Being part of the environment you’re traveling through – such as along the Stewiacke River in central Nova Scotia – beats looking out from inside a cage.

Cars aren’t motorcycles, although they can be useful. When I need to move more than a motorcycle can carry, or when it?s winter and the snow is piling up on the roads or when I must transport a passenger who?s not interested in riding there, a car is a good tool for the job.

But for enjoying the journey, most cars leave me wanting. Sitting behind locked doors and looking out through closed windows, occupants of a car miss clues to the world outside. The fragrance of blooming wildflowers, the sweetness of freshly cut hay, the tang of shade tobacco curing in slat barns, or the bite of salty air near the ocean are masked. Cars even coddle drivers and passengers with the creature comforts of home: climate control, carpeting, courtesy lighting, reclining seats, and more.
In a car, you are indoors looking out. You?re in a cage. On a motorcycle, you are outdoors, part of the environment and its sensory experiences. While I was riding through southwestern Nova Scotia bound for Cape Breton, the shore road didn?t always provide me a view of the ocean, but olfactory clues informed me that the tide was out. I also detected what a meteorologist described as ?more of the smell of everything? when barometric pressure drops. Sure enough, the rain came while I had eggs, toast, and coffee in a roadside diner...