RUST magazine: Rust#7

Editorial
time
By jon bentman,
photo: jb
I RODE PAST the aging Thai villagers in their remote aging village. They
were probably no more than 20 maybe 30 years older than me. But really
centuries was the gap. The locality was defined by their bamboo stilt houses,
the paddy fields they tended, the buffaloes, dogs, pigs and chickens they
kept. Their lines of communication were not digital superhighways, not even
tarmac highways, just dirt tracks worn into the land by the passage of bare
feet over hundreds, probably thousands of years.
They passively watched the mass of BMW R1200GSs of the GS Trophy
growl past, with wonder, awe – or maybe pity? Where were we rushing to?
What was it that drew us to charge from here to where so hurriedly? The
natural beauty was sublime, flame of the forest spread delicate fading red
canopies over our heads, a dying beauty that would be consumed by the
rain season fast approaching. Eucalyptus and pines scented the warm
soothing air, isolated palms stood like watchmen, towering over the lush
green fields. Natural and pastoral beauty is seldom so gentle, so balanced.
So much life, so much time. But the R1200GSs thundered on.
This is the conflict we all live. We have, in reality, short lives. So we rush –
that is our underlying urge – there’s so much we want to do, to see, to
experience. And, as we are wont to say, time waits for no man.
Time doesn’t wait for David Knight. It’s treated him well, allowed him four
world championships to appease his hunger for competitive superiority.
But the years fly by amid the rush, the hectic flurry of activity. And so, before
he’s ready, he’s arrived at the ultimate reality check – no professional career