The intrusion of work, life, age and weather conspire to build powerful physical and cerebral riding resistance. As the interval between rides (or blog posts) grows, the energy required to regain motion increases as well.
Or so it is with me…
Our new snow blower, cardiologist recommended, cuts a fine path to push the Vespa scooter out of the garage and into the world. I did the winter riding dance, testing the road surface, evaluated the quality of snow, traffic and forecast for more of the white stuff.
Riding a scooter or motorcycle in winter, especially in snow, demands a long checklist of considerations. On this morning I stopped at “Snow tires mounted”. My Heidenau snow tires are sitting in the garage waiting to be called to action.
It’s been a week since I went for a ride and already I’m feeling the resistance.
Last weekend I abided the damp chill of a light rain and temperatures in the upper thirties as I wandered the countryside pondering thoughts trespassing my serenity. Some rides are flights of euphoria while others chained to the noise of existence, the scooter, like a team of draft horses, part of a forced toil dragging my grey cloud spirit along in hopes of finding clearer skies.
The view from the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania as I write this post. Part of me wishes the Vespa was in the picture. Most of me is happy I drove the car. What sort of Vespa adventurer does that make me?
I don’t care. Contentment, serenity and attendant happiness arrived when I grew comfortable with my choices and actions. Wish it hadn’t taken so long to get here.
Eight inches of snow are on the ground with more falling. Deciding not to ride is a good choice. Provides an opportunity to respond to a mountain of unanswered email, write a post, rub the dog’s bellies, make pancakes, and generally frolic in the little joys of being alive.
Except for that part about email.
I know my photographs of the scooter in the center of an empty space are metaphors for my brooding on life — especially the pathway decorated with murals of aging. I’m not sure what’s more thrilling; riding to these places, or thinking about them later. It’s a gift finding joy in both.
Everyone observes their path differently. A quote from the movie based on Larry McMurtry’s book Lonesome Dove that I’ve come to recognize:
“The older the violin, the sweeter the music.”
— spoken by Augustus McCrae
The scooter always takes me where I want to go. I may not know the destination or the reason I’m on the road but there always seems to be a mysterious arrival at the right place at the right time despite the rocky mental roads along the way. Riding resistance has continued to melt as the call of the road becomes louder.
For now, the snow will keep the scooter in the garage while I attend to other matters.
All is well.