Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

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Hard Lesson

February 5, 2017 by Scooter in the Sticks 18 Comments

Vespa GTS scooter on an icy farm laneThe Road is Rough

The lie in the mirror.  Young forever. Until circumstance interrupts the lovely delusion.  There are many events that can shake a person awake and aware that the road is rough and life changes.  A hard lesson.  One moment I’m healthy and able to embrace and endure any task, and then suddenly I’m old and wondering if I can do much at all.

The past year has provided more than a few opportunities for personal growth and acceptance as my body ceased to serve as I have demanded.  The hard lesson, as time passes things change.

I’ve not ridden the Vespa much this winter.  The cold bites harder than it once did and I can’t seem to fend off its effect.  The cold, snowy rides of the past seem almost within reach.

I’m not the man I once was.

portrait of steve williams with portrait of steve williamsYou Can’t Hide.

Delusion and denial, wonderful tools that support insane behavior and allow me to hide from the reality of a change in strength, health and endurance.  Just to name a few.  At times the loss seems relentless and everywhere.  I can avoid thinking about it, pretend nothing has changed, employ tricks and technology to surmount limits, but always I find myself back at the beginning — things have changed.

A hard lesson.

Vespa GTS scooter in the rainInto Each Life a Little Rain Must Fall.

I envy those people who enter their seventies, eighties and nineties seemingly unaffected by the march of time.  Their bodies biologically programmed to endure and perform.  One can only guess at the function of their mind and spirit.  There’s little profit for me to long to be them or covet their gifts.  The march of life just delivers surprises and cloudy days.  Sometimes it rains.

Or worse.

During the past year I’ve had to accept that my spine has degenerated and will potentially change my abilities without warning.  The neglect I’ve shown to my physical self has transformed into a daily evaluation of function and action.  At the end of the day, I’m wrestling with the inevitable changes.  Denial had me thinking they were a decade or more away.  Delusion had me thinking they would pass.

It was twenty degrees this morning and the sun was shining.  In past winters I would have gone for a ride.  Not so today.  Until I acquire some sort of electric heat to my feet I’ll be careful to venture out.

I hate having to worry about this.  I hate the hard lesson of growing older.

For those reading, perhaps for the first time, my apologies for the gloomy thoughts.  If I could get out on the scooter everything would be different…


2017 Brave, Bold Blogger Challenge

This post is part of a month long writing prompt challenge conceived by Kathy at Toadmama.com.

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When Should I Stop Riding a Scooter or Motorcycle — Not Yet!

January 21, 2017 by Scooter in the Sticks 35 Comments

Steve Williams shadow on sidewalkSeeing Your Shadow — What Does it Mean?

“Are you claustrophobic?” The question hints at small spaces and darkness as I prepared for an MRI to determine why my Vespa riding has diminished over the past few months. I closed my eyes as I took my first journey into the small, closed, traditional 23 inch tunnel to examine the lower back and hips. After the movement ceased I opened my eyes to a pleasantly bright expanse of nothingness that was oddly reminiscent of waking in my little one-man backpacking tent. As the electronic buzzing and thumping began I felt relaxed and awash in solitude.

If I’ve learned anything over the past couple years it’s been that there are no guarantees for tomorrow. Best deal with today.

The past few months have unfurled a litany of physical complaints and medical pickles that have interfered with life in general and Vespa riding in particular. When you feel bad long enough the question of when should I stop riding emerges.

Through the windshield on a snowy driveCircumstances That Limit Riding

A freshly painted Vespa sits in the garage sipping from a Battery Tender as it awaits a call to service — postponed by weather, but also persistent back pain that now has a label — severe degeneration of some “stuff” that took awhile to deconstruct and understand with the help of Google and the National Institutes of Health website. The bright side of the diagnosis is there’s no need for more dangerous medication to manage my auto-immune arthritis condition, and I stumbled up an accidental “cure” for what ails me. As my father often said, “Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every once in awhile.”

Sorel Caribou bootsUnconventional Riding Boots

I bought new riding boots for winter — a pair of big, heavy, bulky Sorel Men’s Caribou Boots. When you ride a Vespa you don’t need to concern yourself with boots that allow foot access to shifter levers and brake pedals. Among the nastier recent afflictions I’ve had to wrestle is Chilblains (also known as Pernio), a condition that affects the hands and feet in cold weather and can cause painful blistering. Last winter, and again this winter, I’ve been rendered nearly immobile by this lovely new visitor. The cure — don’t let your feet get cold. Hence the boots which I have to say are wonderfully warm.

