Yet waiting, in some respects, is a kind of wandering. In the interlude, we stray from the chosen roads that make up the course of our lives. We are forced out of our desires and into a region sparsely populated, often undesirable, and unknown. It can be familiar territory for motorcycle riders. Even if the cold bike sitting forlorn in the garage makes it more difficult, motorcyclists, it seems to me, should be masters of waiting.