Scooter in the Sticks

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

Riding in the Shimmering Heat

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A hot tea and big chocolate chip cookie sitting on a counter with a motorcycle parked outside the window.
Elements of a reprieve from the heat.

Don’t Tell Me I Can’t Ride

It was already pushing 90 degrees when I rolled the W650 out of the garage this morning. The National Weather Service has been in full panic mode, warning everyone to stay inside like the world is ending. I almost took the car.

I had every excuse ready: It’s too hot. I’m getting older. I should be more careful. Then I caught myself. I spent summers welding inside steel barges in heat like this. Now I’m supposed to be too delicate to ride a motorcycle because it’s 90 degrees? Please. So I geared up, hit the starter, and rode anyway.

The heat was real, but so was the smile on my face the entire time.

I ran my errands, stopped for tea and a cookie, and sat there watching the heat shimmer off the pavement, feeling more alive than I have in weeks.

I’m 72 years old. I still know my limits. And I’m nowhere near ready for the rocking chair. If that makes me stubborn, so be it.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

Aging and the Desire to Ride Motorcycles

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A Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle parked at a forest vista.
Stopped at Wampler Vista in Rothrock State Forest.

As Old as I Think

The air was clear, the light brilliant as my friend Dave and I started our ride to breakfast. I can’t count how many times I’ve stopped at Wampler to take in the view, thrilled that the only evidence of civilization are motorcycles and the path carved from the side of the mountain. I’m still drawn to this place, visited many times as a simple destination for an evening ride to watch the light change, see a black bear cross the road, or listen to a hawk shriek overhead.

I’ve been speaking with a friend about getting old and what that means. The conversation highlighted the value of curiosity and adventure as a way to keep old age at bay. My body is aging but my mind stays young through motion, thought, and living. I wonder whether I ride to stay young or I feel young because I ride.

Whatever it is, the desire to ride motorcycles remains strong.

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Is 24-Horsepower Enough for a Motorcycle?

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2022 Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle parked along a farm field.
Simple, reliable, but too weak for serious riding?

Enter the Era of Downsizing Motorcycles

YouTube is currently full of content declaring the virtues of moving to smaller machines. The reasons vary but the changes are happening. Mostly because so many riders are older and perhaps feeling how much heavier machines are feeling. I’m familiar with those feelings.

The median age of an American motorcycle owner is around 50. In 1990 the median rider age was 32. And in 1985 it was 27. Not great news for manufacturers wondering where new customers are going to come from but no surprise the Boomers and GenXers, used to ever bigger and better SUVs and trucks, seem to end up with mammoth machines that are now getting a little uncomfortable.

Downsizing can be the result of wanting a motorcycle that’s just easier to handle. Or less expensive to own and operate. Or more fun. All that stands in the way of downsizing in an clear understanding of needs and an honest assessment of ego. Ego is a bitch to get past though. Just this morning I was talking with a fellow rider about Helite Turtle 2 airbags. Expensive. Probably useful. But when I saw the Hi-Viz yellow my first reaction was in how it would interrupt the elegant look of my Merlin Hixon II leather jacket.

Style before safety right? Turns out they do offer them in black.

Back to my 2022 Royal Enfield Himalayan. I downsized to it from my BMW K75 because that motorcycle was feeling heavy for the kind of riding I was doing. And it had more power than I needed. Ultimately I wanted a motorcycle to ride in the dirt and gravel. The Himalayan was a much better choice.

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A Tiny Taste of Freedom

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Vespa GTS 250 scooter on a farm lane.
Free in the world on a Vespa scooter.

Do You Taste Freedom When You Ride?

This portrait is different from other portraits made of the Vespa scooter. I made it with a tiny taste of freedom in my mouth.

The word freedom is tossed at everything from promises made by salesman about new cars to politicians proclaiming it with shaking fists. Abstract descriptions of something that has so many different meanings to so many different people that it’s difficult to feel it. How do I know when I’m free?

On this morning, at the moment I made this picture, I could feel the thrill of freedom in my chest. Like a kid released for the summer on that last day of school. For me, it began the moment I stepped out of the DMV with my renewed drivers license indicating I no longer needed to wear glasses when I ride. The surgery for removal of cataracts and subsequent implantation of new lenses correcting my vision to 20/20 gave a tiny taste of freedom then, and on this morning when I pulled on my helmet and didn’t have to legally fiddle with glasses it burst into life.

It was shocking how exciting it felt. So much that I had to temper the emotions so I could pay attention to the road. As I rode a smile acknowledged gone was pressure of glasses to my temples and nose, no ongoing need to raise the visor to reposition the glasses, and no more fogging of glasses on those frigid rides.

A little thing in a complicated world. But I’ll take every bite of this tiny taste of freedom. What about you? When was the last time you had a taste?

Do I Ride to Escape Reality?

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A Vespa GTS 250 scooter parked along a road in a forest.
A few quiet moments for reflection.

Glad I’m Not Young

In a culture obsessed with looking, acting, and being young I’m definitely off course and on a different road. It’s taken some time but I’m comfortable in my skin and with the circumstances of each moment as it comes along. I’m not saying I don’t care about how I look or take care of myself but I’m not on the social rollercoaster to deflect the onslaught of time on my body or try to convince anyone else that I’m not a 71-year-old man. My days aren’t driven by a desire to fill every moment with meaning or to chase an adrenalin or dopamine fix to be satisfied that I am living. I’m not trying to escape reality.

Meandering on a Vespa the the hills and dales of home provide me time to think, reflect, and enjoy the breaths I take without any weight of performance or requirement. Just me walking on the earth feeling in balance with life. And in the particular moment standing in the woods I was glad I’m not young.

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