I stumbled upon what I can only characterize as a miraculous cure for my aching, nagging, debilitating back injury — the reclining chair. Normally, I sleep on an embarrassingly overpriced Tempur-Pedic mattress. And each morning I can barely stand up and embark on a process of painful unbending that consumes 45 minutes before I can stand up straight. And the entire day is a series of tweaking reminders that something is badly broken.

Then one night I slept in the recliner — an experience not unlike sleeping in an airplane, perhaps first-class considering the size of the recliner. But in the morning I stood up without issue or fanfare. An experiment ensued and I’ve spent the past five nights in the recliner and I’m almost back to normal. To further test my theory I took a nap this evening on the Tempur-Pedic mattress — just two hours, and I could barely stand up and struggled to do much other than shuffle through the house.  I used to love that mattress but I suppose everything changes eventually.

I’m not sure how I feel about spending the rest of my life sleeping in a recliner but until I experiment with a different mattress I’ll take the good back along with the restrictive sleep situation of a big stuffed chair.

The weather forecast calls for fog in the morning with temperatures rising slowly toward 50F. Perhaps it’s time to take the Vespa for a ride. I’m happy to say it’s not time to stop riding yet.

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3:12 a.m.

November 27, 2016 by Scooter in the Sticks 27 Comments

How does illness influence your thinking in the middle of the night?

medicine and thermometer

CC0 public domain image from Pixabay.com

Medical Choices

Standing before a stack of pre-heart attack cold medications in the bathroom I realize how much has changed in the past eighteen months.  Not so long ago I would down any number of cold remedies without hesitation to relieve any symptom I had in mind.

After some consultation with Doctor Google I settle on two Tylenol and a big glass of water.

I feel like crap.  The common cold on top of a sore back within the landscape of post-heart attack and ankylosing spondylitis life.

It’s funny the thoughts that come into your head when you wake at 3:12 a.m. after six hours of sleep.

“F*ck I feel bad.”

“My head hurts.”

“Better text Paul that I won’t be riding to Saint’s.”

“I need chicken soup.”

I rode into town this morning on the Vespa to run a few errands.  A few hours earlier I had planned to ride 120 miles for lunch.  The spirit is willing but the flesh is sick.  Even the ride into town was too much.

I walked laps around the house with a bowl of chicken soup, dogs trailing behind wondering what this middle of the night activity meant.  I didn’t tell them it was purely to limber my back and allow gravity to drain my sinuses.

After fifteen minutes I’m feeling a lot better.  Not well, but improved enough to embrace delusion and denial.

motorcycle on country road at sunset

CC0 public domain image from Pixabay.com

I Want to Go For a Ride

It started with me thinking about riding in the morning to Saint’s Cafe despite feeling light-headed, sneezing and coughing.

“It’s not that far.”

“The fresh air would be good for me.”

A lap around the house later I’m thinking about going for a ride now.  In the middle of the night.  Kim, who’s awake now and reading a book, breaks the spell by asking if I’m going to take off work today because she thinks this is Monday morning.

I don’t mention the riding idea.

A dog is nosing me.  He’s suggesting it’s time to go back to bed.  Don’t have the heart to tell him I’m going to have a cup of tea and a cookie…

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The Big Pinch

August 23, 2016 by Scooter in the Sticks 13 Comments

Vespa GTS scooter at a medical facilityMedical Vespa

After a week of no riding, I made my way to a Saturday afternoon visit with a local medical facility to have some blood drawn for tests.  I’ll be visiting my cardiologist for the first time since I had my heart attack last year.  Only makes sense to see how the red stuff is doing in response to changes in living.  Diet – check.  Exercise — check.  Stress reduction — check.  Sleep.  Well, sort of check.

Haven’t ridden since that little jaunt.  Back is still stiff and there’s enough sudden weakness that leaving the Vespa in the garage makes sense.

The only thing noteworthy about the trip was the big pinch.  Sitting in a chair in the lab the phlebotomist had my arm tied off with a piece of rubber tubing, wiping throbbing veins as she scrubbed skin with alcohol, all part of a familiar drill.  And then, as she focused her gaze on the vein she says, “Big pinch”.

Big pinch?  What?  My mind races immediately wondering what is about to happen.  Every other time I’ve had blood drawn they say “Little pinch”.  Little.  As in small, insignificant.

Little pinch.  Not big pinch.

As my mind is racing I see the blood filling glass tubes.  Wait.  What?  That’s no pinch.  Didn”t feel a thing.

After a short interrogation she tells me she doesn’t like to disappoint anyone so she crys, “Big pinch!”.  No one is disappointed when there’s no pinch.

The highlight of my riding week…

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Craving Experience

October 20, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 26 Comments

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…

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