Scooter in the Sticks

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

Singular Focus While Riding a Motorcycle

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a chocolate chip cookie
A talisman of singular focus.

Chocolate Chip Cookie

How is it that a chocolate chip cookie is so important to me?

Is it really a talisman of some mindful focus on the present moment? Or merely a reflection of a lifelong addiction to sugar?

I choose to believe the cookie’s oversized importance points to something greater than sugar. A magical draw toward the present. A jumping-off point where I abandon the past and the future and exist now.

Of course, all of this may be a delusion brought on by a rhinovirus that woke me at midnight after hours of sleep, my body sluggish but my mind racing.

Still, there’s something to my singular focus on a cookie.

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When Vespa Riders Gather

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Three modern Vespa scooters in a parking lot.
Evidence of something. A Vespa Primavera and two GTS scooters.

The Magnetic Attraction of Vespa Scooters

If I were adept at mathematics I might create an equation that describes the phenomenon of attraction between these metal machines. Newton, or Einstein might be able to illuminate it. I merely marvel at the scene of suggesting Vespa riders gather.

Like a soft force in the Universe.

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The Heart of the Ride

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Vespa GTS scooter on rural road.
A decision point. A pause to consider where to wander.

The Heart of the Ride

I wake in the middle of the night and think. Sometimes about riding. More often about the deranged state of everyday reality. I prefer thoughts of riding. Of moving, traveling, experiencing. It’s the heart of the ride.

Autumn almost escaped. It’s the swiftest of seasons. The landscape changes from green to orange to a drab, monochromatic scene as the trees surrender to the power of autumn. I feel a physical and emotional quickening as time churns in me as it drags me toward winter. I know something is ending. And something else begins.

I find myself once again standing alongside the road with no idea where to go. A drifter on a scooter with nothing pressing to do. A ride on the Vespa affords me an opportunity to bear witness to the rapid transformation of color, light, and fragrance. And like so many rides without plan or destination I find my only goal is pushing the scooter out of the garage. Where I go from there is anyone’s guess.

It’s the journey that attracts me. The mystery. The tapestry of unknowable experiences that may await. And these are the things I think about while riding my Vespa. It doesn’t happen in the car, or even very often on the motorcycle. Riding the scooter takes me to the heart of the ride.

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Haunted in the Autumn Landscape

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Vespa GTS scooter on a rural road
Riding through the autumn landscape and memories of the past.

Sometimes Riding is Secondary

Do you set time aside to take in the autumn landscape? To remember times in the woods?

The autumn landscape in central Pennsylvania is nothing short of stunning. I’ve been witness to the symphony of color and fragrance for 47 years — on foot, riding a bicycle, from within an automobile, from the air and astride a scooter or motorcycle. Of all the ways I have enjoyed these landscapes the most compelling has been with the Vespa scooter.

On this particular day, I was not concerned with the ride beyond its ability to move me into the world. I wasn’t thinking of performance, lines through curves or anything like that beyond remaining safe and aware of the road. I just wanted to take in the scenery.

How often do you “watch the woods” and look at the autumn landscape? Or any landscape you happen to live in?

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Another Turned Page: Autumn Scooter Riding

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Vespa scooter along a rural road in autumn.
Enthralled by the dazzling light and color of autumn.

Autumn, the magic hour of light and air of the year.

The dazzling power of autumn sunshine quickens the spirit. The helmet visor is often up to absorb the energy that temporarily dissolves care and concern to nothingness. Autumn scooter riding is magical. I’ve been riding and witnessing the world but giving voice to the experiences has eluded me.

I’ve been riding, consistently these past few months, but I’ve not given voice to experience nor story. Why? Because autumn is the season in which I notice the march of time, of the world, and of myself. Another turned page of my life. The world is crisp, golden and I’’m hypnotized by the leaves fluttering to earth. But something is different now. Friedrich Neitzsche wrote, ” Notice that autumn is more the season of the soul than of nature.”

My soul is restless. It happens this time of year.

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