The Memory of Motion—A Letter from Marisa

Fall always feels like motion. The road blurs, the trees burn gold, and the season slips through our fingers. 

Autumn rides hit different. The warmth of the earth still lingers, but the chill air whispers that nothing lasts forever. Maybe that’s why it all feels so alive, because deep down, we know it’s all about to change.

There’s something about this time of year that stirs a quiet ache inside me. Maybe it’s the way the light shifts or the subtle reminder that everything beautiful has an expiration date. The seasons turn, the miles roll by, and inevitably, life moves forward whether we’re ready or not.

Change has a way of sneaking up on us. Sometimes it hits like a sudden downpour. Other times it creeps in slowly, like the way summer fades into fall. 

You don’t notice it at first, but one morning you step outside and realize the air feels different. The sound of the wind has changed. You know that something is shifting, whether you’re ready to let go or not.

Motorcycling has a funny way of mirroring that rhythm. Every ride is a reminder that nothing lasts forever; not the perfect stretch of asphalt, not the golden light filtering through the trees, not even the freedom you feel when the rest of the world falls away behind your helmet. 

The road always ends. The tank runs dry. The trip that seemed endless eventually winds its way back home.

But that’s also what makes it beautiful, right? If the ride went on forever, it wouldn’t feel the same. There’s a weight to the moments we know are fleeting. 

The pause you take at that last stop before heading home. That quiet mile when the sun starts to sink and the temperature drops just enough to make you wish it wouldn’t. Those are the memories that stick. They remind us what it means to feel alive.

Life, much like the road, is a constant negotiation between motion and stillness. Sometimes you choose the change. Accepting a new job or moving for a fresh start somewhere unknown. Other times, it chooses you. 

Maybe it’s a door closing before you’re ready. Maybe it’s something, or someone, slipping out of your life faster than you expected. Maybe, like the best roads, you can sense the next curve coming long before you see it.

Lately, I’ve had that gut feeling. That sense that something’s shifting on the horizon. I don’t quite know what it is yet, but I can feel it coming, like a storm you can smell before you see the clouds. 

It’s not a feeling of fear, more like an uneasy curiosity. Because deep down, I know that nothing lasts forever.

Maybe that’s the lesson fall tries to teach us every year. That beauty and change aren’t opposites—they’re intertwined, and the end of one season makes room for the next. 

Perhaps the best thing we can do, as riders and as people, is to stay open to the motion. Appreciate the warmth while it’s there and then ride through the chill when it comes, letting the road take us where it’s meant to go.

Because even when things end, even when the trip is over or the leaves are gone, the feeling remains. That memory of motion still dances in your head time and time again. The reminder that we were there, even if only for a moment.

Keep on riding,

Marisa McInturff
Managing Editor