meditation Archives - Page 9 of 10 - Scooter in the Sticks

Alone on the Road

November 8, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 25 Comments

Riding alone has curative powers for my irritated mind. Destination or route don’t seem to matter as much as being alone with my thoughts. Being alone isn’t as much a desire as it is a need. Without recurring doses of time alone I get:

irritable
grumpy
disagreeable
out of sorts
quick-tempered
cranky

Basically a pain in the ass.

At some level I probably recognized this personal quality and adjusted my interests and time to satisfy the need to be alone. Walking, hiking, wandering with a camera and now riding. A few miles on the scooter and the world begins to make sense. Or at least my restless thinking begins to calm down.

This morning it was cold when I left the house with the temperature at 41F. Destinations rolled through my head as I pushed the Vespa out of the garage but none fired enough neurons to form a plan. A plan isn’t really necessary when being alone is the goal.

Most of the leaves are down now and we could see snow at any time. The days continue to shorten and already I’ve gone to work and returned home in the dark. This morning I took a short ride just to soak up some sunshine and embrace the day. I’ve been by this place many times but I’ve still not really seen it. When asked if I bore of riding the same paths I always think of the photographer, Josef Sudek, who during the Nazi occupation of Prague spent years photographing in his little studio and window and made a remarkably complex and rich collection of photographs.

There’s much more to see on the roads I travel.

I never saw this hay bale pilgrim all ready for Thanksgiving. Someone spent some time and effort putting it together including the use of hydraulics considering the weight of a round bale of hay.

Lots to see on the road.

A perfect morning. Looking at the scooter in such an idyllic setting it’s hard for me to understand why anyone would oppose someone learning to ride. Even when considering more traffic intensive places the question persists.

I’ve heard a resistant spouse or lover raise the danger question fearing the almost certain death that accompanies riding. It may present as “we have children” or “I had a friend who rode…”. I understand the concern and I’ll be the first to admit that riding is more dangerous than driving a car. But there are other points to consider.

Who is taking the greater risk? A distracted driver, frustrated and in a hurry to beat traffic or a rider focused on the road, relaxed and happy?

And who is a better partner, parent or lover? The angry driver who comes home wound tight or the rider who arrives home with a measure of serenity mixed with pleasure?

I like to think riding has made me a better person. I certainly feel lighter and happier after a ride, even a short one through ordinary places, alone on the road, alone with my thoughts.

At the end of the ride I stopped at the Pump Station Cafe to make a few notes and read a few more pages from Thomas Merton’s Thoughts In Solitude.

Like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values, it takes some work to understand and for some the Christian perspective can be a problem. Even though Merton was a Trappist monk, his writing kept his religion personal and never felt as if he were preaching. The first book I read by Merton was The Seven Storey Mountain, a fascinating story of Merton’s withdrawal from the world and into a monastic order of silence.

It’s safe to read — I wouldn’t fear abandoning your worldly possessions to become a monk. And besides, if you have a scooter or motorcycle, you don’t really need a monastery.

Riding Anxiety

September 28, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 21 Comments

Have you ever stood along the road and wondered where you were going? Or worse, why you even got on the scooter or motorcycle instead of staying at home. It’s a rare but unsettling mental space to dwell. A form of riding anxiety.

Not the sort related to thoughts on the inevitability of a crash or the fear that every car is about to make a left turn in front of you, but rather an intuitive anxiety that something’s not right.

A situation that’s best met head on by riding.

Cool air and an ominous sky sparked my fight or flight mechanism this morning as I rode toward the Allegheny plateau.

An uneasy feeling swelled in my gut this morning as I pushed the Vespa out of the garage. The kind I would get at the dentist just before a syringe of Novocaine was pushed into a nerve cluster, or the sinking sense of doom in a dream where I suddenly realize I forgot to ever go to my college chemistry class.

It’s not a good way to begin a ride.

I had no destination in mind and wondered why I was standing in the driveway.

The road is dangerous.

Every good rider knows this and takes actions to mitigate the risks — other vehicles, road surface irregularities, small and large mammals, physical detritus from careless drivers, weather and personal failures of judgment and technique.

Intelligent management can be applied, to some degree, to each of these potential problems. But sometimes, for me at least, another kind of risk appears that I can only label as something between heightened intuition and irrational paranoia. It’s between my ears and I can stop it from talking.

