Robert Pirsig - Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

“I just did, out there.”

“I mean a real ghost story.”

“That was the realest ghost story you’ll ever hear.”

“You know what I mean. The other kind.”

I try to think of some conventional ones. “I used to know so many of them when I was a kid, Chris, but they’re all forgotten”, I say. “It’s time to go to sleep. We’ve all got to get up early tomorrow.”

Except for the wind through the screens of the motel window it is quiet. The thought of all that wind sweeping toward us across the open fields of the prairie is a tranquil one and I feel lulled by it.

The wind rises and then falls, then rises and sighs, and falls again — from so many miles away.

“Did you ever know a ghost?” Chris asks.

I am half asleep. “Chris”, I say, “I knew a fellow once who spent all his whole life doing nothing but hunting for a ghost, and it was just a waste of time. So go to sleep.”

I realize my mistake too late.

“Did he find him?”

“Yes, he found him, Chris.”

I keep wishing Chris would just listen to the wind and not ask questions.

“What did he do then?”

“He thrashed him good.”

“Then what?”

“Then he became a ghost himself.” Somehow I had the thought this was going to put Chris to sleep, but it’s not and it’s just waking me up.

“What is his name?”

“No one you know.”

“But what is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, what is it anyway?”

“His name, Chris, since it doesn’t matter, is Phædrus. It’s not a name you know.”

“Did you see him on the motorcycle in the storm?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Sylvia said she thought you saw a ghost.”

“That’s just an expression.”

“Dad?”

“This had better be the last question, Chris, or I’m going to become angry.”

“I was just going to say you sure don’t talk like anyone else.”

“Yes, Chris, I know that”, I say. “It’s a problem. Now go to sleep.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night.”

A half hour later he is breathing sleepfully, and the wind is still strong as ever and I am wide-awake. There, out the window in the dark… this cold wind crossing the road into the trees, the leaves shimmering flecks of moonlight… there is no question about it, Phædrus saw all of this. What he was doing here I have no idea. Why he came this way I will probably never know. But he has been here, steered us onto this strange road, has been with us all along. There is no escape.

I wish I could say that I don’t know why he is here, but I’m afraid I must now confess that I do. The ideas, the things I was saying about science and ghosts, and even that idea this afternoon about caring and technology… they are not my own. I haven’t really had a new idea in years. They are stolen from him. And he has been watching. And that is why he is here.

With that confession, I hope he will now allow me some sleep.

Poor Chris. “Do you know any ghost stories?” he asked. I could have told him one but even the thought of that is frightening.

I really must go to sleep.

Every Chautauqua should have a list somewhere of valuable things to remember that can be kept in some safe place for times of future need and inspiration. Details. And now, while the others are still snoring away wasting this beautiful morning sunlight — well — to sort of fill time —

What I have here is my list of valuable things to take on your next motorcycle trip across the Dakotas.

I’ve been awake since dawn. Chris is still sound asleep in the other bed. I started to roll over for more sleep but heard a rooster crowing and then became aware we are on vacation and there is no point in sleeping. I can hear John right through the motel partition sawing wood in there — unless it’s Sylvia — no, that’s too loud. Damned chain saw, it sounds like.

I got so tired of forgetting things on trips like this, I made this up and store it in a file at home to check off when I am ready to go.

Most of the items are commonplace and need no comment. Some of them are peculiar to motorcycling and need some comment. Some of them are just plain peculiar and need a lot of comment. The list is divided into four parts: Clothing, Personal Stuff, Cooking and Camping Gear, and Motorcycle Stuff.

The first part, Clothing, is simple:

Two changes of underwear. Long underwear. One change of shirt and pants for each of us. I use Army-surplus fatigues. They’re cheap, tough and don’t show dirt. I had an item called “dress clothes” at first but John penciled “Tux” after this item. I was just thinking of something you might want to wear outside a filling station. One sweater and jacket each. Gloves. Unlined leather gloves are best because they prevent sunburn, absorb sweat and keep your hands cool. When you’re going for an hour or two little things like this aren’t important, but when you’re going all day long day after day they become plenty important. Cycle boots. Rain gear. Helmet and sunshade. Bubble. This gives me claustrophobia, so I use it only in the rain, which otherwise at high speed stings your face like needles. Goggles. I don’t like windshields because they also close you in. These are some British laminated plate-glass goggles that work fine. The wind gets behind sunglasses. Plastic goggles get scratched up and distort vision.

The next list is Personal Stuff:

Combs. Billfold. Pocketknife. Memoranda booklet. Pen. Cigarettes and matches. Flashlight. Soap and plastic soap container. Toothbrushes and toothpaste. Scissors. APCs for headaches. Insect repellent. Deodorant (after a hot day on a cycle, your best friends don’t need to tell you). Sunburn lotion. (On a cycle you don’t notice sunburn until you stop, and then it’s too late. Put it on early.) Band-Aids. Toilet paper. Washcloth (this can go into a plastic box to keep other stuff from getting damp). Towel.

Books. I don’t know of any other cyclist who takes books with him. They take a lot of space, but I have three of them here anyway, with some loose sheets of paper in them for writing. These are:

The shop manual for this cycle. A general troubleshooting guide containing all the technical information I can never keep in my head. This is Chilton’s Motorcycle Troubleshooting Guide written by Ocee Rich and sold by Sears, Roebuck. A copy of Thoreau’s Walden — which Chris has never heard and which can be read a hundred times without exhaustion. I try always to pick a book far over his head and read it as a basis for questions and answers, rather than without interruption. I read a sentence or two, wait for him to come up with his usual barrage of questions, answer them, then read another sentence or two. Classics read well this way. They must be written this way. Sometimes we have spent a whole evening reading and talking and discovered we have only covered two or three pages. It’s a form of reading done a century ago — when Chautauquas were popular. Unless you’ve tried it you can’t imagine how pleasant it is to do it this way.

I see Chris is sleeping over there completely relaxed, none of his normal tension. I guess I won’t wake him up yet.

Camping Equipment includes:

Two sleeping bags. Two ponchos and one ground cloth. These convert into a tent and also protect the luggage from rain while you are traveling. Rope. U. S. Geodetic Survey maps of an area where we hope to do some hiking. Machete. Compass. Canteen. I couldn’t find this anywhere when we left. I think the kids must have lost it somewhere. Two Army-surplus mess kits with knife, fork and spoon. A collapsible Sterno stove with one medium-sized can of Sterno. This is an experimental purchase. I haven’t used it yet. When it rains or when you’re above the timberline firewood is a problem. Some aluminum screw-top tins. For lard, salt, butter, flour, sugar. A mountaineering supply house sold us these years ago. Brillo, for cleaning. Two aluminum-frame backpacks.