change Archives - Scooter in the Sticks

Meet Yourself on the Road

January 1, 2016 by Scooter in the Sticks 18 Comments

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

— a passage from Dylan Thomas’s poem “Do not go gentle into that good night”.

If you spend much time alone on the road your mind will wander into the weeds. It’s messy, you can’t see where you’re going, and things stick to you. Despite being considered recreational vehicles, I’ve found riding scooters and motorcycles stimulate curative powers for the soul. On a nice line through a sweeping curve, a smooth rise over the crest of a hill, or a walk through a field you’ve decided to explore and suddenly you meet yourself on the road.

New Year’s day — a cold ride with the temperature hovering at the freezing point made worse by a brisk wind that kept the ride going when you stopped never allowing the typical feeling of warmth when the air stops pounding. Walking through the remains of volunteer weeds in a fallow field I stand face-to-face with the fears and joys of the past year and a heckling self pointing out the challenges ahead.

Sometimes I wish I were still sleeping through life.

A Vespa is not particularly well suited for wet, muddy roads — particularly with street tires which turn mud into something akin to slush covered ice. There’s no compelling reason to be on that track. It’s just the kind of place you end up when the rules and “should”s are left behind. I want to believe everyone comes to understand Thomas’s poem about dying and death at some point in their life. I only wish I embraced the meaning long ago.

I heard an interview with poet Patricia Jabbeh Wesley where she described how she survived the Liberian Civil War and used that experience to survive cancer. In both cases she credited a strong belief that she would survive as keeping her alive. While I don’t believe a person can will themselves to beat an illness like cancer I think there is a lesson in being aware of the desire to live, and live strongly, or as Thomas would write, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

I should note right now — I’ve met people who believe people do control the outcome of their disease — diet, exercise, prayer, whatever and when they don’t survive somehow they didn’t try hard enough. That blaming victims for not trying hard enough, of not doing all they should do with a disease, or anything else for that matter, is evil in my book. No one can know what another suffers. People need your love, not your criticism or judgement.

As I embrace the days ahead I want to burn and rave at the close of the day. Good or bad, they are magic and will never come again.

I made my (nearly) annual pilgrimage to State College, Pennsylvania to see the First Night ice sculptures on Allen Street. Those blocks of ice have been transformed into forms and ideas and represent the ephemeral nature of things — here today, gone tomorrow.

And there was an ulterior motive at work — a late lunch at Panera and a chance to warm up.

Families build memories one iPhone picture at a time. And build traditions. I’ve become a better observer since I started riding, not just on the road but of life in general. Riding in more severe conditions has allowed me to become more courageous in almost every area of my life. And when I feel resistance and fear I know I’ll meet myself on the road for a little chat.

Or more.

As 2016 arrives I’m excited to still be in the circle of the world. There’s hope and joy ahead as well as dark times. That’s a given. My job is to make the most of whatever rolls my way and not turn my back and run. And if I do, well, I’ll meet myself on the road ahead and have another chat.

I don’t know what’s ahead. And despite any plans I might make the days have a way of changing them. Uncertainty is as much of living as change, death and taxes. As I think of the new year and any resolutions I might have there’s just one that keeps bouncing through my head — to rage against the dying of the light.

I’m alive and walking (or riding) on the earth right now and want to keep meeting myself on the road — raging together. That’s what I want in the coming year.

To each friend and reader, to anyone who happens by this way — Best wishes for a Happy New Year in 2016!

Craving Experience

October 20, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 26 Comments

It’s been over a week since I’ve ridden the Vespa GTS scooter. I miss the feeling of flying, the fluid ease of moving along the road, the fragrance of autumn leaves and the piercing glare of the hot setting sun. Riding fires my spirit and imagination. It’s a drug that has me craving experience and I want more. The piercing discomfort provided by my lumbar spine has dulled the craving and allowed for the embrace of other experiential options.

The view from a Honda Odyssey minivan on a chill October morning isn’t the choice of dreams but I’ve learned to accept experience where I find it. If I can’t ride then I can drive. And someday I’ll be unable to drive and some other choice will be made which will lead to some other experience. Perhaps I only need worry when I cease to crave experience — maybe then I’ll be dead.

The camera has always been my ticket to experience taking me to concerts, football games, parties and trips. I’ve met people I don’t belong with or was otherwise too shy to approach. The camera imparts a superpower to those who avail themselves of it. The penalty for use is an addict’s craving for more experience, to see and hear and learn and discover.

