Scooter in the Sticks

Accepting the Path Ahead

May 16, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 90 Comments

While the road may appear straight and the destination clear, there are endless possibilities for interruption – a tree limb, a vestige of a truck tire, a distracted driver or a sudden dash of a deer. A routine ride can suddenly become a tragic event. I’ve considered many possible challenges on the road and have worked through strategies to address them. Finding a measure of calm and focus is important and I have developed a sort of fateful acceptance of what I might face on the road and in life.

That fateful acceptance was tested when I walked into the Emergency Room at Mount Nittany Medical Center on Thursday evening.

A few days earlier I had been riding the Vespa on a few errands with a minor detour to enjoy some of the more open areas of the valley. After a long day a ride offers an opportunity to clear away the noise of the day and focus on what’s in front of you, excluding everything that doesn’t matter to the riding task at hand.

Standing in the emergency room I tried to summon that ability to focus on the task at hand and push the anxiety and fear aside for the moment. As succinctly as possible I described the events of the day to the triage nurse that brought me to her. Extreme fatigue in the afternoon, early to bed only to awake to pain in my left arm, nausea, heartburn, and shortness of breath. At home my blood pressure measured 200/105, a marked departure from my usual 120/70.

The solitary nature of riding has been instructive activity and has contributed to the unraveling of personal mysteries and shortcomings. I believe many non-riders think of two-wheeled life as a physical indulgence that’s both ego driven and fraught with danger. And on the surface, I might not disagree. But in a complex, harried world it can provide the mindful rider with a haven for relaxation, introspection and escape from the well-worn grooves of everyday drama.

I think the triage nurse was surprised to see my blood pressure standing at 210/110 and immediately send me to a bed where a technician did an EKG.

Heart function was normal.

Riding under a gathering gray sky is probably my favorite time to be on the road. Knowing the weather is changing and not sure what I’ll have to manage triggers a twinge of excitement as I consider how I might be tested. I’m certain it drives my encounters with winter.

The emergency room doctor questioned me on my medical history and symptoms as she worked to determine what to do with the high blood pressure while a nurse inserted an IV line into my arm and injected an anti-nausea medication that I could taste in seconds. Amazing how fast things move in the body. A minute later the nausea subsided and I realized the heartburn was actually pain.

While the doctor and nurse were in the hall discussing next steps I began to sweat and had trouble breathing. The pain in my arm and chest moved from annoying to something I can only assume was reserved for people who have lived on hot dogs, bacon cheeseburgers and little chocolate donuts.

For the first time in my life I pushed the red button.

Central Pennsylvania’s agricultural landscape is dotted with solitary trees that once served to provide shade for plow horses when farmers stopped for their midday meal. I see them as quiet testaments to life in a world where things change. Not matter how many times I pass this particular tree I almost always stop. I did this past week.

The ER doctor looked at me and asked for another EKG and it minutes it was apparent I was having a heart attack.

Things happen quickly in an ER when someone rings the heart attack bell. The rather mellow two person interaction suddenly swirled into a team of people acting in a precision dance of actions as they readied me for something yet to be determined. One person was shaving my arms and groin while another was placing a nitroglycerin tablet under my tongue. Morphine was pushed through the IV port and a cardiologist was on his way.

The pain got worse as I watched the ceiling lights on my way to the Cardiac Catherization Lab.

Remnants of my arrival at the ER – ports still in my arms in case they need to push drugs into me in a hurry.

The catherization team was outstanding – friendly yet undoubtedly professionally focused in ways I’ll never understand. They were able to convert what could have been frightening into something surprisingly mechanical. At least for me, they kept me focused on what they were doing so I wouldn’t panic with thoughts that I could die. I remember joking with them, thinking it would have been cool to have ridden the Vespa to my heart attack experience because it would have made a better blog post, but mostly thinking I hope they stop the pain.

A catheter was inserted into my wrist where the cardiologist determined my right coronary artery was 100 percent blocked. I remember feeling a sudden departure of the pain and muttering, “The morphine must have kicked in.”. The doctor said we just restored your blood flow.

I’m not sure how long this all took but afterwards they showed me computer images of my artery before and after a drug-eluting stent was inserted. It looked dramatic to me and I felt like a new man save for some wooziness from the morphine.

