The march toward winter continues. My spirit hasn’t accepted the change yet. And my body resists both and cold and the ritual of donning heavier riding gear. The lingering gnaw of a still tweaked back doesn’t help. The world is dim and grey.
I have nothing good to say about any of it.
It’s easy to understand why men and women park their scooters and motorcycles for the winter and walk away from any joy or enlightenment that riding can present. When the thermometer was pointing to 29F a few mornings ago I was asking myself why I would ever ride when it’s that cold. Some would say I’m coming to my senses. Or a grudging acceptance of the aging state of my body. I see the wisdom in both.
Still, I want to ride despite everything. Not riding is a decision I’m not ready to make. It seems a surrender more ominous that merely parking the Vespa for a few months and doing something different. It’s a turning point. One of no return. A realization that I’m leaving something in the past.
Lest this post grow dark and dreary there is something positive which grows from the cold — appreciating warmth.
When the body awakens from the lull of warm weather the contrast between cold and warmth is startling. Wrapping a cold hand around a heated grip is a luxurious feeling. Or better yet around a cup of steaming hot tea.
Riding in cold weather teaches me to appreciate the lovely gift of being warm.