Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.
I’ve been a shadow here of late. The Vespa has been on the road and the camera active, but motivation to write, process or share has been slight. A lot’s been going on and creative interests suffer when the universe seems to grow dark. At least that’s how it seems at times in my head.
The reality though is there have been a lot of sunny days to ride. And ride I have.
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The light at dawn, I’m convinced, has a special power to renew and restore the spirit.
Glow to gleam and on to dazzling light as I push the Vespa scooter into the driveway for a short ride to town. Sunbeams, medicine for the mind, food for the body, I stand a bit taller in the radiance that’s nature’s gift to humanity.
A simple event. A fine way to begin the day. My love of sunlight.
Heliophilia.
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Portrait of IllnessFirst, I want to extend my apologies to Victor Hugo for borrowing his title for this post. And more importantly, acknowledge that any suffering or illness I’m currently enduring is insignificant to that of millions of people. Most of my problems in life definitely fall into the category of “First World Problems.” Things like being driven crazy by having to enter “English” as my language choice every time I use the ATM. Or the tremendous annoyance of the awful sound the credit card reader makes when it wants me to remove my card from the chip reader. Or the current virus I’m now enduring that makes me tired, sore and miserable.
First world problems.
My wife asked me how I was feeling on Friday. I took out my iPhone and made a self-portrait and sent it to her. She felt responsible because she had already be struck with the same illness for two weeks with no sign of letting up for either of us.
Giving Thanks Fueled by Hot ChocolateWhile sitting at the window in Saint’s Cafe last night, a short interlude during errands, fueled by hot chocolate, the moment provided space to reflect on Thanksgiving and what giving thanks really means to me.
As a kid, Thanksgiving Day was always about food and hanging out in front of the television with my dad and uncles watching the Detroit Lions lose to someone. The fine china came out and I usually had to polish the seldom used silver for this special event. The entire family played their roles as the warm and familiar event unfolded each year.
I don’t remember giving thanks for anything though. At least not consciously.
Fast forward 55 years and Thanksgiving Day has a different meaning. I’m fully aware of how grateful I am for the bounty of physical, emotional and spiritual gifts that have been bestowed upon me and my family. I’m grateful that I can accept the days as they come and that pain as well as happiness are part of life. My job is simple — to stay present and experience what unfolds each day.Continue Reading
Fog and VespaFog, my favorite, along with dropping temperatures, all part of the the perfect riding season. Yesterday morning a meandering ride to work offered a chance to see the world looking slightly different. Unusual. A feat considering how many hundreds of times I’ve ridden along the same path. Still, I’m seeing things differently.
And feeling different.
Fall quickens my senses. It heightens desire and illuminates mortality as I recognize the passing of time marked by the movement of the season and the slow run up to the sleep of winter. All of it, the chill in the air, the shift in light and the change in color work together to make this the perfect riding season.
For me.
The Vespa has been performing flawlessly almost as if it’s woken up and screaming for a more satisfying time on the road. We’re a perfect match, the scooter and I, and I wonder how I ever thought a motorcycle could add anything to my experience of the world.
Many have tried…
Changes in Light, Changes in MeRiding home from work, even in bright sun, feels different. My eyes sense the change in the angle of light, the sun’s position in the sky when I leave the parking lot.
I know autumn has arrived.
I act differently than I do in the warmer days of summer. I want to ride — feel the desire in my bones. Even if only the for the few miles of commuting. I take detours. Stop and take off my helmet to let the sun heat my face. I’m like a man who’s journeyed through a desert and finds a pool of cool water.
That soaring of spirit and the illusion of freedom, if only for an instant — that’s why I ride.
The scooter is waiting again. It’s a new day of the perfect riding season.