Amish Hunters
Few things are as strange as passing an Amish man in camouflage hunting gear, wielding a compound bow, and riding a pink scooter brought me into the state of strange. One of the odd views during a late autumn ride.
I should have realized I had crossed into the state of strange. Instead I continued to believe I was taking part in an idyllic meandering through the forests of central Pennsylvania. As a defense against the worsening pandemic I compartmentalize concerns, facts, fears, and experience to allow me to move through the world as if everything was fine.
I can’t help thinking now about missing the warning signs of my heart attack of nearly six years ago. Or that the state of strange in which I now live is the new normal.
Just a Feeling
Riding through the Appalachian Mountains, my head coursing with confusing thoughts, I’m square in the center of the state of strange. Autumn was in full bloom. And on the surface it was a wonderful ride. But something didn’t feel right. I felt rushed. I looked more often in the rear view mirrors. The scooter engine sounded different. The helmet visor fogged more quickly. Something wasn’t right but I couldn’t put my finger on the reason.
I’ve been struggling writing this post for months. As much as I wanted to just post the pictures and say how great the ride was I kept coming back to that feeling that something was off. And then while having a conversation with my wife she said she was in “a state of strange.” Suddenly it all made sense as I listened to her describe the unsteady thoughts and feelings. She had diagnosed my problem during that ride — I was in a state of strange.
I quickly asked her permission to use her phrase as the title of this post.
Pandemic Foreboding
I struggle to keep the news of the world at arm’s-length. I walk a knife edge between being adequately informed and creating a monstrous reality in which to exist. Riding provides an opportunity to escape what I know and recharge — psychically, spiritually, emotionally, and physically. Riding provides me an active experience in the world while be almost completely disconnected with it. And with few exceptions, that is how it works for me.
This ride was different though. There was a subtle change in perspective as I stood alongside the road gazing toward the horizon. Normally I would feel invigorated by the openness of the valley and sweeping sky. A recognition of how small I am in the world. This time I saw a darkening sky, the world contracting inwards upon me. And at the same time I was enjoying the ride.
It makes little sense.
Reflection and Contemplation
A quick dash off the main roads and into the forest. The Vespa isn’t the best machine for gravel roads but it does fine. I’m a slow traveler and enjoy looking around. The road wound through areas I had not visited before and my choice at each fork in the road seemed to lead to narrower and less traveled paths. I was delightfully alone. And suddenly thinking about the durability of the scooter and what a pain it would be to have it die out here with no traffic or cell coverage. As I rode my mind began to drift more and more on things over which I had absolutely no control.
Reflecting on those thoughts now has me believing uncertainty in the world has changed my formerly adventuresome mindset to something a bit more careful. At that moment I had entered the state of strange.
Everything I Need is on That Scooter
Riding, for me at least, is an exercise in simplicity. Everything I need for the day is with me. It’s a minimalist situation that requires me to pare down possessions that will allow me to survive. I feel content and self-contained when I look down a long, empty road disappearing into the distance. For a brief moment I can glimpse myself without the trappings of life and experience a moment of serenity. Granted it’s fleeting, but I continue to be grateful for those moments. And the lust to have one more taste of serenity keeps me saddling up on the Vespa and entering the world.
I’ve drastically reduced my riding over the past month due to a spike in COVID-19 cases and associated stress on hospitals in the area. It’s an informed decision but not without some sort of pain. I understand how people chafe at restrictions. I’m no different. The mindless, whining child emerges who just wants what he wants and creates all kinds of idiotic rationalizations to rubber stamp his behavior.
I’m only human. And when I enter the childish mode, truth is hard to come by. I walk into the state of strange.
Two-Wheeled Spiritualism
Sitting here typing I can remember the thrill of being on the road and in the world. I’ve felt it hundreds if not thousands of times over the years. The ride becomes so intense that I feel if I let go of the handlebar I’ll soar into the sky. And when I look at that silver machine sitting in the garage right now I can’t quite believe the power it has to change my life. To alter my perception. The carry me into and out of the state of strange.
My Vespa is a metaphysical tool. It’s ride across the Universe.
