Quiet Times in Life
At times I wonder if it makes much sense to call what I do riding. I strain for a better, more accurate term to describe what I do but have found nothing. Riding. It’s what I do. Those first miles on the Vespa LX150 were so enthralling, my spirit which was long immersed in the thick, syrupy depths of adult life, was suddenly and unexpectedly hurled backwards into the unbridled ignorance and joy of childhood as I guided this new machine through a world suddenly alive with sights, sounds and fragrances that I would not understand how I had not experienced before.
Freedom, That word has been so thoroughly perverted by politics and commerce that I hesitate to invoke it now. But that is what I felt when I started to ride. A freedom from the weight of adulthood, from task and responsibility, from the slow drain of life that I was surely aware. The flight of the Vespa with me on its back was a new creature, free and thrilled to be alive on this earth.
Is it any wonder that I refused to surrender it to the cold and winter? What man or woman who experienced what I had would let it go, even for a few days let alone an entire season. And so I ventured forth and found the solitude of snow.
Morning Snow
I woke to the hope of fog, an element of light and atmosphere that transforms the world for eye and camera. A look out the window dashed all hope as I absorbed the gray light of an overcast day. The dogs were anxious to go outside but I was in no hurry to move as they anxiously observed each movement and action that was drawing me closer to the outdoors, ball tossing and an eventual breakfast.
Mind you, I was not discouraged by the lack of fog. I was merely moving in a slow and deliberate fashion as I greeted the new day. Outside in the garden I walked familiar paths as the dogs crisscrossed my way, looking for signs I was ready to throw a ball, searching for rabbits and squirrels and other moving objects they could chase. One ball, five balls, a dozen throws with racing beasts and then I saw it, off in the distance, ice and snow on the mountain top.
And then everything changed.
One, Two, Three, Race!
The change was dramatic. Calmness gave way to an anxious energy to get out the door and into the mountains on the Vespa scooter. I’ve seen it before and once the sun comes out the snow and ice vanish quickly. Dogs fed, gear on and I’m out the door an on the road.
In the valley on the approach to the nearest road into the mountains everything is wet, gray and lackluster. Or at least that’s how I’m evaluating it compared to the images in my head of the mountain ridges.
Slowly, as I ride, I see glimpses of the solitude of snow.
Mesmerized
How much money have I saved by being so easily mesmerized by the landscapes around me. The need, the desire to see other parts of the world have largely disappeared as I’m not finished seeing this place. Standing by the scooter and looking at the snow on top of the mountain outside of Boalsburg I realize how grateful I am for this gift. To see and not just look.
I stand a long time just breathing in the scene, attempting to absorb some of the energy in the world here, waiting, waiting for the sense of calm to wash over me that’s become so familiar while riding. Or actually not riding at times.
Just a short way into Rothrock State Forest I’m aware of a couple things. First, I was pleased in the fact that riding was a perfect example of social distancing. The COVID-19 pandemic was in full swing and the confirmed cases in Pennsylvania had doubled again. But no one was to be seen. For now, in terms of disease, I was safe. Not long after this ride I would make the decision to put scooter and motorcycle riding on hiatus.
And the other, it was a beautiful morning.
Spring Snow and Scooter Riding
I didn’t have to ride far up the mountain until I realized there was no ice coating the trees. It was all snow sticking to trunks and branches. And that would be gone quickly once the sun emerged. I don’t ride all that fast on gravel and dirt but I found myself upping the pace a bit and at times noticing I was traveling at 40mph on the wet, messy gravel and gray muck. Great pace to reach the places I wanted to be except the damn camera kept stopping me.
Gazing Across the World
I quickly abandoned the pace I was traveling. I had already arrived and found what I was looking for. A serene landscape in which I could abandon all thought and fear regarding money, food, disease and toilet paper. I was doing what I could do and found space to be grateful for all that has been bestowed upon me and hope that the sun would continue to rise, that the earth would continue to travel around the sun and that I would take a breath one at a time.
