Scooter in the Sticks

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

Second Chance

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I’m thankful for a second chance.

Vespa GTS scooter at nightRiding Appreciation

One of the first things I thought about after my heart attack was whether I could ride again.  I worried about my wife and kids, the dogs, friends, work and all the things that make up a life.  In regard to riding I was worried about myself.  Riding the Vespa is not a hobby or recreational outlet.  It’s a critical aspect of maintaining sanity in a crazy world.

I get irritable if I don’t find road time with the scooter.  If pressed, I consider it a spiritual act.  I’m thankful that I have a second chance.

Braved the cold this evening for a Vespa ride to see the new Triumph Bonneville Street Twin motorcycle. Kissell Motorsports, Purple Lizard Maps and Rothrock Coffee sponsored the event.  All I had to do was show up.

Triumph Bonneville Street Twin motorcycleGrowing Gratitude

Watching a father and son (I assume) looking at the bike I thought about how fortunate I am to be standing here witnessing everything going on around me.  I started thinking of all the things I have to be grateful for.

Carolina wrens were singing as I walked through the snow with Junior and Lily in the morning.  It’s a privilege to listen to such fine song.  Having two fine canine companions is a gift.  Being able to walk is a joy.  Looking around at my life I have so much to be thankful for that it’s easy to neglect things — big and small.

My wife Kim continues to shine a light on paths I would not otherwise know.  Friend and family enrich the trip just by being themselves.  I have a roof over my head.  Hell, there are chocolate chip cookies in the cupboard right now.

Waiting.

Infant graddaughter

Who Are You?

My infant granddaughter promises challenge, excitement and joy.  I’m already planning her riding safety training.  Her mother just laughed.

The night draws to a close and I feel my body leaning toward temporary oblivion.  And as the last thoughts fade, surely one of those thoughts will acknowledge the gratitude I feel for the life I’ve been given.

Rain Riding

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Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.
Soren Kierkegaard

Vespa GTS scooter on winding wet roadWith rain riding, the road is long and often dark.

Especially during the last week.  Rain and heavy overcast has created what can be an oppressive environment for riding both physically and mentally.  Rain riding often asks for a little extra from a rider to get on the road and stay safe while there.

Stopping along the road to make a photograph gives you a chance to examine the pavement you’re riding on.  A few steps, a drag of the sole of a boot along the road surface provides a sense of traction and the limits to work within.

And I’m always looking at the landscape in which my life unfolds.  On some days it can feel like a scene from a movie.

Vespa scooter alongside bicycle pathThe universe provides reminders that it’s not a movie.

Like finding a new bicycle path as a hint that some of my motorized riding could be transitioned to body powered travel in recognition of a healthier way of living.

I looked at my pink mountain bike today and considered riding it for a fleeting moment.

Vespa GTS scooter and farm landscapeThe world is a big place with magic everywhere.

I feel that but know it hasn’t always been the case.  Something changed that has allowed me to see the world differently.  I like to ascribe that change to riding the Vespa but I could just as easily credit my camera which has forced a continual visual engagement.

If pushed I would probably say the advancement of years has made everything more precious.  Looking around I realize how fleeting it all is.  Riding provides a front row seat on the world.  Getting older provides the patience to watch the show.

Round bales in a farm fieldReality is strange.

Riding across the valley south of State College brings a rider through some open, rolling agricultural areas.  The round bales almost seemed like some new form of livestock as they sat in the corn stubble.  The scene feels more like a painting than a photograph.

Vespa scooter and a foggy apple orchardYou can never see everything.

Fog and mist shroud the ridge tops obscuring the view. Imagination fills in the gaps and I’m always imagining Brigadoon.  Funny how stories stick in your head and trigger a desire for something magic to happen.  I have a long list of daydreams.

Vespa GTS scooter at the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg, PAThere is rest for the weary.