At the heart of riding anxiety are questions. About me, about what I believe to be true, about what I fear. It doesn’t happen often — perhaps three times in ten years — and each time a change in how I see the world. A quickened acceptance of the world of the road — the risk and danger along with the joy and bliss.

Miles of gravel and rock. Not the Vespa’s strong suit. A last minute decision brought me to this place. The last time I came through was twenty years ago. It was wild then and remains so today.

All morning intuition whispered something wasn’t right and grew with each passing mile. Two vehicles passed me in this empty place and both times I wondered if the drivers weren’t serial killers or worse. My eyes kept scanning the mirrors for their return while I made mental notes on off-road evasion techniques.

The trees and plants were burnt, spindly and drained. I was reminded of an area farther north ravaged by a tornado.

I was awake and aware.

Much of the area I rode through was laid waste by prescribed burns — efforts by the Pennsylvania Game Commission to enhance wildlife habitat and reduce risk of wildfires. The place looked desolate as if something bad happened here. My thoughts would provide fodder for horror novels if I were so inclined.

I rode on.

With the Vespa’s small wheels and limited suspension travel speeds are limited and even moderate speeds grow problematic with the sudden appearance of rocky stretches of roadbed. Riding in rough conditions on a Vespa requires a little extra physical work, careful attention to the brakes and a thoughtful approach to balance and handling.

If you want to stay upright.

Much of the ride was gloomy with the light levels low and the breeze creating odd sounds in the forest. I couldn’t help but think of the way the Blair Witch Project touched some frightened place in so many people where a rustle of leaves could trigger a pounding heart or ears would hear a faint moan in the woods.

I stopped, parked the scooter, removed my ear plugs and listened for ghosts.

Working with the camera on a tripod and fiddling with the radio controlled shutter trigger worked its magic over my imagination much in the same way it does with my fear of heights — put the camera in front of me and all fear vanishes. It’s what has allowed me to climb smokestacks and walk out along crane booms to make pictures — situations that would not be possible without the camera leading the way.

So a few pictures, a banana, and a drink of water, it dissolved the riding anxiety.

It’s been awhile (I think) since I’ve done much riding on gravel roads, particularly rough roads. A few times I wished for the winter or knobby tires. Or a dirt bike. The Vespa can manage the gravel but it’s a slow slog.

For me at least.

Every ride is different. It’s part of what brings me back to the road over and over again. And at some level I’m a different man each time. Or so I like to believe. On this ride I stepped into the gloom and let it wash over the scooter and I to see where it led. I didn’t know where I was going when I left but a journey unfolded as the miles moved by.

Riding down off the Allegheny Front I reached a paved road and headed north toward home and a stop at the Pump State Cafe to make a few notes and wonder about the morning.

The anxiety — maybe it was the approaching supermoon or the lunar eclipse. Perhaps the earth passed through an energy field that affected only myself and other sensitive people. Or maybe it was nothing more than what Ebenezer Scrooge suggested, “You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you, whatever you are!”

Riding anxiety? Bah, Humbug!

Exploring Life

July 27, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 12 Comments

Does riding a scooter or motorcycle allow you to appreciate the small things?

A comment on a previous post by Dar, author of the Princess Scooterpie; Adventures of a Motorcycle Diva blog, suggested that riding changes you in small ways. I’ve been turning that over in my head for awhile and believe that’s absolutely true in many cases if not most. Certainly it’s true for me. And it has changed my appreciation of the world. In short, riding has helped me become a better exploring life.

I see the change during my rides to work.

Seeing fog out the bedroom window stirs an excitement I can only associate with youth — those times as a kid where presents or adventures were imminent. Having just turned 61 it’s satisfying to know I still get excited by the little things. And that wasn’t always the case. Before I started to ride I missed the details of living. Not sure how it happened but it did.

Riding through the morning fog I was aware of the changing flows of air, of temperature and fragrance. Everything seems fresh and alive along the way — the utility poles disappearing in the distance and the sweeping yellow lines on the road. I know they don’t mean anything but I see them.

The only fog is outside my head.

