Scooter in the Sticks

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

Old Age and Youth

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Vespa GTS scooter in front of the Family Chill & GrillFamily Chill & Grill

After several weeks of work to rehabilitate an angry lower back injury, I felt well enough to explore the physical limits with a short ride.  Nothing like a sore back to make you feel old.  I’ve read the yoga adages, “You’re as young as your spine is flexible.”

I’ve not been feeling young.

My friend Paul and I departed for a short ride to breakfast at the Family Chill & Grill and Firehouse Pizza in Tyrone, Pennsylvania, just 15 miles from home.  A reasonable distance to appraise how things are going.  Unfortunately the place was closed — Labor Day — requiring us to move further down the valley to find a place to eat.

Paul Ruby with his new BMW R1200 RT motorcycleBMW and Vespa

Eventually we made our way to Altoona and Kings Restaurant.  Paul commented on all the old men gathered for breakfast.  I gently reminded him we’re old men…

By the time I rolled the Vespa back into the garage there were 85 more miles on the odometer. As long as I don’t have to pick up anything heavy (like a dropped scooter or a quarter) my back is pretty good.  Another week and I should be back to normal.  Whatever that is now for me.

Paul got rid of his Ducati Hypermotard and replaced it with a 2005 BMW R1200 RT which he plans to ride to New Mexico in November.  With a full fairing, heated grips and seat, and spacious hardcase luggage it will be a fine machine for a ride like that.

I’m not thinking that grand.  I’ll be happy when I can put the dog food dishes on the ground without supporting myself with a walking stick.

Old age and youth — two sides of the same coin.  I need to keep tossing it.

Lost in Delirium

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Some rides are the product of illness — a projection of being lost in delirium.

Can a person ride motorcycles (or scooters) in their eighties?

For the past few days I’ve been swept up in a chain of illness (a cold or flu) and have lost touch with the routines and rituals that normally keep me grounded — walking the dogs, working and riding the Vespa.

I hate being sick; suppose everyone does. While drifting between sleep, delirium and mindlessly watching online videos I came across an old favorite — five aging men deciding to ride motorcycles again. I’ve posted it before.  When I close my eyes I want to ride again.

For a few moments I thought I could push through the illness but dizziness raised its hand to remind me of my current predicament.  I’m sure Kim would have added her input, “You don’t ride when you’re sick dummy.”

So I’m left again practicing patience, something I never do well with, and hoping whatever illness I have passes quickly.

If you’re feeling your age take a moment and watch the video.  It’s nice to think at 80 we might still have choices…

How Long Can I Ride?

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Steve Williams photography and printsLooking Closely

Sixty-one years old and one heart attack under my belt. It fuels some interesting thinking. Ten years ago when I was still invincible (and my riding jacket was still bright yellow) I was already drawn toward thoughts of mortality as I photographed my life, the people in it, and some of the icons of finality. I’ve always been curious about what’s over the next hill.  Seems appropriate that curiosity would endure thoughts about longevity — how long can I ride?

I’m not sure if a person reaches a certain point where they begin doing longevity math but the equations aren’t simple and the factors considered aren’t consistent.  My grandfather had a heart attack in the 1950s when he was my age and then lived healthy and at home another 33 years.  My mother died just a few years older than I am now from a rare disease. And my father from lung cancer at 76 though he was a heavy smoker most of his life, worked in a coal mine before moving on to a mill that worked with molten steel — something that generates a lot of great stuff to breathe.

Mental measuring of longevity is, at best, a fool’s errand and merely another way to rob the present with fears of the future.  Still, it occupies my thoughts from time to time.

What may be more important is the waking dreams of life down the road.

How do I see myself in ten years?

Vespa GTS scooter on a forest roadOld Man and a Vespa

It slowly comes into focus, an image of an old man on a scooter, moving smoothly along a forest road, his hands gives a slight squeeze to the hand grips and a smile grows on his face.  In the distance a granddaughter waves, wondering what treat the old man brought this time.

When I ride I can feel the flight of spirit and I squeeze the grips to hold onto the world. At 61, I hope I can stay close to that feeling for a long time and my body stays nimble enough to manage the scooter and my mind sharp enough to stay safe. And be able to hang out with my granddaughter long enough to warn her about boys and to not let anyone stand in the way of her dreams.

That would be a good ride.

Belgian Sheepdog portait in the snow at sunriseLike a Good Dog

How long can I ride? Only God knows. But like a good dog I’ll keep getting up every morning and make the most of what life has to offer.  Like Junior, who hopes he’ll get to chase some tennis balls and go for a walk, I’m going to hope I can keep riding. I’ll ride until I can’t.

