Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

Why I Blog: Year in Pictures

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Just found this video that my Google plus account produced — an automated construction using images that I posted to my old Blogger account that were sitting in a Picasa album.  Facebook builds similar things at the end of the year.  Watching I was struck by how well it depicted, in part, some of the things that took place in my life.  Paging through old family photo albums that my mother fastidiously curated and maintained do the same sort of thing.  But who has time to carefully mount and label images with meaningful captions anymore?

Certainly not me.

It did get me thinking about Scooter in the Sticks and the reasons why I blog.

  1.  To get rich.  (Hah, fat chance, pipe dream, immersion in denial)
  2. To sort things out that perplex or bother me.  (This is absolutely true)
  3. To practice writing.  (That’s how it started.  A blank page doesn’t frighten me anymore)

After looking at the video a couple times I realized there’s another reason — I want to share something of myself, leave something behind to help my family, and my infant granddaughter know something about what goes on between my ears.

I never really knew my father despite having spent a lot of time with him.  We were close, he was supportive, but I never really knew what he thought about, what bothered him, concerned him.  In art school I produced a series of videos about myself and I remember screening one for a class and afterwards several students — decades younger than me — told me how much they wished their fathers had made something like this.  Like me, they didn’t really know their fathers.

The Year in Pictures doesn’t reveal any secrets about me.  But it does reflect some of the things I’ve done.  As I approach 900 posts on this blog I can’t help but believe there’s some insight about what’s important to me.  I don’t have anything about my father that would fill one blog post that’s not a photograph.  After he was gone there were so many questions that I wished I had asked.

So many.

And the same goes for my mother though she revealed a bit more.  But much was unsaid and unlooked for.  Too bad now.

Do you know your father and mother?

 

Why We Live

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Every so often it’s good to have a reminder of what’s important, what needs done, what the coming days will bring.  Work, family, friends — it’s different for all of us.

I’ve watched this video at least a dozen times and with each viewing I take away something different about myself and what it means to live, or more precisely, not live.  It’s easy to get swept up in what Thoreau termed quiet desperation. The precise quote, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”, may leave you wondering if you’re most men, or women.

Watching the men in the video ride reminds me of how riding, or any other activity you feel passionate about, can help release the song inside.

So take a few minutes to watch the video and ask yourself, “Is my song still inside?”.

Post-Heart Attack Riding

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Vespa GTS 250ie scooter on rural farm lane It’s been five weeks since an emergency room doctor said to me, “You’re having a heart attack.”

Hearing those words didn’t have a lot of power at that moment because of the pain and agony and I was more interested in actions to make it all go away.  There was no thinking of death or damage, just a singular focus on feeling better.  But since that night a lot of different thoughts have percolated into consciousness and changed the discussions in my head toward the expected recognition of a brush with death, a new appreciation of mortality, and a heightened sense of time as if I can see my own sand rushing through an hourglass.

Riding to work last week I noticed myself monitoring my body — measuring the ease of breathing, noting any unexplained twinge or riffle in function, reaching to determine any sense of heart rate or rhythm.  It lasted moments and was gone as the sky seemed to brighten for an instant or a breath of wind moved over me.

I know people who have been overwhelmed by these assessments and evaluations to the point that their lives are reduced to a quiet waiting for the next cardiac event.  It’s certain to come, there’s just no way to know when.  So far these trains of thought have been more curiosity than anxiety and haven’t intruded in any real way on the decisions I make.

Or so I tell myself.

I rode in a hurry today on Interstate 99 — 70 mph on a hundred mile there and back again ride to deliver Father’s Day greetings.  I did it because I wanted to know if I could.  Moving over the road I imagined hours and hours on the superslab crossing county lines and state lines in an imaginary trip to nowhere.  And the Vespa kept hitting the rev limiter reminding me we had limits.

In cardiac rehab, so far I’m not hit a rev limiter as they push my heart and body on machines to help me know my limits.  It’s part of my post-heart attack riding.

And just like a ride on the Vespa, I’m learning that lessons of the body, mind and spirit are important for the ride — on the road, and through life…

Explorers of Mortality

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Holding an appleHow many apples have I eaten in this life?  I remember climbing a neighbors tree at nine with pocket knife and sampling slivers of green apples in the summer heat.  Or biting into crisp Red Delicious apples fresh from the branch in Adams County orchards.  Looking at an apple, a more regular component now of my new post-heart attack diet, I could see past the red fruit to the timeline of my life.