By the end of the ride, just shy of 50 miles, I was feeling the dampness and chill seep into my body.  Not painful or uncomfortable but enough to allow genuine appreciation of a hot drink in a warm place.  It’s easy to imagine travelers moving through the wilderness 200 years ago by wagon or horse and coming upon an inn at the end of a long day.

And so I sit with my hot tea staring out the window and imagining other lives and times, all because of a little rain riding.

Thanks and Gratitude

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An empty road through a quiet forest engenders thanks and gratitudeFor each person reading these words, for every bot and robot that crawls these pages, for each breath I take as I type this note — thank you.  In remembrance of Thanksgiving Day, some moments of reflection on blessings require from me some thanks and gratitude.  Those words, thanks and gratitude, are simple yet difficult destinations due to neglect or resistance.  Sometimes a forced, mechanical effort in their name help brighten the world and give meaning to the road ahead.

This morning I went for a short ride on a winding road in Rothrock State Forest.  The road goes nowhere and everywhere — the choice is mine and resides between my ears as part of the swirling thoughts, ideas and expectations that make up each moment.

With the Vespa parked along side the road and my wandering thoughts fading I see the road ahead.  I don’t know where I’m going, what I might see around the bend, or how long the ride will be.  All I know right now is I give thanks and gratitude for being on this road.

I’m reminded of a quote by G.K. Chesterton:

“I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder.”

Perhaps there is a destination toward which I can travel.

For each of you today, I wish you a Happy Thanksgiving and that you find yourselves in a place of thanks and gratitude.

Poisonous Tradition

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Central Pennsylvania sunset

The end of a busy work week was blessed with a magnificent painting of light and color in the day’s end sky.  It’s hard not to feel grateful to just be alive and breathing in the world when presented with such a scene.

The feeling followed me home like a faithful dog.

And then the crisp fragrance of autumn leaves and clean night air was assaulted by the repugnant stench of woodsmoke.  Not the aromatic scent of apple wood or hickory, dried and cured for crackling action in a fine fire, but the rather more nasty and poisonous spew from too green oak and other loathsome fuels.

A poisonous tradition holds sway here in the heart of Penns Woods among burners and firemakers — so much so that elected officials who’ve long banned the burning of trash and brush and other waste as noxious and unnecessary are unable to address the friendship fire which is equally noxious and arguably less necessary than the others.

Harris Township so far doesn’t have the courage to address what they consider a nuisance to be dealt with by the police rather than by ordinance leaving the poor police department holding the sticky end of the lollipop with no real criteria to assess a “nuisance”.  Talking to one of the township supervisors at election night this past Tuesday about this issue his response was, “People love their fires…”.

Yes they do.

“I have a right to burn a fire!” is a familiar refrain I’ve heard many times expressed with upright patriotic fire.  Less often do I hear “I have a right to breathe clean air!”.

Whose rights win in that argument?  Burn but don’t let your smoke leave your property?  Hold your breathe until the fire goes out?

The argument reminds me of the ongoing argument concerning loud exhaust systems on motorcycles — my right to bolt on loud pipes (and save lives) versus my right to enjoy a little peace and quiet in an increasingly noisy world.

With both situations there seems little intelligent dialogue and instead more self centered, self interested actions based in childish “I want what I want and it’s a free country and don’t tread on me because it’s my land.”  Or something like that.

But perhaps it doesn’t matter.  We’ll all die of something anyways and maybe the particulate ridden cancer swollen smoke won’t trigger enough mutation to cause lung cancer or the asthma won’t be bad enough to kill you.  And the carbon pouring into the air because I want a fireplace or wood burner or friendship fire doesn’t matter because climate change is a hoax much like the Apollo moon landings and Elvis’s death.

The sky is still beautiful.  The air still stinks.

Craving Experience

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Vespa GTS in the setting sun

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.

View from a Honda Odyssey van

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.

Steve Williams reflection in glass window

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.

tea and bagel at Saint's Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania

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.

baby Emma at the door

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…