Cold and windy at sunrise with brain announcing there’ll be no riding today. At once a coward and slacker the gray matter will convincingly guide ass into car, or couch, or other safe and slothful action. I have to guard against my brain for it does not have my best interest in mind but rather hopes to drift in a comfortable malaise fueled by sugar and fat and electrons pushed out by Netflix. With as much muddled resistance as I could muster I tried to breathe deep and ride.
And so I found myself walking out of Subway with breakfast in a bag at sunrise.
Warm sunlight bathed the scooter when I arrived at work. No caffeine necessary to wake up when 19F air is hammering at you. Dismounting the Vespa after a cold ride leaves you quivering like a dog exiting a freezing dip in a creek. While I’ve done no research, I’m certain the workdays kickstarted by a ride are better.
Departing for home at twilight in the cold can be, well, discouraging after a long day. Without a doubt driving home in a warm car is easier than bracing for a ride into the freezing night. The damn brain. It says it’s just playing things safe but I swear it’s robbing me of life energy.
Or something.
You would think an evening ride in the cold would be direct and deliberately intended to travel fast to the warm safety of home. But like one of the kids in Bil Keane’s Family Circus comics, I wander off course a bit. As the sun sank further below the horizon the challenge to monitor the road surface increased as I made the logical choice to detour.
There are plenty of dry, paved roads to ride on but I seem to be drawn to the little dirt, grass and gravel paths found here in central Pennsylvania. I wonder at times why I’m not riding a dirt bike instead of a scooter.
It was almost dark when I arrived home and as in the morning I felt refreshed and alive. All things seem possible after a scooter ride.
I think that’s called denial.













