Scooter in the Sticks

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

Hurtling Toward the Boneyard

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A 2001 Kawasaki W650 motorcycle parked along a wooded road in early autumn.
Riding the W650 in early autumn.

Reminders of My Physical Reality

For the past couple months I’ve been physically feeling a little worse than normal. Whatever normal is now as I ride the downward slope towards the boneyard. Psoriatic arthritis visits more frequently with painfully stiff joints and fiery reminders that all is not well in this body. And a request by my rheumatologist to taper the drug used to control things to make sure I’ve not gone into remission and no longer need the cancer med used to suppress my immune system.

I’m not in remission.

And some recent chest pressure and pain has a stress echo test in my immediate future to determine if things have worsened since my heart attack back in 2015. The only evidence that I’m not hurtling toward the boneyard is the miraculous eye surgery that removed my cataracts. It transformed me and my near-sighted existence into a far-sighted man who no longer has to fuss with glasses in the motorcycle helmet. And I have great night vision.

I acknowledge I have an expiration date in a way I didn’t when I was younger. And it has made each day special regardless of whatever joy or crap I face. Riding is an even more exquisite experiences. An unexpected result of hurtling toward the boneyard.

I had two goals when I rolled out on the Kawasaki W650 — explore an area whose roads were unfamiliar, and have breakfast at a cafe I’ve not visited in a few years. Perfect excuses to ride on a crisp morning in autumn.

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Desire Comes Before the Ride

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A Royal Enfield Himalayan parked at a gas pump.
A ride always starts with a check of the fuel tank.

Google Maps, My Go To Distraction

The desire to ride is nearly constant. It would descend into obsession if not for age, wisdom, and experience working together to manage neatly into my life. And usually the desire to ride runs far ahead of any plan and while others might spend time watching the news or prowling social media to relax I turn to Google Maps to investigate the world to transform desire into a ride.

That’s how I found myself adding gas to the Himalayan, a man with a plan.

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Exploring a Mysterious Road

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A Honda Trail 125 motorcycle parked at a scenic vista.
The goal in my mind’s eye.

Can I Get There?

There’s a road not far from here that I’ve spent considerable time thinking about, looking at maps, reviewing satellite imagery, and searching for first-hand accounts of whether it’s passable.

I know where the road might lead — to the ridge top where I have ridden many times. And I know a short stretch that reaches through a farm field at the bottom. But what lies between is unknown. I’ve been told it is now private property. Some suggest a property owner has bulldozed a barrier making in impossible to cross. And some say it is just too steep and rough to navigate. I’m left with the question, “Can I get there?”

I recently stumbled on a mountain biking site where riders share information and saw a nugget of intelligence about the Pennsylvania Furnace Road — rough but passable. No one seems to care if you ride through. Satellite images appear to show the road going through someone’s front yard and being a gentleman I don’t readily trespass so close to someone’s home. Especially when so many people here carry and are protective of their property. Still, the report said “passable.”

That’s all I needed to reach out to Paul and ask if he wanted to take a long ride to breakfast on our Honda Trail 125 motorcycles.

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How Far is Too Far for Breakfast?

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Four motorcycle riders along posing for a group picture.
A “Romeo” group (Retired Old Men Eating Out) Andy is still working. Photo by Paul Ruby

Group Photo

I look at this photograph with gratitude for having friends to share the journey. On motorcycles and scooters and in life. And for me at least the expression on my face says a lot. I didn’t realize my face was adorned with a big, dumb, grin.

The four of us left home this morning to ride to breakfast, a predictable rhythm in my life, and a pleasure to be willing and able to embrace it. When I was thinking about a ride one of the questions that emerged is how far is too far to ride for breakfast?

The first order of business was identifying a place to have breakfast. Reading comments on a recent obituary for a farmer I once met indicated he frequented the Cottage Restaurant in Lamar, Pennsylvania. I figured if it was so highlighted it might be worth a look. The route to the restaurant was simple. No maps needed. It was just 27 miles away on a route I’ve ridden or driven dozens of times. The bigger challenge was the ride home. It would be a bore to return the way we came so I began to look at Google Maps to look for alternative routes and roads I had never visited. With every cow path in Pennsylvania now paved the choices seem endless.

It didn’t take long to determine a route and memorize it for the following day. I don’t carry maps anymore and the only GPS I generally use is meat-based. The ride home would consume about 135 miles.

Most of my life has been led in relative isolation and solitude. I didn’t make friends easy and I was loathe to reach out to others to do anything unless it was a dire emergency. Scooters and motorcycles have enhanced my ability to reach out to others, often strangers, and make friends. And not just related to riding but in other aspects of my life as well. An unlooked for gift of riding.

Dave said he would ride to breakfast. Paul would too. And Andy, the non-retired member of the group said he would come as well. All I told them is it would be a long ride and we would be back in about five hours.

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Friendship Follows Interests: Riding and Photography

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A black & white photograph of two men in a mirror.
A familiar state of being.

Making Friends

A young man I know complains how hard it is to meet people. To make friends. For me, friendships have all developed from common interests. Years ago it was hiking and backpacking. Then photography, and now riding. I’d like to tell that young man he is unlikely to find friends at bars, playing video games, dabbling in crypto, and placing bets with Draft Kings. I won’t offer advice unless he specifically asks for it.

My friend Paul recently gave me a photograph he made of the two of us at a local diner. It immediately struck a chord — that’s my friend Paul, always making photos, always sharing a ride.

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