With the Vespa parked across from the Cafe on the Park I sat outside in the cool air with a cup of tea and watched the world go by. Moments like these remind me why I ride alone. But they don’t always come easy.
Checking the scooter over in the driveway this morning I had no idea where to go. I’ve not ridden much apart from my commute to work. Thinking about the road ahead made me anxious. Nervous. A soft melancholy flow squeezed me and my gut was whispering to stay home. Backpacker and author Colin Fletcher describes the feeling in “The Complete Walker”. Something that happens to him before a backpacking trip the he refers to as “Fletcherititis”. An unexplained and sudden onset of physical and emotional symptoms striving to keep him at home.
But the road devours all concerns.
The cafe is not on my mental riding stop list. Somehow I forget about it despite nothing but exceptional morning meals. This morning was no exception. I’ll have to reprogram.
The ride home was like a kid wandering through the neighborhood after school. (Do parents actually let their kids still do that?) No road was too small, no track too difficult. My only goal was slow and empty.
Riding off the beaten path always reminds of things. This gravel road freshened thoughts of more aggressive Kenda K 761 tires to run this winter. They are more akin to those you see on a Honda Ruckus.
Cotton candy clouds and blue skies, riding along towards home, the tires, winter, and everything else faded. All that was left was the road…
I never really recognized it until I read this, but I get the case of “Fletcherititis” before any of my trips as well. I spent months or weeks planning, and then the day arrives and I feel a loss. All that day dreaming and fantasizing has to come to an end and living in reality must begin. How can reality live up to those expectations?
So I hesitate as I start up the bike for the first time, but it always turns out that the journey exceeds my expectations.
atlasrider: My own day dreaming does set impossible expectations. Maybe you are on to what’s going on with some rides. And photography.
Once I get on the road, or trip the shutter, things open up before me.
I am enjoying a new feature of Google maps. It allows for getting directions for walking to a chosen destination. The result is the “least” roads in the database. The result for me last Saturday was a wandering list of quiet roads. It may interest you.
Serendipty is the secret word. No GPS no Google, just follow the white rabbit down the rabbit hole. Of course you have to motivate yourself out the door first and that, it seems is hard for all of us. I’m glad I’m not alone in losing my mojo from time to time!
I am physically writing myself a reminder to pick up “The Complete Walker” the next time I’m in the bookstore. I have made mental notes to do this in the past and the moment I walk through the doors of the B&N, my mind draws a blank, and I end up purchasing something else.
wow. that was the first time I had heard of that cafe. I can’t even picture where it actually is in bellefonte – but will definitely have to look for it some day – or meet you there for breakfast! 🙂
Sorry Steve….
I now see you have a 150cc Vespa
That’s a good machine….
How does it hold up?
I am going to spend some time reading your blog
Berge
http://baronsview.blogspot.com
I sometimes see my own “Fletcherititis” as that same voice I sometimes hear before attempting to write something. It will always go away if I acknowledge its presence and work through it anyway. My challenge is trying to decipher the tones of the voice–if it’s just “Fletcherititis” or that voice from the deepest part of my gut, telling me “Today really is a day to stay home.”
I never feel that way about a ride. Weirdly enough, I readily identified with your description, though. As much as I love teaching, I feel a nervousness and hesitation in the hour or so before meeting a new group of 24 strangers.
I take a deep breath and launch.
Then the dynamics, synergy, and magic begins anew.
dave gray: Leave it to Google to come up with something like walking directions. I’ll have to take a look and see what it comes up with for some of my trips. thank you for the heads up on that.
conchscooter: As a young man thinking I exerted great control over myself and others I thought serendipity was a bad word. But over the years I have come to see the magic in it. And try to see, listen, and follow it as much as I can.
If I were in the Matrix, I hope I would choose the red pill and go down the rabbit hole. On a Vespa of course…
earl: I’ve had several versions of the Complete Walker and find myself going back to it again and again just to read what Fletcher has written about even the most mundane things—like tent flies or walking sticks. It’s just one of my favorites. And his books “The Thousand Mile Summer” and “The Man Who Walked Through Time” are worth finding in the library if you like stories about being alone in the wilderness.
Being alone in the wilderness—that’s what having a Vespa is all about… *grin*
Berge: I started with the LX150 but moved on to the GTS 250ie. Both were solid machines and held up well. I have no complaints about them.
sojourner rides: You hit the nail on the head—how do you differentiate Fletcheritis from the deeper voice…
For me, I need to listen better.
irondad: As usual you have a lot of insight. “take a deep breath and launch”. I like that. Simple. And a real challenge at times…
Steve-
I happened across your blog recently while searching for Vespa info, out of mere curiosity.
I just had to say how much I enjoyed reading through your posts and enjoying the wonderful photos. Truly a pleasure to read and very inspiring to get out and take/make some adventures.
Look forward to what’s next…