Myna Birds on a Motorcycle

Riding at fifty miles an hour, Hawaii’s hot trade wind flaps my shirt and pushes my full-head motorcycle helmet to and fro, but I grip tight. I am only anywhere from twelve to forty-eight inches away from streaking pavement, from a surface that could end our lives in a serious glitch.  It’s exhilarating. I hug Tom’s stomach with my right arm, and fist my left hand around the bar under my seat, knuckles white, fingers red, my arm tense, as we ride.  I have only me to hold me on.

Our bike is glossy red and black, sporty, and completely contrary to the mostly Harley Davidson motorcycle crowd on Maui’s roads.  But then, we are completely cut against the grain anyway. A shiny red Kawasaki labels us well.

Last week our condominium manager asked Tom to describe his bike in order to register for a parking space.  Tom responded with, "It’s a Versys, four-stroke, fuel injected, 6-speed, liquid cooled.”  I piped in, “I think she wants to know the color.”  We’re now squared away.

When riding, I try to avoid looking at the dizzying payment.  And this particular day my eyes wander to sugar cane fields, then to my right, Haleakala, with massive green slopes meeting a flat horizontal line of dark clouds hiding the volcanic peak.  Then to my left I take in also-green-sloped cities on the West Maui Mountains.  The views are breathtaking.   You’d think I’d be used to this scene by now--that I would take it for granted--but I do not.  And of course breezing through Maui’s valley, completely open to the environment at fifty miles an hour, how could I not feel awe?

It is Tom and I together in a new land for 36 days now.  The two of us twenty-four-seven, like Hawaii’s myna birds travelling in pairs all day.  The avian couples fly right next to our lanai (patio) every evening just before sunset.  They fly toward us from the ocean, then pass us through a gulch filled with lush greenery forty feet deep off the edge of our lanai. The pairs fly right at eye level or below, two by two, here and there, throughout a thirty-minute duration before sunset.  Their goal is to gather in the bamboo thicket on the mauka (up-mountain) side of our place. 

Myna Birds, Similar to those we see on Maui

Arrival is constant.  Some pairs appear early, many in middle-time, and some scurry in at the last minute before sundown to make it to their safety zone before dark.  Hundreds merge into one bamboo high-rise nature complex. 

And the noise, the noise does not permit you to hear your own conversation.  The birds chat it up, telling each and all of their adventure that day.  It’s their proverbial own homeowners association meeting.  Someone initiates a gripe to stir the rest into a steadfast chime.   At sunset, the congregation continues conversation.  Then, within ten minutes after orange and blue leave the sky, turning to grey, then black, the chirping quiets, except for a rustle here or there in the night. 

(Continued below.)

Sound of Myna Birds in Bamboo by our Place

There are no predators for these birds, so why, why do they need to travel miles back to here before dark?  But then, we do the same.  We rendezvous.  Tom and I venture out for the day as a couple then come home to chirp or converse on our lanai (branch) of a 120-unit condo thicket.  Many other people also come home to their lanais--their branches--and roost.  And we all jabber, recalling our day.  We then become quiet for the night.  How odd is life anyway?

Every so often I see a myna bird fly home solo.  I look and look to see if I am mistaken, to see if I can see another, but I don’t.  What happened?  What is the story behind this singular bird?  It moves me to think I am so fortunate to have Tom as my myna bird partner, to travel together in the day, and chirp prolifically about politics and life during our evenings.    

I wonder if myna birds have their own politics?  Probably.  I suspect the arguments are much simpler, more focused on raw survivability.  They ask for little in their quest for cooperation.

Moving swiftly at fifty miles an hour across the island on a red and black six-cylinder fuel injected machine, I hug Tom tightly and appreciate the moment as just that.  I breathe in lush, fresh air, and embrace my loved one as we fly at a thrilling speed, just like myna birds.