I’ve begun to look more closely at the tools I carry in a small nylon bag under the seat of the Vespa — the right socket to remove a clamp, the correct extension to afford easy access to a bolt, an Allen wrench that will allow removal of the front wheel.  Little things that spell the difference between an indefinite halt in progress or a seamless repair and return to the road.  Spread across the driveway I wonder how much time I’ll have to spend with them before feeling mechanically comfortable if not competent.  Embracing this new discipline shines a light on personality shortcomings — things like patience, perseverance and laziness.

Standing along the road in the freshly graded roadbed, grinding the soles of my boots into the fine limestone recalled the thrill of new clod-hoppers as a kid and the rush to get them dirty, see how they would perform in every dirty, dusty place I could find.  Almost everything about riding (and moments passed along the road) brings a rush of well-being — physical, mental and emotional.  Regardless of circumstance or location the energy turns up the corners of my mouth and sends me to somewhere good.  For me at least.

The weather has been idyllic of late.  Last Saturday morning was bright, cool and unfolded to give the most routine of rides an utterly unfettered, seemingly effortless quality of freedom — or something closely related.  The weight of living is stripped away long enough to see why I’m here, standing on the earth.  No small gift and reliably delivered for years now by a scooter.

No long ride this day.  Just a trip to breakfast on the other side of the valley — just a 15 mile ride.  I was surprised to see my daughter standing in the parking lot talking on the phone.  She arrived by bicycle training for an upcoming race of irrational distance but did stay to take in some carbs before moving on.  I used to ride a bicycle.  It never delivered what I was after:

Flying — the world rushing by, eyes forward, wondering what’s ahead… 

Put the exhaust back on the scooter last night.  Had to use an automobile style clamp until the Piaggio replacement clamp arrives at Kissell Motorsports.  A ten minute idle in the driveway started the curing process for the high temperature paint.  A while later I took to the road, the first time since early May.

Surprised me how good it felt to ride again.  It’s easy to go back to sleep and forget.  I feel sad for all the people locked in their cages.  And by choice.  Didn’t ride far, just far enough to remember.

All’s not perfect though.  The temporary clamp doesn’t completely seal the muffler to the header pipe — I can feel a bit of exhaust gas leaking along with an engine sound that isn’t the normal, quiet sound I like.  This weekend I’ll see if I can fix that.  Don’t want to fall victim to an unfortunate burn through of essential components — the gas gets pretty hot and there are more than a few stories circulating in the Vespa world about bearing failures and damage.

Still, I may sneak some short, slow rides.  And stay off the higher speed tracks of the freeway…

The rusted, hulking Vespa exhaust sits on the driveway like an overturned tortoise, sad and useless.  A more direct examination reveals the toll of salt and winter sludge on metal.  When questioned by other riders about the challenge of being on the road in cold weather this is the picture I describe.

Routine means a wire brush and bottle of Naval Jelly to prepare for a new coat of high temperature enamel.  Working away at the rust had me wishing I would have taken the air compressor and sandblaster my father offered me.  Working on machines has a way of triggering memories and regrets.

Jack Riepe advised I send the thing to Jet-Hot for a new ceramic coating.  I’m stubborn though and it would require a change in plans.  I did send an email and received a prompt reply — $80 plus shipping.  A good price.  An excellent price in fact.  My auto mechanic told me yesterday he uses them to coat the exhaust system of his Lotus race car.  Plenty of evidence was available to support the Jet-Hot course.  But in the end I picked up a can of Rustoleum.

My father would have fixed the Vespa in a day.  Less actually.  And here I am stuck in a mental traffic jam making the simplest things seem impossible.  Add to that a lot of tasks, projects and activities that divert time and energy.  I was sitting in a U-Haul Cargo Van on the approach to the George Washington Bridge in New York when I made this picture.  Traffic moved at a glacial pace as I pondered the wisdom of lane-splitting for motorcycles and scooters.  Aleta and I were making a one day trip to Astoria to pack some things and return home.

If you ever want to test your age make a long drive, spend seven hours packing and carrying boxes from a third floor walk-up, and then drive home again.

The weather today was perfect for spray painting. A patina of rust gave way to a hiding coat of flat black enamel.  Not as nice as the Jet-Hot coating would be but good enough to keep me on the road another year.

The instructions on the can say I need to bake the muffler.  Won’t fit in the oven so I’ll have to do it tomorrow on the vehicle.  Awaiting the arrival of a new stainless steel exhaust clamp from Kissell Motorsports so I’ll have to use a conventional steel auto clamp temporarily.  Makes me a bit nervous.  I know what “temporarily” can mean.

Driving around Queens, New York in a downpour looking for a parking space is an adventure.  Along Ditmars Boulevard I saw a Vespa LX150 parked in the middle of the street.  Damn scooter riders do whatever they want.  Didn’t think I could park the U-Haul in the middle of the street.

Wasn’t sure I was up to a long ride home after all the packing and moving but the road can be mesmerizing.  By the time we crossed through the Delaware River Gap I found a second level of energy.  A stop at a rest area later that night for 30 minutes sleep recharged my old batteries and I surprised myself when I pulled into our driveway at 2:30am.

I started wondering if I could do an Iron Butt Saddlesore 1000 ride on the Vespa.  But only for a minute.  Good sense won out as I floated into bed.

I dreamed of riding…