That’s the view from 61.  I’ll check back in ten years and see how things are working out.

What’s your view of the road ahead?

Rain Riding

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Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.
Soren Kierkegaard

Vespa GTS scooter on winding wet roadWith rain riding, the road is long and often dark.

Especially during the last week.  Rain and heavy overcast has created what can be an oppressive environment for riding both physically and mentally.  Rain riding often asks for a little extra from a rider to get on the road and stay safe while there.

Stopping along the road to make a photograph gives you a chance to examine the pavement you’re riding on.  A few steps, a drag of the sole of a boot along the road surface provides a sense of traction and the limits to work within.

And I’m always looking at the landscape in which my life unfolds.  On some days it can feel like a scene from a movie.

Vespa scooter alongside bicycle pathThe universe provides reminders that it’s not a movie.

Like finding a new bicycle path as a hint that some of my motorized riding could be transitioned to body powered travel in recognition of a healthier way of living.

I looked at my pink mountain bike today and considered riding it for a fleeting moment.

Vespa GTS scooter and farm landscapeThe world is a big place with magic everywhere.

I feel that but know it hasn’t always been the case.  Something changed that has allowed me to see the world differently.  I like to ascribe that change to riding the Vespa but I could just as easily credit my camera which has forced a continual visual engagement.

If pushed I would probably say the advancement of years has made everything more precious.  Looking around I realize how fleeting it all is.  Riding provides a front row seat on the world.  Getting older provides the patience to watch the show.

Round bales in a farm fieldReality is strange.

Riding across the valley south of State College brings a rider through some open, rolling agricultural areas.  The round bales almost seemed like some new form of livestock as they sat in the corn stubble.  The scene feels more like a painting than a photograph.

Vespa scooter and a foggy apple orchardYou can never see everything.

Fog and mist shroud the ridge tops obscuring the view. Imagination fills in the gaps and I’m always imagining Brigadoon.  Funny how stories stick in your head and trigger a desire for something magic to happen.  I have a long list of daydreams.

Vespa GTS scooter at the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg, PAThere is rest for the weary.

By the end of the ride, just shy of 50 miles, I was feeling the dampness and chill seep into my body.  Not painful or uncomfortable but enough to allow genuine appreciation of a hot drink in a warm place.  It’s easy to imagine travelers moving through the wilderness 200 years ago by wagon or horse and coming upon an inn at the end of a long day.

And so I sit with my hot tea staring out the window and imagining other lives and times, all because of a little rain riding.

Ten Thousand Steps

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Vespa artRiding a Vespa, as much fun as they are, doesn’t provide much in the way of exercise unless you’re pushing a dead one down a road.  Exercise has become an important part of my existence since a heart attack in May and I’ve been exploring options for healthier behavior. I’ve not wanted to resort to communal exercise in a gym or health club.  My cardiologist says I just need to move on a consistent basis so when I saw a reference to “walk ten thousand steps” on a list on David Masse’s Life on Two Wheels blog it started me thinking.

I passed William Snyder III’s Vespa painting while walking this evening.  With the ten thousand steps in mind I walk more and have become more aware of my body in motion.  During the past couple weeks I’ve averaged nearly ten thousand steps a day.  On some days nearly fifteen thousand — each step contributing toward the development of a new habit.

Pink scooter in State College, PADarkness and a light rain “forced” me into the car rather than ride the Vespa — a sensible choice that was somewhat deflated when I saw the little pink scooter parked along Allen Street in State College, Pennsylvania.  At least it wasn’t a Harley.  Then I really would have felt bad.

I lost the fire for walking but I’m not sure how or why.  There was a time when my feet were in constant motion in town or on the trails that crisscross central Pennsylvania.  I dreamt of walking the Appalachian Trail.  I read Colin Fletcher’s The Complete Walker IV obsessively.  The dogs and I (Essa and Iggy Pup) roamed the fields and forests together.  Then suddenly I’m not walking anymore and I have a heart attack.

Only makes sense to restore walking to my daily life.

State College, PA at nightMy dogs taught me a lesson about movement — no special facility or location is required.  It may be nice to wander the streets of State College but I don’t have to go out of my way to collect steps.  The youngest Belgian Sheepdog in the house — Lily the Hammer — runs relentlessly through our .70 acre property following an intricate web of paths and trails.  Watching her I pondered, “Why can’t I do that?”.

So rather than glue myself to one place while I toss tennis balls to exercise the dogs I’ve created my own web of walkways.  So instead of a handful of steps during the morning ball throwing session I now routinely collect 2000 steps as I make my way up and down paths and in and around trees and shrubs.

One of many lessons taught to me by dogs.