Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650

The Honda Trail 125 Magic

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Two Honda Trail 125 motorcycles on a forest road at sunrise.
Perfect motorcycles for adventures in the mountains of Central Pennsylvania.

A Special Little Motorcycle

I’ve reached a point in my life that I could buy and ride any two-wheeled machine I desire. The only limitation is space to store them. Acquistion is carefully curated to make sure whatever I ride meets my aesthetic requirements, is able and comfortable to ride in the environments I choose, and possesses a level of magic that adds to the inherent thrill riding delivers.

The Honda Trail 125 meets my requirements and goes an extra mile by enabling me to ride in places I would hesitate to explore on anything else in the garage. At least now at my age and with the wisdom I’ve accumulated from experience.

Combine the magic with a fellow CT125 rider and it’s no wonder I’m excited to get on the little motorcycle and wander into the mountains near home. We were on the road just after sunrise. It was a chilly 42F but with the promise of quickly rising temperatures as the sun climbed higher in the sky. I was grateful to have an extra layer under my Aerostich jacket and my hands warm inside my Gerbing battery powered gloves.

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Aging and the Inevitable Gate at the End of the Road

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Man hooked up to a 12-lead for an electrocardiogram.
The adventure of cardiac testing.

Focus on the Ride or on the Gate?

Let me begin by saying I’m fine.

A recent event coupled with a history of heart attack precipitated my cardiologist to have a closer look at the internal mechanics. Laying on a bed with a 12-lead monitor attached I was ready for the treadmill after an initial ultrasound examination of valves, arteries, and a check for any evidence of a familial aortic aneurysm.

Lying there I wished I had ridden to the appointment. An inquiry the night before with ChatGPT had it stress the stupidity of riding after the test. It listed the possible side effects which could affect my ability to ride safely. It agreed with my wife.

Each of us has an expiration date. As I get older I am more aware of that fact. Many don’t like to think about the topic but I have found an open and honest approach to the realities of life allow me to experience everything more fully. Thinking about aging and the inevitable Gate at the end of the road is a lovely riding metaphor for the predicament that every one of us is in even though we may often be blissfully unaware of the road we’re on. Or worse, in good old denial.

I focus on the ride. And as a result all the good and bad along the way is lighter and easier to accept, deal with, or just let go.

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Hurtling Toward the Boneyard

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A 2001 Kawasaki W650 motorcycle parked along a wooded road in early autumn.
Riding the W650 in early autumn.

Reminders of My Physical Reality

For the past couple months I’ve been physically feeling a little worse than normal. Whatever normal is now as I ride the downward slope towards the boneyard. Psoriatic arthritis visits more frequently with painfully stiff joints and fiery reminders that all is not well in this body. And a request by my rheumatologist to taper the drug used to control things to make sure I’ve not gone into remission and no longer need the cancer med used to suppress my immune system.

I’m not in remission.

And some recent chest pressure and pain has a stress echo test in my immediate future to determine if things have worsened since my heart attack back in 2015. The only evidence that I’m not hurtling toward the boneyard is the miraculous eye surgery that removed my cataracts. It transformed me and my near-sighted existence into a far-sighted man who no longer has to fuss with glasses in the motorcycle helmet. And I have great night vision.

I acknowledge I have an expiration date in a way I didn’t when I was younger. And it has made each day special regardless of whatever joy or crap I face. Riding is an even more exquisite experiences. An unexpected result of hurtling toward the boneyard.

I had two goals when I rolled out on the Kawasaki W650 — explore an area whose roads were unfamiliar, and have breakfast at a cafe I’ve not visited in a few years. Perfect excuses to ride on a crisp morning in autumn.

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How Far is Too Far for Breakfast?

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Four motorcycle riders along posing for a group picture.
A “Romeo” group (Retired Old Men Eating Out) Andy is still working. Photo by Paul Ruby

Group Photo

I look at this photograph with gratitude for having friends to share the journey. On motorcycles and scooters and in life. And for me at least the expression on my face says a lot. I didn’t realize my face was adorned with a big, dumb, grin.

The four of us left home this morning to ride to breakfast, a predictable rhythm in my life, and a pleasure to be willing and able to embrace it. When I was thinking about a ride one of the questions that emerged is how far is too far to ride for breakfast?

The first order of business was identifying a place to have breakfast. Reading comments on a recent obituary for a farmer I once met indicated he frequented the Cottage Restaurant in Lamar, Pennsylvania. I figured if it was so highlighted it might be worth a look. The route to the restaurant was simple. No maps needed. It was just 27 miles away on a route I’ve ridden or driven dozens of times. The bigger challenge was the ride home. It would be a bore to return the way we came so I began to look at Google Maps to look for alternative routes and roads I had never visited. With every cow path in Pennsylvania now paved the choices seem endless.

It didn’t take long to determine a route and memorize it for the following day. I don’t carry maps anymore and the only GPS I generally use is meat-based. The ride home would consume about 135 miles.

Most of my life has been led in relative isolation and solitude. I didn’t make friends easy and I was loathe to reach out to others to do anything unless it was a dire emergency. Scooters and motorcycles have enhanced my ability to reach out to others, often strangers, and make friends. And not just related to riding but in other aspects of my life as well. An unlooked for gift of riding.

Dave said he would ride to breakfast. Paul would too. And Andy, the non-retired member of the group said he would come as well. All I told them is it would be a long ride and we would be back in about five hours.

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Don’t Let the Old Man In

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A 2006 Vespa GTS 250 scooter on a rural road on an overcast day.
Still going strong.

Cool Air and a Heavy Sky

Being old isn’t just a physical state. It is a state of mind. And if I want to remain “young”, especially in the face of physical decline, I need to push away the feelings that life is finished when I wake with more aches and pains than usual.

Sounds simple enough but thoughts of mortality coupled with those early morning surprises make keeping the old man out a real challenge. Getting on a scooter or motorcycle and going for a ride is a way of thumbing my nose at old age.

I don’t remember why I decided to ride the Vespa GTS scooter that morning. Looking at the photograph of it under the heavy overcast sky I do remember the thrill at being out on the road. The reason doesn’t really matter.

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