Fog, my favorite, along with dropping temperatures, all part of the the perfect riding season. Yesterday morning a meandering ride to work offered a chance to see the world looking slightly different. Unusual. A feat considering how many hundreds of times I’ve ridden along the same path. Still, I’m seeing things differently.
And feeling different.
Fall quickens my senses. It heightens desire and illuminates mortality as I recognize the passing of time marked by the movement of the season and the slow run up to the sleep of winter. All of it, the chill in the air, the shift in light and the change in color work together to make this the perfect riding season.
The Vespa has been performing flawlessly almost as if it’s woken up and screaming for a more satisfying time on the road. We’re a perfect match, the scooter and I, and I wonder how I ever thought a motorcycle could add anything to my experience of the world.
Many have tried…
Riding home from work, even in bright sun, feels different. My eyes sense the change in the angle of light, the sun’s position in the sky when I leave the parking lot.
I know autumn has arrived.
I act differently than I do in the warmer days of summer. I want to ride — feel the desire in my bones. Even if only the for the few miles of commuting. I take detours. Stop and take off my helmet to let the sun heat my face. I’m like a man who’s journeyed through a desert and finds a pool of cool water.
That soaring of spirit and the illusion of freedom, if only for an instant — that’s why I ride.
The scooter is waiting again. It’s a new day of the perfect riding season.