I write a lot about riding alone. Standing in a field looking at these trees is a reason why. I just wanted to look at the shapes against the foggy sky, the fences stretching across the field, the muted greens and yellows before me. With another rider along I would probably not stop, not want to explain what I was looking for, or illuminate the trance I can find myself.

These scenes are part of exploring life. They’re the noise and the music that remind me I’ve alive and walking on the earth.

One last stop before riding on to the hospital and cardiac rehab. If riding helps me see the little things, appreciate what’s all around me, if it’s pushing me to explore life, I have to say it doesn’t stop when I park the scooter.

In cardiac rehab I’ve watched myself respond to the gentle pushing and prodding of the staff to explore the boundaries by my heart attack recovery. They’re testing my limits much in the same manner that I test them on the Vespa in snow or rain. And I’ve learned to pay attention, watch and process experience into something useful.

I wonder if I’m alone in this kind of experience? Are other riders in their head as much as I seem to be or are they just roaring on to work or on a little trip without much thought to anything?

How much has your scooter or motorcycle helped you to explore life?

Into the Mist: Riding a Motorcycle in Fog (or a scooter)

June 29, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 15 Comments

Into the mist, a morning fog, nothing but a promise of an epic ride. Or so I think as my body and mind slowly come to life as they vanquish sleep. It had been raining hard for two days and now all that’s left is the dregs of dissipated clouds, moisture, and the sense that the world had changed.

It’s amazing what rain can do.

Riding in fog is a luscious visual experience. But it’s also demanding for the simple reason that it’s harder to see and be seen by other drivers, drivers who often seem undeterred by the lack of visibility. Climbing over the mountains at 45mph I had to watch carefully ahead for deer on their way to breakfast, and for vehicles approaching from behind. And these tasks are made more difficult by the mist that relentlessly paints my helmet visor with thousands of water droplets.

Still, I move on, riding into the mist.

A turn, another turn, and then onto the gravel and I seem deep in a forest primeval, thick with the scent of earth and water. It’s still, not a breadth of wind, the only sounds come from my Vespa, morning birdsong, and the chatter in my head.

This is the first ride of the season on gravel, wet gravel that offers a challenge to the street tires now on the scooter.

A wandering life, at least for a little while, the spirit soars beneath the tree cover, beneath the gray heavens. Being alone on the road offers space to think about life and the myriad problems and challenges — personal, professional, and those part of being a citizen of the world. No problem is too large or too insignificant to pass through my head, at least until sufficient miles have passed beneath me to render everything unimportant save for what I’m seeing, what I’m feeling in the hand grips, what my brain is asking me to evaluate to keep the Vespa upright.

And on I ride through the forest.

Riding under the watchful eye of the Rhododendron flowers I’m reminded of how little I actually see save for those things that stand out brightly. Spending a few moments walking in the woods I see Indian Pipes, and mushrooms, moss and ferns, and trees and leaves beyond my ability to recognize. I’ve been walking and riding in these forests over forty years and I’m just beginning to see what’s here.

The Rhododendron is easy.

Ferns grow lush amidst the threads of water running everywhere after the rainstorms of the past few days. The ground is like a sodden sponge and my boots sink deep as I walk through the low areas for a picture. In places the road has been washed clean of gravel exposing hard rock outcrops or gullies in the sandy soils of the mountain.

Once acclimated to the gravel roads I become more comfortable on the scooter. With eyes up and ahead and a light touch on the handlebar I can ride much faster as body and Vespa become one.

But I don’t need to ride faster; I’ve become a tourist again admiring the sights.

Part of the thrill of riding in mist and fog is that your imagination can, if you let it, sweep you away and deliver you into a magical place mostly inhabited by children. I’m glad I can still, even if only for a short time, let my imagination take control. There are watchers in the mist, voices and ghosts, and I’m no longer in central Pennsylvania but have arrived somewhere larger, more exotic, more dangerous.

I’m an explorer and adventurer pushing onward into the unknown.

After a few days of heavy rain there’s a lot of debris shed from trees that a rider has to negotiate. Most is readily visible, some is still falling, and some are hidden in dips and around turns, waiting to trip up the inattentive rider. Riding a scooter, or riding a motorcycle in fog is a challenge that demands constant attention lest you find an unwelcome outcome.

