The Yoknapatawpha at a dock outside Bayboro, North Carolina.

“The sea is a different sort of enemy. Unlike the land, where courage and the simple will to endure can often see a man through, the struggle against the sea is an act of physical combat, and there is no escape. it is a battle against a tireless enemy in which man never actually wins; the most that he can hope for is not to be defeated.” — Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage

Alfred Lansing’s book on Sir Ernest Shackleton’s adventures in the Antarctic was on my mind as I made my way on my motorcycle along the Hiawssee River and into Tennessee.

I miss my old boat, the Yoknapatawpha, and the days and nights when she and I were alone on the sea or anchored off an inlet while thousands of stars pierced the blue-black night. The gentle swaying as she rode the current; the popping sound of shrimp against the hull.

A bird call far off in the night.

A motorcycle is a poor substitute for sailing, but it is a substitute, a stand-in of sorts. There is wind in both, but vastly different winds.

If you’ve been to sea alone on a small sailboat you’ll know what I mean. If not, then not.

A boat at sea will test you every day in a way a motorcycle never will. As Lansing said, there — aboard a boat at sea — you often face a kind of physical combat where the best outcome you can hope for is a draw.

And then there are the calm, clear days where the winds smile and the sky and water are the same impossible shades of blue. Dolphins leap. A sea turtle surfaces off the bow and looks at you with deep dark eyes more ancient than time itself.

The combat and the calm, both are what makes sailing the grand reward it is.

Motorcycling ain’t bad either, but it’s not sailing. Not by a long shot.