Struggling to focus my thoughts about a cold morning ride in the central Pennsylvania forest I heard my wife talking out loud about a book she was downloading — The Seasons of the Soul: The Poetic Guidance and Spiritual Wisdom of Hermann Hesse
It was 38F when I woke with a steady wind and forbidding sky made riding the Vespa scooter seem foolish and when it began to snow only the simpleminded would venture forth from the coziness of a warm home. It’s the kind of thinking that the cold season provokes in me — a sacrifice of mental wellbeing for physical comfort. The mental process is indicative of one of the seasons of the soul.
The light over the Ski Patrol office at Tussey Mountain Ski Resort is a sure sign winter is near. Lately it’s been dark when I get ready for work and dark again when leaving the office for home which makes the sun more distant than the season already does.
With my cold weather gear in place and my brain coaxed into place the pilot light of desire bloomed into a hot flame as I moved through the winding forest roads of Rothrock State Forest. And I thought about something I read about how a person might think about how their life is going.
Of the ten messages shared the first stayed with me — you’re alive!
Regardless of what has happened or will happen, being alive is better than the alternative. And it’s a precious gift far too easy to take for granted. Being on the road gives me the space to think about all the moments that should be seen with gratitude rather than those that haven’t happened.
Or weather that’s not warm and cozy.
I’m alive. I’ve survived a serious heart attack and the accumulation of age on my body. I can’t do the things I once was able and some dreams are in the rear view mirror. But still there is mystery and adventure ahead because I don’t know what’s around the bend.
Riding on these narrow little forest roads is fun because I never know what I’ll see — a flock of wild turkeys or a bear, or a glistening sliver of water tracing through a cathedral of hemlock trees. There’s no place I would rather be.
The road took me to my granddaughter Emma and I like to think her reaching toward the camera is really her way of saying, “Grandpa, give me the keys to the Vespa.”
By the time Emma is old enough to ride I’ll be 76 years old. It’s possible I’ll still be around but there’s no predicting what will happen. I’ve still not wrapped my head around the natural cycle of life with my daughter and granddaughter. I understand it but at some level it remains impossible that the world has spun round so many times.
A scene on the way home, one of the many winding rural roads that the scooter can soar along like a bird.
I’ve always felt it important to feel passion for something. It doesn’t really matter what, just something that keeps the mind and body in motion and not surrender to the television or easy chair collecting regrets like so many extra old socks.
The Vespa, my Vespa scooter, is like bacon to my dogs. I want it. I almost drool thinking about it. At 1:16am it seems entirely reasonable to go for a ride into the night just to be on the road. I have no right to have such desire. I have no idea if other riders feel this way. But I know it’s a good thing and keeps the fire of being alive bright regardless of the seasons of the soul I may find myself amidst.
My god, what a great day it’s been…
It’s 6:30 here on the left coast and a big system is headed this way, finally. It’s been a bit dry out here for several years though all forecasters are predicting a wet, El Nino winter.
I’m heading to church a few miles from the house on my Vespa anyway. It’s due to start raining in less than an hour but I’ll be inside a (hopefully) cozy sanctuary playing guitar and leading worship for the next 5 hours so my return trip should be fairly dry but I really don’t care. I ride in rain and cold, not because I have to (that’s not entirely true, I used to ride in both on my way to a carpentry job) but because I feel my Vespa is a vehicle capable of traveling anywhere, anytime, regardless of weather, traffic or road conditions, well, California coastal conditions, that is, cancel the snow stuff, we’ve only seen that once in the 31 years we’ve lived here. I better pull the rain-cover over my seat or I’ll have a soggy butt on the ride home! Viva la Vespa!
Good to hear from you Will. I was wondering what you were up to.
The Vespa is certainly up to more than most of us attempt to do as riders. For me, venturing out in less than ideal conditions has become more and more a mental game I have to play. Maybe it’s the heart attack at work in the background or just getting older. But I’ve had to change how I do things.
Five hours of worship. That’s a long time, at least in my own experience. It would require more than a guitar. Food would have to be involved lest my mind wander. I suspect you have a plan.
Be careful with the weather and be safe.
When I saw that same ski patrol picture on Facebook I knew that a fresh post wasn’t far off. Yippie! It’s here!
I wish I had the distaste for coffee and beer that you have if it would allow me the moxie to take my scooter onto dirt roads as you do, and to park it on the shoulder of a road to get a pretty picture. I can’t shake the mental picture of me having to pick up the bike after the gravel shifts or the kickstand sinks into the dirt.
As for those urges in the wee hours to take a ride… I share the same desires, but in a city where anybody in a car at that time of morning has a 50/50 chance of being armed and drunk, staying in, in my royal garb of warm PJs and a thick robe, wins out every time.
Joe
More and more Facebook and the blog seem to have a connection — at least a hint on Facebook that I might be writing something.
Once you let the scooter fall over a couple times it doesn’t hold the terror it once did. I remember the first time it fell over while arranging it for a scooter and I had a very expensive camera on the seat as I was moving it into position. A little bump caused the camera to fall an I made a gut decision to let go of the scooter and go after the camera.Scooter got dinged, the camera would have broken.
Riding late in the night certainly has its share of risk. Drunk drivers and deer are my main concerns with deer far out in front.
PJs? What is that??
As I read this, I’m on a NJ Transit train heading into Gotham for a few freelance tech gigs. Significant Other is back in Asbury after having knee-replacement surgery; her brother is up from Florida to help with things for a week. Melody is patiently awaiting me at the side of the house, although between one thing and another I haven’t gotten the chance to ride her these past few days (all over the place during daylight hours, and my permit does not permit scootering at night). Tomorrow does look good for a ride, right after my morning session at the gym.
But, it’s really true: whether on one of the bicycles or beloved Vespa, as long as the ground is reasonably dry, the ride doth invigorate, almost regardless of what the thermometer says.
I’m in the same boat — haven’t been on the Vespa since last Sunday. Work and need have me in the van. It’s comfortable but not the same.
Oh well…
One on the best, funniest most insightful posts. Nice one Steve.
Brent
Thanks Brent. When I read your comment I had to go back and read the post to see what I missed.
Wonderful post Steve, an eloquent reminder that, whatever our situation, we all have the option to proceed with a wonder and enthusiasm for life.
Being positive and enthusiastic takes some work but the benefits are great!
Glad you overcame the inertia of the house and got out on the road with the Vespa Steve!
Emma is definitely reaching the keys to the Vespa….
This past week I’ve been trapped in the cage. And inertia to boot. It’s terrible.
I bet Emma’s mom won’t be keen about scooter riding for her daughter. She’ll be more inclined to approve a big old boat of a car that has a nice stereo system to blast Frank Sinatra…
“only the simpleminded would venture forth from the coziness of a warm home”
Hey, I resemble that remark…
I find it hard to resist an opportunity for a ride no matter what the distance or destination.
I’ve been doing a good job resisting lately — riding, and blogging. My ass is suffering an increase in weight that makes it hard to get out of the easy chair…
The cool thing about travel, or at least about departure, is that its like dying. For those left behind you are – gone. I have done so much of it I find it good practice for the final journey from which no traveler returns. It becomes quite easy, enjoyable even, to imagine the world continuing without me. Until then one has to keep on keeping on.
That is a difficult position to get your mind around. I understand it intellectually but there are parts that resist the notion that there will be a final ride…
“To Everything There Is A Season”
Roleff Benny
—–
This, your most current posting exemplifies
rhe statement in a most perfect way.
Accepting the change of season is the challenge to address!