So, I finally got around to reading Neil Peart’s book, “Ghost Rider”. Been on my list for a long while, mostly ’cause I’m a big Rush fan, you know? Knew about the tragedies he went through, losing his daughter and then his wife so close together. Heard this book was about him just getting on his motorcycle and riding, trying to figure things out.
Getting a copy wasn’t too hard, just ordered it online one day when I remembered. Showed up a few days later. Let it sit on the coffee table for a bit, looked at the cover now and then. It’s got that heavy vibe even before you open it.
Diving In
Okay, so I started reading it. Took it slow at first. His writing style is… well, it’s him. Very detailed, observant. You can almost feel the road and the weather he describes. It’s not like reading a novel, it’s more like reading someone’s very raw, very personal journal.
Man, the beginning is tough. He doesn’t shy away from the pain. It felt incredibly honest, almost uncomfortably so. I had to put it down a few times in the early sections. It just makes you think, you know? About loss, how people cope, or don’t cope.
The Journey Itself
Then the book gets into the actual riding. Thousands and thousands of miles. Across Canada, down through the US, into Mexico, Belize. Just him and his BMW bike.
- Reading about the places he went was interesting. Little towns, big cities, mountains, deserts.
- He calls himself the ‘ghost rider’, trying to be invisible, just moving.
- He also includes letters he wrote to friends, like his buddy Brutus. That added another layer, seeing his thoughts more directly shared.
I found myself reading this mostly in the evenings. Took me maybe two weeks? It’s a pretty thick book, and like I said, sometimes the emotional weight of it meant I needed breaks. It wasn’t a book I could just blast through. It needed digesting.
You really get a sense of him just… enduring. Putting one mile after another, dealing with bike troubles, weather, loneliness, and the crushing grief that’s always there under the surface. It wasn’t about finding answers, felt more like just surviving the questions.
Finishing Up
When I got to the end, I felt a real mix of things. Sadness, definitely. But also a huge amount of respect for the guy. For his endurance, his honesty in writing it all down. It’s not a self-help book telling you how to get over grief. It’s just one guy’s story of living through the absolute worst.
It’s heavy stuff. No doubt about it. Not exactly a beach read. But it felt important, somehow. Made me appreciate things a bit more, maybe hug my own family a bit tighter. It’s a raw look at pain and the struggle to just keep moving forward, literally and figuratively. Glad I finally read it.
