Autumn is about to burst forth, leaves beginning to escape their captive positions in the trees. First a few yellow and orange leaves on the road, a few more in the trees, and suddenly, as if a fuse was lit and a fiery palette of red, orange and yellow sweeps through the forest, across the mountains and then vanishes.
I took the Vespa for a ride in the mountains hoping to feel the change. Like a kid on Christmas morning the anticipation builds, still after all these years, for natures pageant of color.
There is no doubt this season touches an uneasy place in me, a reflection of the cycle of life that seems more real each year. I am a leaf still clinging to the tree. Or so I think as the Vespa climbs through Rothrock Forest, a place so familiar and charged with memories of over 40 years of travel here, on foot, in cars, on skis, bicycles and now the Vespa. At one point I asked to have my ashes spread near here when I die, on Little Flat, a vantage point that surveys the place I call home.
Autumn was still in the distance for now. Days away then, almost here now. Riding the Vespa along forest roads is always satisfying but especially now. Running back down the mountain towards duty and responsibility I wished I could search longer.
Later in the day, while on a walk with Junior, I found more evidence of fall. The bright sun erased any lingering uneasy feelings from the morning. And soon the Vespa and I will plunge headlong into autumn and emerge into winter.
Perhaps autumn is merely practice, preparation for the real test ahead.
Always something to think about on a ride.