I’ve been in the ICU for about 36 hours now and feel remarkably better. The cardiologist said I’ll probably feel better than I have in a long time since blood flow has likely been restricted for awhile. And it was good to hear that I could resume life as normal. Well, not quite.
I will certainly be able to do everything physically I did before and they actually expect a little more from me. The doctor stressed I am not fragile. Lifestyle changes are part of the adventure ahead that will affect medication, diet and exercise, two things I’ve fought a losing battle with for decades. Now that I have more concrete proof that I’m not indestructible I’ll have to tap into some of the riding focus to take a little better care of myself.

There is much to be grateful for with access to medical care being one of them. Since I got in quickly there was little damage to my heart and the cardiologist expects I’ll not notice any limitations. Accepting the path ahead is already done as I plan some changes. The devil is in the details though and Kim, our kids and friends will help to move things forward as we embark on another adventure.

And if I understand the cardiologist correctly, I can go for a scooter ride on Monday!

The Chang Effect

May 8, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 18 Comments

Out of his element, 1500 miles from home, Dom Chang, author of Redleg’s Rides and inveterate motorcyle rider and URAL evangelist pauses to make a photograph in Black Moshannon State Park. Dom stopped to say hello during a trip from Colorado that would eventually take him to Virginia.

It wasn’t the first time we met. Several years ago while at a conference in Denver, I had posted a photograph made from my hotel room of the Denver skyline and a few hours later an email message arrived from Dom saying we needed to meet. A day or so later we were riding in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains.

Throughout a life you meet many people. As the collection of faces grows and interactions merge into an amalgam of words and stories it’s often hard to keep track of them all. Perhaps the human brain in it’s mystical workings does this to protect us from the frightening task of keeping every experience cataloged and clear. Amidst the flow of experience and interactions, of conversations and discussions, a rare event takes place where a person stands apart from the collection, illuminated and magnified by the native gifts they possess and the passion with which they apply them to living.

Dom Chang is one of those people.

Scarlett (the name of the URAL rig) arrived on a trailer hauled across America to explore a few of the backroads of Pennsylvania — a marked departure from rides in the West.

Dom entered my consciousness long before I actually met him. His writing and photography offered a glimpse of the mental workings of another rider who appeared indifferent to the movement of the herd and listened to a drum only he could hear. Looking back at my early musings on his ride stories laid the groundwork for the Chang Effect to take hold.

The Chang Effect is what takes shape as a result of being exposed to his writing, or the response to conversations in person.

I suspect Dom would recoil at any suggestion that he has an effect on anything save for the apparatus of his professional life, the machinations of his personal life, or the tricks he causes his riding machines to perform. But I believe the path on which Mr. Chang walks (or rather rides) is unique and offers lessons for those already questioning their own path and on a close read of his work can sense a kindred spirit. His descriptions of repairing a broken machine in the snow along a highway heading towards Alaska, or winds in the Rockies strong enough that sticking to the roadway might prove difficult stick in my head. What has continued to resonate was the dogged determination reflected in the stories he chooses to share.

Before dinner, a ride was in order. Through the Nittany Valley, over Bald Eagle Ridge and up onto the Allegheny Plateau and Black Moshannon State Park offered a varied view of part of the central Pennsylvania landscape. Had we more time I would have guided Dom northward into the more remote areas of the state. But time and circumstance often limit what we do.

Dom offered more than one hint about me needing a URAL. I’ve almost become immune to such suggestions. But other discussions of riding and life were pointed. One in particular, something consistent with my theory of the Chang Effect, relates to a conversation about retirement and when a person knows it’s time to make the leap. His words have power.

It was dark by the time we left Duffy’s Tavern in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania. In addition to a standout dessert called “Death by Chocolate” I had a great evening talking with Dom and he left me with a lot to think about.

Just a bit of exposure to The Chang Effect.

Order from Chaos

May 3, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 22 Comments

The drawers of my toolbox are an uncomfortable reflection of my mind — messy, haphazard, chaotic. It’s a wonder I accomplish anything. This spring marks the ninth winter that the Vespa scooter has endured and collected more dirt, grit and salt along with the attendant damage to metal and finish. Trying to drive some order from chaos I worked to transition the scooter from winter service into a machine ready for the warm weather. With a little wrenching the winter tires came off and the still serviceable summer ones returned. I had already changed the filters and oil a couple months ago so the next order of business was the muffler — heavy with dirt and rust.

For a few moments I considered replacing the stock Vespa muffler with an Akrapovič or other exotic aftermarket product. That lasted only a moment as I looked at price (wow) and more importantly noise. The stock muffler is more or less silent. The aftermarket ones I’ve heard are louder and annoying with the “look at me” qualities I felt were reserved for other motorcycles.