Into the open, a glimpse of the sky, a sudden brightness and the imagination melts away and I realize my hands, arms and back are sore from the extra work and attention of 25 miles on gravel. When you’re moving and working it’s easy to get lost in a trance.

One of the first things I noticed is that my glasses were covered in fine drops of moisture which contributed to the additional fog shrouding my vision. With a little work I could find a dry t-shirt to clean them off before continuing the ride.

Back into the mist, from one dream to the next, ever moving, ever changing, ever wondering what’s ahead. For a moment I thought I saw a black bear loping in the woods, and sometime later I was doing mental mathematics again concerning lifespan and years left on the road.

The Bureau of Forestry had dumped a lot of new gravel on this stretch of road which was about to descend down the mountain making riding and braking a challenge for a scooter with an automatic transmission. Little engine braking power available making it important to manage both brakes carefully so I wouldn’t end up on the ground in the loose gravel.

I’ve been here many times before but this is the first time. I can’t fathom how that works, how each time I pass through here everything is different and new. The road winds through a tunnel of trees and I recognize nothing.

Something new, post-heart attack awareness, I wonder where I am should I need to call for help. I wonder if I have cell coverage or remember the name of this road. Could I offer GPS coordinates from my phone or provide a 911 operator enough information to find me in time should my heart fail. And as fast as these thoughts pass through my head they vanish. And all that matters is I’m riding.

Emerging from the forest I ride upwards, the road rising toward the ridge top, submerging me into the fog and mist, rain and growing brightness as the world begins to change as the sun works to burn away the magic of the morning. It doesn’t matter though, the mist has worked on me and I’m changed, if only for a short time.

Riding a Vespa scooter in the mist and fog, riding a motorcycle in fog, it can change you.

What about you — does riding in the fog change you?

Sheltering from Rain

June 17, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 15 Comments

For the first time ever I parked beneath an overpass to wait out a passing rainstorm. I’ve seen other riders huddled under bridges or at gas stations to avoid the rain but I’ve always ridden on. To be fair, part of the motivation for waiting was I did not want to get the new BMW R nineT wet so it would remain reasonably pristine for photos. But the bigger issue driving the need to be sheltering from rain was lack of preparation.

Normally when I ride I have rain gear with me. On this machine there was no place for gear, tools, or anything else that would not fit in my pockets. There’s another reason though why I’ve never sought shelter from the rain — I’ve never really been caught in a dangerous downpour.

The next day I was in the van when a dangerous downpour presented itself. Like sheltering from rain the previous day I was close to pulling off the road for the first time because I could not see the road ahead and pools of water were forming on the road surface that made hydroplaning a real possibility. Again, like with previous rides, driving and riding through rain wasn’t a reflection of fortitude or courage on my part, I just had not faced a serious weather event that required a decision to be sheltering from rain.

I have to say there was an unexpected payoff to pulling off the road to wait aside from the selfie I made while sitting in the dirt. The sudden, forced isolation coupled with no knowledge of how long it would last was sobering — a lesson in loss of control. When I ride I kid myself that I am in control when the reality is that I am at the mercy of other drivers, weather and fate. I merely have limited control over myself and my machine.

Sitting along the road in riding purgatory offers an opportunity to experience some rather intense isolation. Or perhaps separation from the world is more precise. Either way you’re left with your thoughts as you sit on the earth. With a smart phone in your pocket it would be easy to medicate any uncomfortable feelings of being alone with the myriad tools for escape it provides and I did indulge with radar maps from Weather.com and a few pictures posted to Instagram. But I did recognize the opportunity to experiment with my reaction to sudden isolation.

Boredom, anxiety, and a desire to have control were all mixed together leaving me feeling oddly unsettled. I like to think riding is a meditative process but while I sat watching the rain and wondering when I would get my life back I wondered if riding wasn’t more escape than meditation.

By the time the BMW roared back to life I had found a calm place, one that was accepting of whatever would come along. But even that was probably an illusion since I had to only wait an hour, the air was warm, there was no pressing need to be anywhere and I wasn’t hungry. A few changes in circumstance would challenge the calm.

I have to think having a ride interrupted by weather is uncommon since so many riders are fair weather adventurers. But some of you that ride into the abyss surely have found yourselves sitting and waiting.

What did you find waiting for you?

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