side.
By day the eye is captivated by the mountains in the distance. At night the long cables rising high from the deck are illuminated with lights and they become a focal point, like a kind of art installation. The river reflects some of the light from the sky and from the riverbank, where lumber mills and other industries hug the water.
Across the bridge the hills of Coquitlam rise into view, the lights from the houses looking like a constellation of yellow stars, the bigger North Shore mountains rising as shadows in the distance, clearly outlined across the dark sky.
My mind takes this in and slips to another place and another time. The view reminds me of a vacation drive in a rental car on a hot night in early July, when we arrived in San Diego in darkness after a long stretch from Yuma, Arizona, skirting the Mexican border. Approaching the city along Interstate 8, we meandered through several valleys, past Glenview, La Mesa and into Mission Hills, all twinkling with lights from the homes built on the slopes near the highway.
Both experiences, then and now, feel slightly unreal, like some kind of LaLa Land or theme park, too distant from one's daily experiences, but definitely happening. The hills look as if they’ve been decorated by a giant hand, like the make-believe world next to the tracks of a model train set or an elaborate nativity scene set in the hills of Nazareth. I feel like a miniature person passing through that kind of landscape.
On the motorcycle, the wind drowns out most of the engine sound. You feel the cool air on your skin, even if it’s covered. As I cross over onto the north shore of the river, the yellow lights on the hills are replaced by the white LEDs of the industrial and retail district along the highway. I pass the large IKEA store on the right, with its wide parking lot and familiar yellow-and-blue sign. On the left, the floodlights of the EagleQuest golf driving range draw your eyes to multi-storey tee positions, tiny metal shafts reflecting from the upper levels as people drive balls into the night. A bit later, approaching my turnoff at Grandview, the pink lights of the Grand Villa Casino and Conference Centre, also next to the highway, are a reminder that my ride is almost over.
As I enter the city, the noise from the wind abates and is replaced by the quiet of the streets at this time of night. I notice the aromas from fast-food restaurants along the way. Rush hour is long past and the slower speeds from stoplight to stoplight are relaxing, giving me a chance to look around as we wait for the greens.
The rest of the way home, I follow a few cars in a serene procession. Tonight all is right with the world.