Scooter in the Sticks

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

A Tiny Taste of Freedom

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Vespa GTS 250 scooter on a farm lane.
Free in the world on a Vespa scooter.

Do You Taste Freedom When You Ride?

This portrait is different from other portraits made of the Vespa scooter. I made it with a tiny taste of freedom in my mouth.

The word freedom is tossed at everything from promises made by salesman about new cars to politicians proclaiming it with shaking fists. Abstract descriptions of something that has so many different meanings to so many different people that it’s difficult to feel it. How do I know when I’m free?

On this morning, at the moment I made this picture, I could feel the thrill of freedom in my chest. Like a kid released for the summer on that last day of school. For me, it began the moment I stepped out of the DMV with my renewed drivers license indicating I no longer needed to wear glasses when I ride. The surgery for removal of cataracts and subsequent implantation of new lenses correcting my vision to 20/20 gave a tiny taste of freedom then, and on this morning when I pulled on my helmet and didn’t have to legally fiddle with glasses it burst into life.

It was shocking how exciting it felt. So much that I had to temper the emotions so I could pay attention to the road. As I rode a smile acknowledged gone was pressure of glasses to my temples and nose, no ongoing need to raise the visor to reposition the glasses, and no more fogging of glasses on those frigid rides.

A little thing in a complicated world. But I’ll take every bite of this tiny taste of freedom. What about you? When was the last time you had a taste?

Falling in Love With an Empty Road

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2001 Kawasaki W650 parked in a driveway.
A routine start to breakfast with the W650.

A Benign Beginning

There’s nothing special or unusual about riding to my friend Paul’s house to join him for a ride to breakfast. They’re generally destination oriented by some route chosen for it’s scenic views of the landscape and as lightly traveled as possible. And with the Kawasaki W650 and Harley 48 gravel roads are off the ride menu.

Two breakfast destinations were in my head but the “best” choice remained elusive. Strange how much space a dining choice can occupy in a brain. To quiet my mind I’ll often repeat these two rules — RULE 1: “Don’t sweat the small stuff. RULE 2: It’s all small stuff.”

Difficult rules to follow or even believe. Embracing them calls into question the importance I attach to so many things. And my attachments often just make me miserable. While many things may require my attention, few rise to the level of the importance I create in my head. Like where we should have breakfast.

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Milk Runs and Other Excuses to Ride

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2004 Vespa ET4 scooter parked along a rural road.
A beautiful day for a ride.

Do You Need a Reason to Ride?

Life often is chaotic. Full of the administrative tasks and duties that can run a person ragged. From going to the grocery store, the Post Office, on any of the other tedious errands that can consume a day, approached with the wrong frame of mind they become toxic little acts of life. Endeavoring to see them as excuses to ride has quietly changed the quality of my days. I’ve reaped dividends in miles, smiles, and a psychic draining of the emotional weight of duty and requirement.

How many excuses to ride do you have?

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My Stubborn Brain

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Glass block wall at the Bing Diner.
I see a little light but can’t see the details. A glass block window at Bing’s Diner.

Why I Hate This Road (And Can’t See Clearly)

Often I can’t quite see the truth. My stubborn brain clouding the view and leading me to make hasty, irrational decisions. There are myriad examples of stubbornness in my life ranging from the food I’ll eat to the roads I’ll ride. My stubborn brain is impervious to reason and a master of deflection and denial in pursuit of what it wants. I’m never sure if my brain and I are one or just two opposing forces.

After some wrestling and consternation I pointed the Kawasaki W650 motorcycle in a direction I normally resist, dismiss, and largely detest. That’s east on US 322 for any destination near or far. Tolerable in a car, miserable on two wheels. I know. I’ve ridden it many times with the same seething disgust. So many cars going far too fast. I hate being triggered to mutter complaints about my fellow man.

Reality or just my stubborn brain being an asshole?

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Friends That Ride Motorcycles and Scooters

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A motorcycle rider standing along a rural road with a Royal Enfield Himalayan and Honda Trail 125 motorcycle.
Dom Chang pausing during a ride through the rustic Central Pennsylvania landscape.

Haunted by Ghosts

Without this post becoming a treatise on psychological therapy, I should point out there are broken aspects of my character that having friends that ride helps cure. For years I thought no one liked me. It’s origins likely dwell in very early romantic rejections. Combine it with the isolation and solitude that often accompany being an only child and it’s no wonder those feelings spread far beyond singular events to embody the ideas of not being liked and an irrational fear of being rejected. And what emerges is a pattern of doing things isolated and alone.

Intellectually, I understand it’s not true. But emotionally there’s a 15 year-old-boy running the show.

Riders often speak of riding and wind therapy but seldom are specific. Discovering friendship through riding is a specific result I’ve found beyond the rides themselves. And it was apparent again when my friend Dom Chang visited for a few days as he was traveling from Colorado towards Maine in his RV with his Yamaha TW200 (Yagi) on the front rack.

I’ll share a few of the experiences of having friends that ride.

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