Riding in the winter is my own private insanity. I do it over and over again with the same results.

In more serious moments, like this evening, standing in the parking lot at work, looking at the darkening sky, wondering how dry the road would be, asking myself which route to take to minimize automotive pressure to rush and I’m left wondering (again) if I’m not being just a bit foolish.

This morning I almost left the Vespa in the garage; a quick look out the window revealed some dusting of snow from the previous night.  Walking through the driveway I realized how much ice might remain on untreated surfaces.  For those of you in warm climates read that surfaces without metal eating salt.

I don’t remember the decision making process.  The 29F temperature didn’t matter so I must have assumed (rightly) that the roads would be clear and remain so throughout the day.  What I didn’t count on was being at work late and riding home in the dark.

Mental calculations are quick in the cold — gear in place, road surface acceptable, traffic thinning, visibility good.  But there are things I forget. Aggravations at night, in the cold, with visor constantly fogging and the glare of headlights making it hard to assess the road ahead for deer, living or dead, chunks of firewood, on an unfortunate instance of ice, I asked myself again, “What the hell?”

With a smile.

The ride home was uneventful save for some beautiful instances of a landscape under a dying light.  And of course, there is always, every time, a rather potent feeling of accomplishment that doesn’t show itself in warm air.

Is it worth the trouble, discomfort and risk?  Maybe only in my own private insanity.

Winter clings stubbornly to the day and the driveway. Moving the Vespa from garage to street remains a short adventure through ice and snow. With part of the day above freezing the frozen coating retreated. Still, I think the clairvoyance of the groundhog is in doubt. Seeing the Vespa reflected my my truck reminded me of the grimness of winter. At least in my mind. As Orin O’Neill suggests on his blog Scootin’ Old Skool, “Enough already.”

A ride would likely vanquish the gloomy thoughts.

Riding at 33F feels absolutely balmy after weeks and months of more frigid air. But even at this temperature the donning of riding gear can appear a near overwhelming obstacle. Woe to the rider who puts everything on only to realize they forgot to insert the wiring into their jacket for their electric gloves. More than once have I found myself grumbling over such an oversight, wires, ski mask, and decide to proceed without.

Always a mistake.

Mostly I meandered today relishing the complete disconnection from the world — just me, the Vespa, and a landscape indifferent to my presence. Without fail, a few miles and the gloom and cares evaporate. A thought passes of purchasing a Triumph. I remember something I have to do at work. My stomach growls. All is right in the world.

Standing in the middle of the field, looking at the scooter, thinking about longer rides, I wish the temperature would rise just a little. At 40F I can ride all day in luxurious comfort.

There are times when I walk as much as I ride, exploring streams and roadsides, just looking around, thinking of nothing.

Parked the Vespa on the bridge in the distance being careful to leave room for a manure spreader I passed a mile down the road. Nothing ruins a good ride faster than an unfortunate run in with a manure spreader.

Walmart parking lot. My first destination. The 3 Prints Project is still going but we’ve put film on hiatus for awhile, likely a gloom motivated decision, and are working exclusively in digital. Since I don’t have one of those fancy Epson 3880 Photo printers I have been sending my digital files to MPIX.com. They do good work, inexpensive, and fast. Not as good as a person could do making their own inkjet prints but I have no interest. Fine printing in the digital world is a bridge too far. At least today.

Anyways, I figured I would give Walmart a try. With four files on a USB jump drive I made a beeline to the photo center. Ten minutes later I walked out of the store with prints in hand, every bit as good as MPIX. Some more experimentation is in order.

No ride is complete without a stop somewhere for food. Or something. Cafe Lemont was on the way home so a cup of tea, an amazing cookie, and a small notebook is all it takes to keep me happy. At one point I look up and make a picture, drawn to the color, light and umbrellas hanging from the ceiling. I try and imagine Jack Riepe of Twisted Roads sitting here. Then I try to imagine world peace. Coming up empty on both counts I return to my writing.

Ran into a local physician and Ducati rider. He and his wife were enjoying the atmosphere though did not arrive on two wheels. His Streetfighter and her Monster are waiting for warmer days.

Toward the end of the ride, early afternoon, the thermometer hovering in the mid-30s and the sun trying to burn through the clouds made the Vespa sparkle for just a moment. Long enough for me to make a picture and smile at my good fortune to be on the road.

Thoughts turned towards home, an afternoon with Kim, a walk with Junior, dinner, and the finale of season eight of Project Runway courtesy of Netflix.

That doesn’t sound too macho. Maybe it explains the Vespa.