Scooter in the Sticks

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

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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A Jaunt in the Rain

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A 2022 Royal Enfield Himalayan parked on a wet driveway.
Almost escaped before the rain fell hard.

Breakfast Ride Rained Out

The plan was to ride to breakfast. The weather report the night before indicated rain later in the morning. I had the Himalayan in the driveway and ready to go when it started to rain. Gently at first but then falling heavy enough that rain gear would be needed. I’m getting too old to intentionally head out in the rain, especially when I just want to get something to eat. So the bike went into the garage and the trip to the restaurant was made in my friend’s bright red Jeep Wrangler.

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In Sickness and in Health

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View of a hospital at sunset
View at the end of the day while waiting for the elevator.

A post-surgical view

My wife and I have been married for over thirty years. The youth and energy that drove our lives when we began changes and fades over time. And a recent spine surgery that my wife underwent reminds me of the marriage vows I swore so many years ago.

…in sickness and in health…

That surgery reminded not only of vows, but triggered gratitude for health insurance and acceptance of the reality that I wouldn’t be riding for a while. For the last two weeks of July and through the end of August my scooters and motorcycles were idle as I focused on support and care.

And as healing progresses I’ve been able to begin to ride a little. Short trips, errands mostly, and the experience recharges my physical, mental, and emotional batteries.

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