If you love anything to do with motorcycles, you’ve likely read Robert M. Pirsig’s Zen And The Art Of Motorcycle Maintenance. Published in 1974, it’s arguably the most widely read book about motorcycles ever written. Which is kind of interesting, since it has less to do with bikes and much more to do with Pirsig’s philosophical musings and his struggles with schizophrenia and madness during a cross-country motorcycle trip, in 1968. He was apparently rejected by 120 publishers before someone took a chance and accepted his manuscript.
I have read Zen And The Art at least twice and there is much in it that I simply do not grasp. I felt - and still feel - that a lot of Pirsig’s ramblings are meaningless twaddle and kind of irrelevant. It’s still a good read, mainly because of his attention to detail and gift of language, but definitely not on my top ten list. A big part of the problem, at least for me, is that Pirsig was ostensibly trying to define the concept of "quality" and the beauty of doing things properly, but was himself a terrible parent and alienated just about everyone around him. He comes across as a short-tempered, self-absorbed egomaniac, who is much more concerned with his own philosophical career than he is with his youngest son, who accompanies him on his cross-country trek. Throughout the book, Chris, the son, is given pretty short shrift and seems to be absolutely miserable during most of the journey. If you’re going to define "quality" - philosophically or otherwise - I figure you should probably begin with your own life and those close to you. Award-winning writer, under-achieving human being.
Either way, Zen And The Art struck a chord in the U.S. when it was published and was acclaimed as an American classic, selling some 50,000 copies in the first six months and millions more over the years. Pirsig wrote a follow-up - Lila - to Zen And The Art and then pretty much disappeared off the radar screen. He is now a recluse and apparently doesn’t grant interviews.
But he spawned a crop of "Pirsig Pilgrims", who followed in his footsteps, re-tracing his route from Minnesota to California via South Dakota, Montana and so on in their own quest for self-understanding and philosophical enlightenment. And why not? Any excuse for a cross-country trek on a motorcycle is a good one.
One of those pilgrims is Toronto writer, Mark Richardson, who recently published Zen And Now: On The Trail Of Robert Pirsig And Motorcycle Maintenance (Knopf Canada, $29.95).Following several years of research and correspondence with Pirsig and others involved in his life, Richardson hopped aboard his well-used Suzuki DR600 and began his own journey to wisdom. Although Richardson is on the trail of Pirsig, this book is as much about his own status in the universe and who he is as a father and a human being. It is charmingly written, honest to a fault, and as unpretentious as Pirsig’s book was the opposite.
Zen And Now invites the reader along on several levels; Richardson’s research into Pirsig and his life is impeccable and the book is full of all kinds of interesting little nuggets. For example, Pirsig was a heavy drinker and was prone to prolonged bouts of depression and melancholia, often staring off into space for hours at a time. This frightened the hell out of his kids and eventually drove his first wife away. He also booked himself in and out of various mental institutions over the years and had an IQ over 170. At the end of Zen And Now, I cared for Pirsig even less than I had before.
Richardson also provides a nicely written travelogue in his book. During his trip, he makes a point of visiting various former acquaintances of Pirsig’s, and even seeks out the same rest stops and camp-sites that Pirsig used, some 40 years before. Things have changed a lot in the intervening years, and Richardson comes face-to-face with an America that is both depressing and confusing. Where Pirsig and his son motored through pristine wilderness, there are now vast tracts of housing subdivisions and many of the small towns he passed through have virtually disappeared.
And no book about motorcycling would be complete without lengthy passages about the joy of riding for its own sake. Richardson regales us with reports on various breakdowns (all minor) terrifying riding conditions, and the sheer untrammelled pleasure of piloting a motorcycle for kilometre after kilometre, along lightly-used two-lane backroads with lots of curves and elevation changes. Like the T-shirt says: if you have to ask why, you’ll never understand.
Unlike his subject, Mark Richardson’s book has a happy ending. Pirsig’s son, Chris, was eventually stabbed to death in San Francisco during a robbery, and Pirsig’s marriage fell apart. One gets the impression that Pirsig continues to be a kind of lost soul, contemplating the vagaries of life and coming up short in his quest to understand the non-understandable. Richardson, on the other hand, seems happy to accept life for what it is and at the end of the book, arrives at his destination in San Francisco on his 42nd birthday, as planned. He eventually re-unites with his family and lives happily ever after.
A good read.
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