So I took the muffler off, wirebrushed all the big chucks of rush and dirt away, hosed it off, dried it in the sun and gave the muffler four coats of high temperature black paint. It’s a familiar ritual.

You can see how badly the surface of the muffler is. The black paint merely changes the visual tone from a rusty mess to a flat black shadow. Looks great from ten feet or more. Someday I’ll have to change it. Just not today.

I see pictures on the ModernVespa.com forum of people’s scooters and I am astounded at how shiny and perfect they are even with thousands of miles on them. That takes work and special care to maintain that kind of appearance. And probably never venturing off road or into winter. We each make decisions about what’s important. For me, as long as the scooter is safe to ride, that’s all that’s important. At least so far.

Took a short ride this evening to make sure I balanced the tires correctly, got the exhaust back on with no escaping gases burning away at the fuel line, and that the scooter felt ready for more warm weather riding.

If there is anything holding up more riding it’s my own physical state. Ten days after being diagnosed with pneumonia I seem to be recovery at a steady pace. I’ve rested and taken care of myself and have only started to venture back into a more normal routine. Another step to add a little order to chaos that has been persistent of late.

Motorcycle and Scooter Riding Safety

April 27, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 13 Comments

Morning Fall from Boss Boyd on Vimeo.
Morning Fall
by Edward McGinty

With winter clearly fading away another riding season has begun. Some return to the road sooner than others and everyone goes through their own ritual of rekindling the connection with machine and road. Motorcycle and scooter riding safety are, unfortunately, subjects not given the attention they might deserve, especially if a rider seriously values their longevity on the road. Morning Fall by Edward McGinty offers a gripping reminder of what’s at stake when you ride.

For myself, the riding season preparations include removing winter tires, repainting a salt ravaged muffler, and going through some practice rides to evaluate how sloppy a rider I’ve become over the past year. Practice includes panic stops, evasive maneuvers, slow speed drills, and visual evaluations of the road ahead. Each year I’m surprised at how much I need the practice. Acquaintances with big bikes shudder at this kind of thing for fear of dropping their machines. I understand the dollar and cents cost of practice mishaps, but how do you ever become comfortable that you can handle the bike in a crisis?

I suspect they won’t and hope crisis never comes their way

Levofloxacin Dreams

April 25, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 34 Comments

“You have pneumonia”.

It’s not what I expected to hear during a second visit to a doctor in a week. The first was a feverish trek to an urgent care center on a Sunday evening when a cold or flu turned towards infection. Being on an immune system crushing drug for ankylosing spondylitits you learn to pay attention to persistent fever lest you’re body enter a competition with a bacterial interloper that it’s just not prepared to fight. A horse pill of levofloxacin is the antibiotic ringer in my corner.

Several days later the fever was gone along with all other symptoms save a nasty, choking cough. A visit to get a cough syrup prescription grew larger with a diagnosis of pneumonia. The persistent state of feeling old, tired, exhausted started to make sense.

Into my sixth decade I’ve become keenly aware that my body has changed but it’s subtle, a little less strength, a little less endurance, a little less desire. But add a serious cold to the picture and suddenly I’m imagining life at a more advanced age. It left me asking questions about what I’m doing with my days, what I want to do, and what I need to do.

I’ve not been on the Vespa in weeks until this evening — a short ride to test what I’m able to do and how quickly energy seeps away. For the past year I’ve been thinking about growing older and this latest illness just turned up the heat. I keep thinking I’ve entered a levofloxacin dream.

The Vespa still feels familiar. The evening air was cool and I could feel it flow over the place in my chest that can flame into a ragged cough. Riding with the visor down and making sure to keep any physical exertion to a minimum there were no problems.

Still, I got tired quickly just from pushing the scooter onto the centerstand and taking a few pictures.

The short ride this evening was a simple, physical test. Still not ready for a long ride but will probably be able to commute to work. Despite fatigue, it was a thrill to see the sun fading beyond Mt. Nittany. There are many mountains I want to see by Vespa before I can’t.

Thinking about health and growing old may chew away at plans and ideas — dreams really that fuel a lot of creative activity. I’m reminded of something novelist Gabriel Garcia Marquez said about growing old:

“It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams.”

Illness put a temporary blindfold over my dreams. Best take the blindfold off…

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Scooter in the Sticks