I’ve read that regardless of age, a life threatening illness turns people into explorers of mortality, searchers for meaning, waking up to a more authentic, meaningful life.

Whatever that means.

self portrait of Steve Williams in Vespa scooter mirrorFour days after my heart attack I was back on the Vespa and exploring my new physical limits — mostly to keep my heart rate below 80 beats per minute — pretty easy when lounging on the back of a scooter. So far my recovery has been quick and without incident.

Speaking with my primary care doctor on Monday evening he said I was lucky to be lying in bed in the ER with an IV port in my arm when the heart attack occurred.  When questioned why the cardiologist who worked on me said I could drive and ride in three days while everyone else said two or three weeks he explained the difference between someone intimately knowledgeable of my condition and those delivering the general, cover their ass message.

I felt fine on the road.

Triumph Rocket and Vespa GTSMindful of my current situation I didn’t ride far, just a few errands around town and some mild meanderings.  My accountant has a new Triumph Rocket.  While we talked about motorcycles and scooters he called the local Piaggio dealer for a quote on an MP3-500 with ABS.  For now, the Vespa continues to deliver what I need.

Riding has always provided a gentle pathway into the noise in my head.  That aspect continues to be important.

Hospital bed in the PCU at Mount Nittany Medical CenterAfter two days in the ICU I was moved to the personal care unit where I had more freedom to move around the hospital.  Aside from the initial drama I felt relatively healthy during my stay, a marked difference from what I saw in other rooms as I walked the halls. If you feel you need to be reminded of the finite nature of life just visit a hospital.

Baby Emma asleep in her cribLife persists.  I stopped to see my granddaughter and saw in her all the lives that went before.  Each of us carries a part of all those mortal beings in a long chain of existence.  In an instant I could see where I came from and where I was going.

I was happy.

Dame's Rocket and VespaStopping to smell the roses, or in this case Dame’s Rocket, is more than a tired old aphorism, it’s a prescription of change.  It’s simple instruction asks only that for a moment I abandon what’s on my mind and acknowledge the world in front of me.

Riding the Vespa slowly along a country road I was struck by the sights and fragrances of spring in full bloom and allowed myself a moment to breathe it in.

Vespa GTS scooter on a farm roadI made a commitment to rest when I left the hospital.  The meaning of “rest” is different for everyone and I continue to explore its application in my life.  Not bounded by convention, a short ride on the Vespa can be as restful as time in an easy chair.  For me right now, it’s bounded by physical good sense and a close eye on how I’m feeling.  Being honest with those assessments paid off in the ER and hopefully will during my cardiac rehabilitation.

There are more than 118,000 miles of roads in Pennsylvania that don’t include these unpaved and unsigned farm lanes that crisscross the rural countryside.  There’s much exploring left to do.

Infant Emma Sofia asleep on my lapWhile it was difficult to believe I had a heart attack it’s even harder to wrap my head around being a grandfather.  I remember so clearly my daughter like this, her warm head in my hand as she slept.  In an instant memories flood over me and I understand how much has happened, how much there might be left, and my place in the story.

I would like to think it doesn’t take a heart attack to become explorers of mortality and that there are other ways to wake up to the world.  Riding already had begun to shake me awake.  Cutting off blood flow to my heart just added to the shaking.

Accepting the Path Ahead

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yellow lines down a country roadWhile the road may appear straight and the destination clear, there are endless possibilities for interruption – a tree limb, a vestige of a truck tire, a distracted driver or a sudden dash of a deer. A routine ride can suddenly become a tragic event. I’ve considered many possible challenges on the road and have worked through strategies to address them. Finding a measure of calm and focus is important and I have developed a sort of fateful acceptance of what I might face on the road and in life.

That fateful acceptance was tested when I walked into the Emergency Room at Mount Nittany Medical Center on Thursday evening.

Vespa GTS 250ie scooterA few days earlier I had been riding the Vespa on a few errands with a minor detour to enjoy some of the more open areas of the valley. After a long day a ride offers an opportunity to clear away the noise of the day and focus on what’s in front of you, excluding everything that doesn’t matter to the riding task at hand.

