I should probably admit something right off the bat. I’ve never read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. I’ve tried. Twice. Both times, I found myself quickly bored and distracted, and the book ended up back on the shelf. I looked for it a few weeks back and I can’t even find it anymore. I’ve likely given it away with the hundreds of other books that I’ve boxed up and taken down to the used book store.
I’m also not a big fan of the whole Zen thing. True, I haven’t spent much time exploring it, and some of the philosophies I’ve read seem to be very biblical ideas, but for the most part, I think Zen is, well, overrated.
With those admissions, you might find it strange for me to be sitting down to write a review of Mark Richardson’s book Zen and Now: On the Trail of Robert Pirsig and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Fair enough, but as I dived into this book, I discovered that this book offers so much more than just an examination of Zen or Pirsig’s book.
The first time I picked up Zen and Now was two week’s before my Road Trip. I was looking for a couple of “motorcycle books” to take along with me. Since Richardson’s book had a motorcycle on the cover, it peaked my interest. I read the back cover and decided it wasn’t my kind of book. So, I put it back on the shelf. I now regret doing that.
A few days after I arrived home from my trip, I was over at a Starbucks that is connected to a Chapters book store. I needed something to read, and so I wandered back to the motorcycle section. Once again, the bike on the cover caught my attention. This time, I found a chair and decided to read a few pages to decide if it was worth buying.
Richardson had me hooked with the first two paragraphs.
I can tell from the sign by the bank, without turning my head from the road, that it’s nine thirty in the morning. The sign flashes to show it’s 80 degrees, and the heat’s already coming through my jacket. It’s going to be hot today. That’s okay — on a motorcycle, heat is always welcome.
The small town passes, and I’m back among the fields. The bike’s running well this morning, and both of us are stretching out a little, starting to relax on the road now that this trip’s finally under way. You’ll have to excuse me if I think of her sometimes as if she’s a person. It’s just me now, me and my old bike.
Immediately my mind rushed back to the first few days of my own road trip. I remembered the feeling so clearly. Just me and my old bike. I was hooked. Over the next 275 pages, I would have many flashbacks. Many moments when I felt like Richardson was telling my tale. He got it. I didn’t know the man, and yet felt like there was a connection between us. Coincidentally, Richardson’s road trip took place just before his 42nd birthday. My own trip ended one week before my 42nd birthday. Yes, there was a connection. I only wished I could describe things they way he managed to picture them. And yet, perhaps I did, in my own way.
This is a book about a man who decides to retrace the route detailed in Pirsig’s Zen and the Art. And yet, it’s much more than that. It’s also about a man discovering some things about himself. Sharing his own experiences. Discovering his own way.
I pause as I write that last line. If you read the book too casually, you wont see Richardson discovering his own way. Instead, you’ll just see another Zenite trying to duplicate the journey of someone else. In fact, for the first half of the book, it frustrated me. Richardson, and many others before him, map out every stop that Pirsig and his riding companions made. Every known meal stop, hotel or campsite, even pee break was entered into a GPS system. And yet, I kept wondering if the guy they were trying to follow, Robert Pirsig, would ever do that? Would he ever follow the route of someone else? Richardson does an excellent job bringing Pirsig to life, and from what I can tell, the answer is no, he wouldn’t. Pirsig would likely tell all these people following his route to blaze their own trail. Ironic, I guess.
The book actually has three paths. First, Richardson takes you along with his own ride. Without a doubt, this is the part I enjoyed the most. As I already explained, I felt connected to him because of my own road trip. He even goes through the same emotions as I did — the loneliness, the thrill of unknown curves, the rush of running on reserve.
Along with his own ride, Richardson shares the story of Pirsig’s travels. He doesn’t simply quote from sections of Zen and the Art, but rather shares “insider” information, from people he meets along the journey. He spends time with the people that Pirsig talks about in the original book. As he travels a particular road, he shares what happened with the original “Zen Riders.”
Finally, Richardson also shares the story of what happened between the time of the original trip and his own. As someone who loves to study people, I found this incredibly insightful. You discover what shaped Pirsig before his trip, and how the success of the book affected the rest of his life. It’s an incredible story.
Zen and Now is a great book. In fact, it has quickly become one of my favourite motorcycle books. Is it perfect? Of course not. I wish Richardson would have continued the story and told of his own trip home. One where he plotted his own path. No longer bound by the route laid out by Pirsig. I would have loved to know more about his journey home.
Over all, I highly recommend this book. As I wrote about my own journey, many of you commented that you found yourself caught up with the ride. You felt like you were tagging along with me. Trust me, you’ll feel the same as you read Zen and Now.
One last thing. Reading this book did not cause me to rush out and grab another copy of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Actually, quite the opposite. I have less desire to read the original now. Why? I enjoyed Richardson’s account so much that I can’t help but think that the original would almost ruin things for me.
If you want to pick up a copy of Zen and Now, you can find it at Amazon or at Chapters. Also, Richardson has a website dedicated to Zen and Now, but I would suggest waiting until after you read the book to visit his website. Or at least don’t look at the pictures. I had every character in the book visualized a certain way, and once I saw the pictures, that changed. I’m glad I didn’t look until after I was done reading the book.
Pick up Zen and Now, you’ll be glad you did.
