Spinning Down the Mind, Changing the World with a Vespa

The past few days the mornings began with the Vespa.  If I were patient I could describe the mental transition that takes place when the decision is made to ride to work, or anywhere for that matter.  A slow, insistent unfurling of the mental log jam between my ears starts to melt and give way to a brighter outlook.

I can swear to that.  Rain or shine.

Untwisting the noise allows room for new ideas.  For me those ideas often appear as little visions, like a kid seeing Snoopy in a cloud.  I saw a turtle during a momentary romantic meander with Kim.

She calls them tertels.

The most insidious aspect of allowing a brain to become distorted and disturbed is becoming callous and hardened an a way that prevents recognition of the little gifts right in front of you everyday.

I miss watching sunsets.

 And there are all the little things that spark wonder or a smile.  The soft complexity of the male strobili on pinus strobus.  Or your wife mesmerized by the bark on a tree.

And I can’t help but appreciate the mechanical marvel of Bruce Babcock’s vintage Royal Enfield at the Boalsburg Moto Hang.

Or the fabriction wonders of Harry Tarzian’s hand built sidecar rig based on a BMW K1100 with a front end fashioned from Corvette suspension pieces.  And a lot more ingenious engineering.

Wandering into town, sharing space with a Kawasaki Ninja, and taking in the quiet energy of the State College, Pennsylvania sidewalks on a Thursday evening is almost as relaxing as the ride into town.

Almost.

Home again, home again jiggety-jig.  I didn’t buy a fat hog though.  The garden is becoming a jungle though thankfully one without a bear this week.  A fragrance of skunk has filled the night a few times and I hope the dog is smart enough to give one a wide berth.  Skunks don’t look like tennis balls after all.