This evening a friend asked me about leather jackets — the kind you might find in a department store. His son recently got a small motorcycle and he wanted to know if the jacket made him safe. After our discussion of protective riding gear and the difference between a true motorcycle leather jacket and a leather jacket intended for casual dress I could sense fear in his voice — fear for the safety of his son.
Every rider has probably had some conversation about riding, safety and risk with someone who will never be convinced that the activity at best is a fool’s errand but in reality more akin to a death wish. Their fear of the dark is too strong to dissuade.
This evening I took a short ride into town on the Vespa in a light mist, another slow step in my cardiac recovery. Learning to pace myself, respecting my current physical limitations, and not surrendering to any fear of the dark is where I find myself today. Riding provides a wonderful barometer to evaluate progress and location.
Wet roads and dying light are circumstances that must be assessed and managed. They have their own unique challenges and do not bend to my needs or agenda. I bend to them. Looking at the warm pools of light on the pavement, the reflections in the puddles, the soft glow of the evening light, it’s important I don’t lose track of the important matters at hand — that the road surface has far less traction, drivers can’t see me as well, and I can’t see as well either.
Thinking about how well my physical recovery is proceeding it’s important I don’t lose track of what’s important — take my medication without fail, eat healthily, and pay attention to my physical and emotional condition. I can’t get lost in the soft glow of an easy recovery.
Paid a short visit to my granddaughter this afternoon. I’m surprised at the motivation this little person provides to live a different life. I want to see her grow up, walk with her, talk about the world. It’s as if there is a genetic program at work stretching back tens of thousands of years to make sure the young and the old connect.
Somehow, riding my Vespa is intertwined with whatever conversations we’ll have.
The warm weather has given way to a heavy gray sky and a plunge in temperature — a favored riding environment for me. Things look different when the sun is gone. Standing along the road looking across the expanse of green meeting the heavy sky I see only opportunity. Any fear of the dark is supplanted by an expectant dream of adventure ahead.
A portrait of my mother hangs outside of my granddaughter’s bedroom, a charcoal sketch made by one of her friends when she was 18 years old. Her face reminds me of the appreciation of adventure she bestowed on me, the desire to see what’s over the next hill, what lies around the next turn.
I’ve always considered adventure in terms of movement and travel for which the Vespa is a capable partner. Perhaps it was just preparation for another kind of adventure.
Almost home, Vespa along the road, Mount Nittany in the distance shrouded in mist. For me, at its best, riding is a solitary experience. The choices on the road are mine to make as is progress toward a destination. I can’t help but think about how tangled life is amidst a sea of circumstance, desire and dreams.
Oh, the ride is breathtaking…
Riding in darkness has become something I don’t like anymore….night vision being less than optimal, the possibility of wildlife encounters…just detract from the enjoyment.
Your post does remind me of a comment made by Martha early on in my riding career….”just don’t drive in the rain”. Little did both of us know then eh?
Fear can be managed, through training and practice and pro-active measures such as the correct riding gear. Fear is a good thing as long as it’s not the only factor dictating one’s actions.
I bet, your cute granddaughter would look as cute and yet more adventurous, sitting in the tub of a sidecar rig…..with an appropriately sized helmet of course. 🙂
I have noticed a change in my night vision. One the road without car headlights in my face I’m fine, but aging eyes along with my propensity to not keep my visor clean and it can be hard to see. Add wildlife encounter possibilities and it blossoms into something akin to riding blind. At least in the worst situations. I don’t ride nearly as much at night as I once did.
I’m still trying to get my head around fear. It pops up in the most unexpected places.
I’ve worked too long and too hard to ever let my granddaughter ride in something called a “tub”!
Steve, for now your granddaughter might fit in a bucket on the floor board of the scooter, but Dom might be onto something – a tub might be the way to go!
With so many options on the Vespa — standing on the floor boards, strapped to the front rack, sitting on my lap, behind me, or on the rear rack, just how could a tub ever be needed!!?? *GRIN*
Beautiful pictures, as always.
I haven’t enjoyed night driving for years. I once asked my optometrist why my night vision declined and she replied “because you aren’t a cat.” Apparently as humans it is not one of our strong suits.
My night vision used to be great but my optometrist said the loss of that skill is because I have the beginnings of cataracts — yet another slap of old age to content with. Sometime down the road, when they get much worse, that they can be fixed and restore some of the vision. That sounds positive right?
Ride safe!
Steve, a recent reader of your excellent blog. I hope you get to introduce that little bundle of joy to the scooter world.Safe riding and a great week end.
Thanks John. Time will tell!
I just want to say how much I appreciate the fearless way you are willing to share even the most difficult parts of life with your readers, and still somehow manage to connect them to riding in a way that brings more meaning to both. Wishing you a speedy recovery and many long years guiding your granddaughter along the roads of life.
Thank you for the kind words Maestro. Maybe it’s the time alone on the scooter that allows me to think, or maybe there’s just an easy, intrinsic connection between riding and life. I like to think it’s the latter…
The only time you have to be afraid of the dark is
when they close the lid on the burial casket with you in it.
That may well not happen for at least another
thirty or more years.
With the emergency surgical operation on your heart,
that ominous knock on your door has faded away.
Hopefully for a good long time.
You’ll look at not only your surroundings but at
your own existence differently than you have ever done before.
Youre a good man Steve Williams and may you
write and ride for a good long time yet.
(with apologies to Charles Schulz)
I have to remind myself that I had a heart attack — I feel that good. So I’ll need to be careful to not slip back to my old ways of poor diet, lack of exercise, lack of sleep, not dealing well with stress.
Right now though everything still feels like a gift.
Thanks for the kind words too!
I to enjoy riding at night. Once not that long ago I would be the only vehicle on the road as I made my way home at two or three in the morning. It was cooler and the silence was wonderful as I would watch the stars (but not for to long – keep your eyes on the road) or how the lights from buildings gave everything a eerie other worldly feeling.
Then my duties changed and I find myself in the middle of rush hour traffic with new challenges. I miss the night at times.
Late at night, especially away from the lights of civilization, it’s amazing what you can see on a moonlit night. I’ve ridden on winter nights during a full moon over a snow covered world and you don’t even need headlights.
Hope your duties adjust to allow you the commute that you want!