Seems I’ve been having as many adventures on foot as I do the Vespa scooter. Night and day. Same with writing which more and more seems to happen after sundown. Thoughts at midnight and beyond. Circumstance and the ebb and flow of life are too blame. My job is to follow along as necessary. I believe in ritual. Have always been attracted to schedules and natural rhythms but am mature enough now to seem them for the necessarily selfish actions they require to maintain. Three meals a day, in bed by ten, up at 5:30. If riding the Vespa has taught me anything it’s that I’m not a machine.
If I were, I’d be broken.
Dogs understand the folly of schedules and rhythms. While they’re happy to follow them they readily adapt to circumstance. Two energetic faces suggest an early rise each morning but relent easily and wait their turn at life. Wandering at sunrise is an exercise in miracles. Lately I’ve taken to standing with the morning sun in my face, eyes closed to feel the heat and see my vision turn blood red. The dogs wander until I’m ready to play their favorite games.
My dog Junior is always ready for a walk. Writing now as the world nears 3am he’s sound asleep. But all I need do is say, “Want to go for a ride?” and he would be wide awake and at the door ready for adventure. Whatever clock or schedule he follows is entirely flexible.
I’m still learning from dogs. They don’t learn much from me.
I’ve continued to ride as the weather has gotten colder. Any concerns about my tolerance of the weather have passed as my mind has hardened to the cold. I knew it would happen but it takes longer with the passing of the years.
All the electric gear has been tested and evaluated and gaps have been identified. A few days ago I reinstalled the Tucano Urbano muffs and marveled (again) at their ability to keep the icy cold from my tender hands. At 30F I can easily ride with my light, leather gloves with the heated grips on medium power.
I have been thinking more and more about the Tucano Urbano Termoscud Apron.. For a long time it seemed overly fussy and complicated. There are enough YouTube videos around now to debunk those thoughts.
I do love to ride. While there are days when I may think, or even pronounce a hatred of getting on the scooter, it’s merely a passing cloud, the result of some small thing in life. Or perhaps something like Charles Dickens alluded to in A Christmas Carol:
“You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato.”
Riding through the local forests and mountains is as satisfying now as it was the first time. I’ve changed. The scooter has changed. And even the forest and mountains have changed. But the thrill remains the same.
Lately I’ve been forgoing the clamor and commotion of the afternoon coffee shops for the quiet spaces in our local tavern, Duffy’s, just down the street from my home. Sitting on the porch in the afternoon sunlight with a cup of tea, chocolate cake and a journal is high on my list of simple pleasures.
One I didn’t often experience when working for a living.
And now, more and more, I’m experiencing thoughts at midnight. Or in this case beyond. It’s almost 3:30am and I’ve had enough. The dogs are asleep and I’ll join them soon. But I wonder if there isn’t a place with tea and sweets I could haunt after midnight.
One more reason to ride.