My mother took me into the Alps as a child to offer me a glimpse of her own childhood adventures. Climbing upwards, hand over hand on permanently installed cables, I remember the shuddering awe I felt the first time I stood atop a mountain peak and saw the world spread out before me. At five years old it was more than I could emotionally process but the feeling lingers in my bones. Now, whenever I pass a vista I have to stop to absorb the world before me, to restore those memories from years past.
Lost in Familiar Territory
The forest is crisscrossed by roads and I thought I had been on all of them. But suddenly I realize I am not where I thought I was and uncertain whether I would end up where I thought I would. Scanning the ridges around me I had a sense I was still miles away from the pavement. Resisting the thought to pull out my iPhone and look at a map I just got on the scooter and continued to ride knowing I would eventually emerge somewhere familiar. The difference between riding in the East versus the West.
The Road Home
The worst part of the ride is the journey home. Every route to my door is filled with sadness. Like a child on Sunday night knowing that they have to go to school in the morning. I’ve tried mind tricks and distractions but few things have eased the brittle knowledge that the ride is drawing to a close.
And so it was again as I stood beside what could have been an exquisite scene had I been at the beginning of the ride. The solitude of snow was gone. The adventure was gone. And soon the option to ride would evaporate as well.
Now I’m left with memories of rides and dreams of rides to come. If this is the worst I have to endure in life then I count myself a supremely fortunate man. Today there is a growing darkness and despair in the world due to the COVID-19 pandemic. There is little I can do aside from caring for myself and family. Perhaps the most difficult act in the modern world is waiting.
Riding has taught me patience. And waiting, standing, and absorbing the solitude of snow.
I pray each of you finds your own way in the coming days, weeks and months. Stay safe and sane and healthy.
Thanks for a bright spot in yet another day that seeks to add still more fear and anxiety into our lives. Hoping that you’ll be able to get back on the Vespa before too long. Stay safe.
It’s nice to have a bright spot each day. In addition to the fear and anxiety of the daily uncertainty regarding the COVID-19 pandemic, there is the monotony of being suddenly limited in movement and behavior. While it’s still not like prison, it’s a dramatic shift for some.
I have faith I’ll ride again. I’ve surrendered any expectations of when.
Thanks Steve, just in from our walk, I read your post and found myself in a quiet moment of meditation from within your post.
I hope many find renewed satisfaction in walking. It’s a simple act that pays great rewards.
You’re not riding, you’re traversing the landscape.
Yes! That’s how I feel when I’m riding. Weird.
The best of two worlds?
Good afternoon Steve. After reading your latest post I could not help but think upon The Best of Two Worlds God has given to us: the temporal and the eternal; the physical and the spiritual. I believe that when we are out riding on our Vespas that we have the great opportunity to experience both at the same time. Is that not what makes it so relaxing and rejuvenating?
I agree with everything you’ve written Karl. Riding does bridge the physical and spiritual if the rider is open to it. Riding has so often been like water to a thirsty man for me.
Ride. Rest. Repeat.
Sadly, the current situation has required some change on my part. It’s now become Walk. Rest. Repeat.
For all purposes Steve, you took me on that ride with you. Here, if I go 40 mph anywhere, I’d get run over. Thank you for such a peaceful journey – much needed these days. I’ll read this one often and stare at the photos equally.
I’m glad I could share a little of our central Pennsylvania serenity as it relates to rides in the mountains. Thankfully, in most places I ride, slow speeds are possible. On occasion, I’ll jump on the main road and find it annoying that people are bearing down to travel at 70mph on these two-lane roads.
Well Steve once again a slice of serenity as most of us riders or not can sure use.I have decided I can give up many things ,sure hope I never have to be without your photos,adventures,and every word you write that’s always a treat for an ole rider like me….Would like to tell you my first scooter was a Bonanza mini-bike my grandmother mailed in one entry and won.Pepsi had a contest and our local grocery store had a Deluxe Blue Bonanza bike on display,4hp.all of about 25 mph.I too still remember that feeling of that first ride.That freedom as you say today at 65 yrs.old is with me still on every ride…Sorry if I wrote to much ● Take care Steve and all.