Meta. There, you said it. It crystalizes my experience every time I climb aboard Melody, be it by necessity or desire.
And, yes, my rides have been much more the former than the latter: my twice-weekly rides from home base to Gotham and back, usually a good 100 miles-plus for the day, the last such ride two days ago when temperatures didn’t even crack 40ºF. (The handlebar muffs, together with the heated gloves, have been the proverbial godsend.) The rides have been a tonic even when the scenes within Gotham have been incredibly sobering: shops and restaurants, largely closed; an outsized ghost-town that once was home, I could feel the wounds everywhere. The bitter cold didn’t help much here.
I had a tech gig near home today (for a change), and then went for a food shop and refueling for the bike. Once out of my gloves, my hands were in almost screaming pain from the cold…I hadn’t realized temps had sunk rapidly to below 25 degrees. The Costco gas station attendant couldn’t believe I was out on two wheels in this cold. I replied “But what about you? I’m getting colder just looking at you!”
And, I look at your photos in this post, and…wow. Deep, and dark…not necessarily in a menacing way (although they can certainly be interpreted that way), and wistful…I love the depth, the semi-secluded atmosphere here. Yes, “strangeness” is all around us now, in so, so many ways, but so is goodness, and the goodness of solace, which perhaps now a lot of people feel they have way too much of, but which for me, for too long in my life, was in very short supply, and which now can be something of a balm for contemplation. Mind you, it helps to have a life companion who mostly understands this, and also knows I understand the need for companionship as well. (Not as easy a balance to strike as some might think.)
The rides, chilly as they might be, are still so damned therapeutic. And, as a bonus, they make me appreciate my Spring-through-Fall rides all the more.
Thanks, yes again: I was thinking about you the last two days, and hoping all was well.
Well, I guess riding a Vespa is all about awareness. I mean Meta!
You’re become a more hardcore rider all the time. Big miles, cold weather, and the courage to brave the pandemic in Gotham. There are tales there I’m sure.
Handlebar muffs and heated gloves — the holy grail of winter riding hand comfort. A miracle. A godsend. It makes all the difference in the world.
Thanks for your comments about the photos. On the surface they are dark. It was a particularly dark day with heavy cloud cover. But they also seem warm and cozy to me. Had the sun been out they would have felt entirely different and perhaps weaker.
Relationships in the time of COVID. Sounds faintly like Love in the Time of Cholera! But what you say is true. And having someone who understands is a gift that both of us seem to be blessed with.
All is well here. Scheduled to get a COVID vaccine in less than two weeks. While it may reduce the odds of dying I fear it will have little effect on my day-to-day life.
Ride safe!
Thank you for a much welcomed bullseye Steve. The sense of being untethered and wholly independent so apt and sadly beyond my grasp this time of year. Late into this past riding season the sense of running out of space and fresh air drew near as I mused about the final ride. Long walks in town and out have helped refresh but do not provide the escape and buzz that a ride’s total immersion demands and delivers. I tell myself it is the end of January and riding is just around the corner and wandering is nigh.
I’m glad I could provide some small shot of something useful.
Everything seems beyond grasp right now. Those I know who don’t feel that way seem to be able to disregard any risk associated to anything including the virus that rules my life right now. Such is the world.
As much as I like to walk, with or without dogs, with or without a camera, I’ve found it to pale in comparison to a ride. Warmer weather isn’t that far off now but I have no idea what I’ll have for choices to ride. As I read about the virus variant it all seems like a dark, science fiction story where a virus continues to mutate into more and more dangerous forms until we finally become zombies.
If I watch anymore streaming video shows I’ll be a zombie!
Steve great to read and see something from you again .Have no words of wisdom ,or a big bandaid to fix everything with just saying hello and Y’all hang in there…Just turned 66 glad to still b here. B safe and keep on motoring…☮
Thanks Don. I’m one year ahead of you soon. And I’m grateful to still be riding.
You take care of yourself as well and hopefully riding will someday be a more relaxed activity!
Well, not much I can comment on that other than….Vespa please carry me away.
That’s it exactly Ken. What the Vespa can do. Carry me away to a place different than the one I am in.