Scooter in the Sticks

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

Friends That Ride Motorcycles and Scooters

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A motorcycle rider standing along a rural road with a Royal Enfield Himalayan and Honda Trail 125 motorcycle.
Dom Chang pausing during a ride through the rustic Central Pennsylvania landscape.

Haunted by Ghosts

Without this post becoming a treatise on psychological therapy, I should point out there are broken aspects of my character that having friends that ride helps cure. For years I thought no one liked me. It’s origins likely dwell in very early romantic rejections. Combine it with the isolation and solitude that often accompany being an only child and it’s no wonder those feelings spread far beyond singular events to embody the ideas of not being liked and an irrational fear of being rejected. And what emerges is a pattern of doing things isolated and alone.

Intellectually, I understand it’s not true. But emotionally there’s a 15 year-old-boy running the show.

Riders often speak of riding and wind therapy but seldom are specific. Discovering friendship through riding is a specific result I’ve found beyond the rides themselves. And it was apparent again when my friend Dom Chang visited for a few days as he was traveling from Colorado towards Maine in his RV with his Yamaha TW200 (Yagi) on the front rack.

I’ll share a few of the experiences of having friends that ride.

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Riding in Pennsylvania’s Magnificent Forests

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Looking up into the forest canopy.
Peering up into a canopy of hemlock and fir trees.

Surrounded by Trees

Every rider finds themselves blessed (or cursed) by where they live. Long ago I knew living in the middle of the vast forest lands of central Pennsylvania was a gift.

In 1681, when King Charles II gave a nearly 29-million-acre expanse of old-growth trees to William Penn, clearing a Royal debt and ridding the Crown of a troublesome Quaker religious movement by sending them across the Atlantic, I’m enjoying the benefits of that deal today.

Nearly 60 percent of Pennsylvania is still forested and provides a seemingly endless supply of dirt and gravel roads to explore. And for me, they begin just two miles from my front door. For my friend Paul and I, those roads are always beckoning.

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Tiny Rides

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Vespa GTS 250 scooter along a rural road.
Pausing to admire the world.

What is a Tiny Ride?

It would be nice if every ride could be a grand adventure. Days or weeks exploring, unfettered by the weight of duty and the responsibility of maintaining a life. But ask yourself, how many of your rides fit into that specific category of two-wheeled activity?

A lucid look in the mirror draws a confession — only a small fraction of my rides are grand adventures. Most of them are tiny rides, rides that are part utility and part therapy. They don’t appear special in any way. Experience reveals they in fact have a powerful influence on the quality of my life. Those low miles, short time in the saddle rides are the medicine that keeps me smiling, pulls me out of bed in the morning, and have me muttering, “What a wonderful life.”

The utility aspects of tiny rides are easy to comprehend — errands, transportation, an alternative to the cage. But what exactly comprises the therapeutic aspect of a tiny ride?

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Riding into Serenity

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2001 Kawasaki W650 parked along a street.
Parked, relaxed, on my way to breakfast on my sublime 2001 Kawasaki W650.

A Therapeutic Contraption

Early this morning, sitting in the garden, I found myself increasingly agitated. Angry. Anxious. Resentful. A neighborhood dog barking incessantly. A concrete saw screaming as it created expansion joints. A gas powered leaf blower filling in any audible gaps that might reveal just a glimmer of serenity.

It was a beautiful day with sunshine and blue skies. My view included a 25 foot top from a spruce tree that came down in a recent storm. Leaning on the roof of the shed. Later my friend Paul would arrive with a chainsaw and we would embark on yet another noisy adventure. Thankfully, by that time I was serene. Calm. All made possible through wind therapy and the motorcycle’s uncanny ability to ride into serenity with me on it.

I sent a text to my wife that began, “It’s noisy as fuck…”

Twenty miles later I was home again feeling fine. And wondering (again) why I allow myself to become agitated over things I have absolutely no control over. Amazing how clear things become for me when I am drifting down the road.

I’m grateful to own scooters and motorcycles.

Riding at the End of Summer

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Kawasaki W650 motorcycle parked in front of a municipal building.
Signs of the end of summer — paying property taxes.

Motorcycle Utility

On this day it was the Kawasaki W650‘s turn for a ride. With five machines in the garage I have had to set up a rotation to keep them all working, the fuel fresh, and the moisture driven out of the oil. Fifteen to twenty miles is usually enough to do the trick. And it helps me keep my head on straight.

Paying property taxes is an annual August event. Pay the total by the end of the month and you save a few dollars. So that’s what I do. Any excuse to go for a ride at the end of summer.

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