Standing in the emergency room I tried to summon that ability to focus on the task at hand and push the anxiety and fear aside for the moment. As succinctly as possible I described the events of the day to the triage nurse that brought me to her. Extreme fatigue in the afternoon, early to bed only to awake to pain in my left arm, nausea, heartburn, and shortness of breath. At home my blood pressure measured 200/105, a marked departure from my usual 120/70.

Steve Williams and his Vespa scooterThe solitary nature of riding has been instructive activity and has contributed to the unraveling of personal mysteries and shortcomings. I believe many non-riders think of two-wheeled life as a physical indulgence that’s both ego driven and fraught with danger. And on the surface, I might not disagree. But in a complex, harried world it can provide the mindful rider with a haven for relaxation, introspection and escape from the well-worn grooves of everyday drama.

I think the triage nurse was surprised to see my blood pressure standing at 210/110 and immediately send me to a bed where a technician did an EKG.

Heart function was normal.

Vespa GTS 250ie in the countrysideRiding under a gathering gray sky is probably my favorite time to be on the road. Knowing the weather is changing and not sure what I’ll have to manage triggers a twinge of excitement as I consider how I might be tested. I’m certain it drives my encounters with winter.

The emergency room doctor questioned me on my medical history and symptoms as she worked to determine what to do with the high blood pressure while a nurse inserted an IV line into my arm and injected an anti-nausea medication that I could taste in seconds. Amazing how fast things move in the body. A minute later the nausea subsided and I realized the heartburn was actually pain.

While the doctor and nurse were in the hall discussing next steps I began to sweat and had trouble breathing. The pain in my arm and chest moved from annoying to something I can only assume was reserved for people who have lived on hot dogs, bacon cheeseburgers and little chocolate donuts.

For the first time in my life I pushed the red button.

Vespa and farm treeCentral Pennsylvania’s agricultural landscape is dotted with solitary trees that once served to provide shade for plow horses when farmers stopped for their midday meal. I see them as quiet testaments to life in a world where things change.  Not matter how many times I pass this particular tree I almost always stop.  I did this past week.

The ER doctor looked at me and asked for another EKG and it minutes it was apparent I was having a heart attack.

Things happen quickly in an ER when someone rings the heart attack bell. The rather mellow two person interaction suddenly swirled into a team of people acting in a precision dance of actions as they readied me for something yet to be determined. One person was shaving my arms and groin while another was placing a nitroglycerin tablet under my tongue. Morphine was pushed through the IV port and a cardiologist was on his way.

The pain got worse as I watched the ceiling lights on my way to the Cardiac Catherization Lab.

IV ports in my armsRemnants of my arrival at the ER – ports still in my arms in case they need to push drugs into me in a hurry.

The catherization team was outstanding – friendly yet undoubtedly professionally focused in ways I’ll never understand. They were able to convert what could have been frightening into something surprisingly mechanical. At least for me, they kept me focused on what they were doing so I wouldn’t panic with thoughts that I could die. I remember joking with them, thinking it would have been cool to have ridden the Vespa to my heart attack experience because it would have made a better blog post, but mostly thinking I hope they stop the pain.

A catheter was inserted into my wrist where the cardiologist determined my right coronary artery was 100 percent blocked. I remember feeling a sudden departure of the pain and muttering, “The morphine must have kicked in.”. The doctor said we just restored your blood flow.

I’m not sure how long this all took but afterwards they showed me computer images of my artery before and after a drug-eluting stent was inserted. It looked dramatic to me and I felt like a new man save for some wooziness from the morphine.

Steve Williams in the ICU at Mount Nittany Medical CenterI’ve been in the ICU for about 36 hours now and feel remarkably better. The cardiologist said I’ll probably feel better than I have in a long time since blood flow has likely been restricted for awhile. And it was good to hear that I could resume life as normal. Well, not quite.
I will certainly be able to do everything physically I did before and they actually expect a little more from me. The doctor stressed I am not fragile. Lifestyle changes are part of the adventure ahead that will affect medication, diet and exercise, two things I’ve fought a losing battle with for decades. Now that I have more concrete proof that I’m not indestructible I’ll have to tap into some of the riding focus to take a little better care of myself.

There is much to be grateful for with access to medical care being one of them. Since I got in quickly there was little damage to my heart and the cardiologist expects I’ll not notice any limitations. Accepting the path ahead is already done as I plan some changes. The devil is in the details though and Kim, our kids and friends will help to move things forward as we embark on another adventure.

And if I understand the cardiologist correctly, I can go for a scooter ride on Monday!