Took the freeway to work one day this past week. A crisp clear morning, a spine pretending to almost be normal, I stopped to enjoy a moment alone on the road. It’s a communion of body, mind and spirit that sweeps past unlooked for but welcome. A simple pleasure that can’t be bought or planned. A gift I’ve opened and received gratefully as a rider.
Being open to the small moments that flame life takes practice. Lest I miss them, I need to slow down and transform my eyes from detection devices into tools for introspection and insight. Noticing Lily stalking through the garden grass, I realize how much there is around me that I don’t want to miss.
Riding a scooter, going forth on a motorcycle, these exercises have cleared my eyes.
There are moments when my Vespa ascends from riding contraption to shrine. It usually happens when it’s standing in some lush promontory where it stands against a wider world. After weeks of nagging irritation from my back, it was a joy to face the morning and feel good about riding, the job I was moving toward and the knowledge that life was rich as a result of a few simple pleasures.
An hour in Saints Cafe, some hot tea and conversation with a friend; it’s a simple pleasure that requires only an investment of time on my part. Time that, in almost every case, returns far more value than the cost of admission.
My back has recovered enough to ride back and forth to work. I’ve learned to sit up straight to minimize fatigue to that area of the body. Still experimenting with the rougher experience of riding on gravel roads as habit leads me to old cow paths on the ride home. The dazzling light of a low sun at the end of the day is a simple pleasure that I don’t embrace nearly enough.
Is there a good reason why I don’t see more sunsets?
Twenty four hours ago the milk in the glass bottle was grass. At least that’s what I like to think. Meyer Dairy is two miles from my house and they still bottle and sell their milk to the community, a dying breed of dairy farmers not shipping their milk to a cooperative or factory in return for a milk check. The simple pleasure of drinking fresh, local milk, hides the hard work and complication of daily production.
Seeing the bottle in my GIVI topcase has me wondering how long they’ll last. Or my Vespa scooter. Or me.
For now I’l enjoy the little rides I can take, a simple pleasure purchased with the effort I make to choose the scooter over the car.