Thank you for the kind words of support Don. I’m turning ideas over in my head to figure out how and what to post while I’m not riding. My two dogs can only carry me so far with content!
Those Bonanza mini-bikes were the envy of every kid in the neighborhood. A step up from the cheaper things running on a Briggs and Stratton engine. Hodaka made the engines I think?
I remember all the fleeting times I got to ride a mini bike as a kid. I dreamed of having one but my parents were firmly in the “you’ll shoot your eye out” camp. A neighbor had a Honda Mini Trail bike — a step up with three gears. Every time I got to ride anything with two wheels and a motor I felt like I was flying free!
By the way, you can never write too much. That’s my motto!
“Walk, rest, repeat.” It’s unfortunate that it’s come to that, but a lot of us have become victims of regulations that have had to be put into place to curtail the activities of those who just can’t seem to “get it”!
Anyway on a brighter note, I’m looking forward to seeing how you adapt to your world getting smaller for a while. Here’s my take on this (after a couple of glasses of Merlot). Those of us that have some experience with photography understand the term “field of vision”. From outer space our “field of vision” would include the whole Earth. From 30,000 it would include a large piece of the Earth and from a scooter a much smaller piece of the Earth. With your powers of observation and skill with a camera, I’m looking forward to seeing what you come up with in both pictures and the written word in your new “field of vision”.
Stay safe.
I think it’s extremely difficult to suddenly stop interacting in this modern world that in so many ways has been built around intense interactions of people — restaurants, bars, sporting events, and on and on. And you’re right, there seem to be a lot of people who either don’t understand or care about the things we can do now to blunt the spread of the infection.
Adapting to this new life is a daily challenge and I’ll share some of that on Scooter in the Sticks. Not sure what exactly but it offers a creative challenge. I’ve been tinkering with video a bit and plan to share something on Monday.
I like your notion of “field of vision.” Mine has definitely changed. We’ll see if it bears any new fruit!
Thanks for stopping by to share your thoughts Jim. I do appreciate them.
Reading your post provided me with what Ms. Hackman’s comment so aptly described as I “found myself in a quiet moment of meditation.” Thank you Steve.
Glad I could light a candle in these dim days. Hope you are staying safe and sane.
Steve, as a person who followed your example and began my scoot commute on a Vespa LX150, theses words of yours just nailed it: “Those first miles on the Vespa LX150 were so enthralling, my spirit which was long immersed in the thick, syrupy depths of adult life, was suddenly and unexpectedly hurled backwards into the unbridled ignorance and joy of childhood…”
It’s an amazing experience. Had I only known years earlier. Both the Vespa and motorcycle stand quietly in the garage for a period of time I can’t predict. So far it’s ok but I know the day will come that I want to ride and can’t.
Until then, Kim and I are staying safe. Hope you and your family are doing the same.
i write a small newsletter for our motorcycle club… this story is inspirational and exactly what I am writing about this month. Looking for permission to use it. Is this possible?
Feel free to use the story in your newsletter. Thanks for asking and for the kind words about the piece.
Yup, how I share your feeling of the “sadness of the way home”. I have a secret weapon against that: For a while now I have been living in a RV, my valiant Vespa GTS 300 mounted on it’s carrier always with me. And since I change places every couple of days and then venture out on the Vespa once installed, the way home is always new and different. And much less sad….
RV life has always struck a romantic chord in me — life alone in an ever-changing world, greeting a new morning from a new place. Those thoughts have fueled many fantasies of life on the road in an RV, on a motorcycle, or walking with a backpack. Despite all that, I’m certain I would still feel sadness for myriad reasons. But I do see how your approach would eliminate some of those!
Be safe on your continuing adventures!