And when life rules out experience on the back of a Vespa scooter, well then, I take it where I can.

Despite a culture fat with testimony of far flung adventure and travel, I believe a rich world of experience stands before me, within reach of my eyes and hands, a simple acceptance of the magic of the moment presented as I draw each breath. It requires little more than paying attention, even if that attention is gnawed by discomfort or plans interrupted.

I’ve been to Saint’s Cafe hundreds of times. Each visit often involves the same food, chair, or people. And still I’ve not fully experienced the place, still I find myself craving experience that is fed by the things I’ve not seen before — a reflection, a pair of shoes, a face or a conversation — the possibilities seem endless.

On the way home I stopped to see Emma who I don’t see often enough. She’s not sure what to make of the old man before her who’s interrupting her own quest for experience. In those eyes is a future I can’t quite discern and I admit to more than a little wonder at the life she’ll lead and the world in which she’ll hopefully find herself craving experience much like her grandfather. I have no illusions of knowing what the future will be or how she’ll embrace it. In a daydream I’ve imagined her at 16 hounding her mother and father to let her have a scooter so she can ride with her grandfather. The dream quickly evaporates as I realize I’ll be closing toward 80 when that happens, or if that happens. There’s magic in her eyes — for her, and for me.

Thoughts are different when I’m riding with much less time spent of things that could be and more on the experiences I’m living. Spending the past week comparatively immobile I realize there’s room for both and that craving experience need only be one avenue of living.

But I’m ready. I plugged in the Battery Tender yesterday, I ritual acknowledging the approach of winter. I’m ready to ride. The spirit is willing but the flesh remains weak…

Little Pink Pill

October 3, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 9 Comments

The ride to work today was a frozen, shivering, torturous experience despite being clad in my winter riding gear. The worst part was it was only 50 degrees outside. Fahrenheit.

At work it was suggested I just needed to acclimate to the colder days. 50F — seriously? This is almost summer weather. It was worse riding home for lunch, so much so that I returned to work in the toasty, elegant environs of a minivan. Later in the day I would test the arctic weather on foot with winter jacket, hat and gloves. The dogs were indifferent but I was freezing.

A phone call with a knowing friend suggested a reason — the little pink pill — clopidogrel; an oral, thienopyridine-class antiplatelet agent used, in my case, to prevent myocardial infarction — another heart attack. As it does it work to thin my blood is it making me less cold tolerant? Is my soldiering through winter on the Vespa scooter on the edge of extinction?

I don’t know.

As evening approached I found myself photographing a construction crane over State College, Pennsylvania, an act unique solely because I didn’t get out of the warmth of the van to make it opting instead to photograph through the dirty windshield of the minivan.

A quick search of the web showed a variety of ways a heart attack victim could die in cold weather and practically every shivering symptom a body could produce was a harbinger of doom. While writing I was reminded of something my cardiologist said to me when questioned about activity limits — “Experiment. Test your limits. Explore what’s comfortable. You know what symptoms of a heart attack feel like for you. Pay attention. Take your medicine. Live your life.”

Basically he told me not to worry and get on with it.

So maybe this cold angst is just a passing discomfort that I’ll adapt to. The morning promises to be even colder and mixed with rain. And I plan to experiment.

As American poet and essayist T.S. Eliot said, “Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go.”

I’m going to see how far I can go…

Explorers of Mortality

May 21, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 28 Comments

How 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.

Four 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.

Mindful 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.

After 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.

Life 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.

Stopping 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.

I 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.

While 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.

Watching Clouds

October 8, 2014 by Scooter in the Sticks 10 Comments

The change in light and leaf vibrate in bone and marrow as the dance between earth and sun moves from summer to autumn. An evening laying in the grass on a hill, watching the sun drop towards the horizon, I could watch the clouds swell and dissolve at the end of the day. Watching clouds has no use or purpose save for the nourishment it provides the soul.

Two jet planes move west towards Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit. The sun will be gone in minutes, a dying swan in the sky.

As the seconds pass I sink deeper into the grass and grow more content in witnessing the aerial struggle between light and moisture.

It can be challenging to lay and do nothing other than inspect the slow but relentless changes as a contrail becomes a cloud.

I have to remind myself to take a few minutes to look skyward. Too many sunsets and clouds have passed by without recognition.

In the final moments before the sun drops too far along the horizon the color palette changes.

And finally the light and color fades and only the fall of night remains. Such a small investment of time to watch a minor miracle and asking myself why I don’t do it more often.

Watching clouds.

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