Scooter in the Sticks

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

Existential Angst

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Existential angst portrait

Man in the Mirror

I haven’t posted since September 11th. I blame existential angst. I was already feeling off, a vague yet persistent feeling that something was wrong. The past stirred and the future loomed, each reeking havoc on the present, the only place I actually live and breathe.

I see the struggle in my face. There’s less laughter and song. I’ve begun to look like I feel.

I’ve been riding. There is no dust on the Vespa scooter or BMW motorcycle. And my cameras have seen heavy use. But the existential angst, a gnawing anxiety, has stripped me of the desire to write. To share. To do anything other than escape the trials of the moment.

With no end is sight, I push the scooter out of the garage and ride away. Each time wondering if something different will occur.

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September 11th

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United States and Pennsylvania flags at half mast.
The flag of the United States and of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania fly at half-mast in memory of those who died in the September 11 attacks.

It’s been 19 years since al-Qaeda terrorists flew passenger jets into multiple targets in the United States. It seems long ago. It seems like yesterday.

September 11, 2001.

Walking through the Pennsylvania Military Museum I’m surrounded by reminders of sacrifice and death. From revolutionists fighting the tyranny of the English Crown, to masked people engaging their own battle with the COVID-19 Pandemic. And terrible things in between.

The more time I spend here, the more hallowed the earth seems. Ghosts whispering of struggle, sacrifice, and redemption as America emerges again and again into the light.

Remembering those who gave their lives, willingly or not, I feel a debt inside I can’t repay. It hardly seems enough to remember.

September 11, 2020
Steve Williams

Summer Riding Season

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BMW K75C motorcycle along rural road.
A scene from the last ride I made — almost six weeks ago!

Love Riding. Not Riding. Not Posting.

Summer is supposed to be the time of long rides and high adventure. So why haven’t I pushed the motorcycle, or the Vespa scooter, out of the garage in almost six weeks? Isn’t this the summer riding season?

The simple answer — it’s been too hot. Once the temperature rises above 80F the desire to ride evaporates. If I close my eyes right now and imagine it, I swear I feel a hot breeze. Now that we’re closing in on mid-September the temperatures have moderated a bit. I saw an extended forecast that showed mornings in the high 40s. That’s my kind of riding weather.

Still, I’m not riding. A text appeared on my phone a few hours ago inviting me to ride in the morning. I declined so I could finish painting lawn furniture. On the surface it feels like a massive personal failure on my part but I have to remember I get into habits. And out of them. I’ve gotten out of the riding and blogging habit and will have to ease my way back in.

The photograph of my 1992 BMW K75C was made during the last ride I made. It was a long, strange ride. One I’ve not had the energy to sit down and write. But I feel the desire to write changing. Its led me here.

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The Dark Thoughts While Riding

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Vespa GTS scooter on gravel road.
Ribbons of gravel on a morning Vespa ride.

Reality and Fiction

Early summer morning rides when there’s a hint of fog in the air is a welcome change from the normal occurrence of blue skies and sunlight. There’s a shift in how I respond during a ride and tend to seek less traveled paths. And sometimes that shift opens a door to some of the darker thoughts that simmer in my mind. The dark thoughts while riding.

Most of what I write in regard to riding is positive and reflects the joys and restorative power I find while being on two-wheels. Despite this taking place in the relative safety of civilization in central Pennsylvania, there are times when imagination takes over to create a fictional world.

Thankfully the Vespa is quiet. Quiet enough to hear the roar of the pickup trucks with their loud, rusty exhaust systems. Time enough to vanish from the road and avoid any unfortunate encounters with the marauders and road bandits who’ve grown from the pandemic depression. I remember when I could ride these roads unmolested.

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Being Lost

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1992 BMW K75C
Morning, the best time to ride during the summer.

Flame of Excitement

I’ve been feeling angry a lot lately. Drama, the pandemic, heat, and the everyday noise of living seem to be backing up in my head. Being lost helped clear all that up.

I told Kim I needed a ride. So I got early, took care of the dogs, and walked out to the motorcycle not long after sunrise. The air was cool and I felt the familiar flame of excitement kindle in my gut.

I was going for a ride.

I wonder if, or when, that kind of excitement will end.

I didn’t plan on being lost.

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