The old, hardwired part of my brain arrived genetically, a product of millions of years of evolution. It existed before agriculture and was used hunting and gathering. It knows how to carry all my possessions with me, to live light and free. It’s still there, operating in the background. There hasn’t been enough time to change it much.
That’s why a motorcycle feels natural. A minimal machine, carrying my gear down the road to the next good spot.
I can do civilization pretty well, but part of me objects to it and gets angry.
That’s why a regular dose of “the bike” is necessary. Even a photo does wonders.