Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

Am I Too Old to Ride a Motorcycle (or Scooter)?

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Too Old to Ride?

Self-portrait at night in store window reflectionPersonal Reflections

I’ve been asking myself a lot lately whether I’ve reached a point where I can’t reliably ride anymore.  Whether some future motorcycle to be named later or the Vespa GTS scooter that I’ve been riding for the past decade.

It’s a crappy conversation to have with yourself if you really enjoy riding.  My father-in-law was talking about the same conversation he’s been having about bicycles.  But he’s almost twenty years further down the road than I am.

It’s been three months waiting for my lower back to heal.  This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way.  Only the first where things haven’t gotten better.  The lingering, gnawing pain and sudden, startling bursts of electric weakness provide ample pause when deciding to ride.  Putting on gear and boots is an adventure in itself that can leave me cringing and panting from the task.

I suppose I should be surprised at the mental conversations.

Vespa GTS on a winding road in autumn forestLong and winding road

In my dreams I’m riding well into my eighties.  My granddaughter has her own motorcycle and lectures me on some aspect of life as she comes into her own.  Two weeks ago I was riding through the local forests to enjoy the sights and fragrances of a changing autumn world.  Each stop to push the scooter onto the center stand was a breath-holding event as I was never sure if the movement involved would impinge an already irritated nerve.

There are a few things I consider when thinking about the big riding stop sign:

  1.  Am I strong enough to manage the weight involved?
  2. Is my mind clear?
  3. Are my reactions reliable?
  4. Am I afraid to be on the road?
  5. Can I see?

Five simple questions.  And so far, with only momentary and somewhat predictable situations, only the first question is relevant.  All the rest receive a positive response.

Vespa GTS scooter on gravel forest roadRough roads

I love riding through the near endless forest roads here in central Pennsylvania.  While the Vespa scooter may not be the first choice for this terrain it’s capable enough for any rider not bent on break-neck speeds and tricks.  My own recent wandering in Rothrock State Forest to absorb the flaming foliage has been satisfying if not at times jarring along rough stretches of road.

Autumn skyAutumn sky

The light is different this time of year.  The sun remains lower in the sky and I swear it paints far better cloud drawings than any other time of the year.  I know I look up more this time of year to look, and to think.  Like whether I’m too old to ride.

Perhaps the past week was just a bad stretch of body encounters on top of some bouncing riding that caused me to grit my teeth.  Another chiropractor appointment that doesn’t seem to help.  A rheumatologist who doesn’t think my auto-immune arthritis has worsened but perhaps a physical therapist could help.  Add a colonoscopy to the mix and perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised I’m asking whether I’m too old to ride.

And it’s cold.  That early, cold-season riding desire crushing cold.  It was 27F this morning.

Vespa GTS scooter at sunsetVespa riding sunset

Am I too old to ride?  No.  Can I ride as I wish? No.  Are things going to change?  Don’t know.  Just a sample of the questions I have been experiencing lately as my riding has changed to accommodate my aching back.

A few days ago I hopped on the scooter to ride to a local eatery to pick up dinner and stopped along the way to drink in the sunset.  These small journeys are the norm these days.  The occasional 150 mile weekend jaunts are growing more rare as I make decisions to not stress the healing I imagine taking place in my lower back.  And those decisions work into the personal conversations I have with myself about growing older and myriad decisions including whether I’m too old to ride.

When I talk with other riders I seldom hear anything personal aside from bragging about riding accomplishments or the mechanical nuances of their motorcycle or scooter.  Conversations about personal challenges, misgivings or concerns seem off limits.  Personal story telling seems a difficult challenge.

It’s why I write.  Putting words on a page is easier than talking.  For me at least.

I’m not too old to ride.  I am currently struggling with some physical hurdles to riding but am still confident that work and focus will allow me to get over them.

It will be just above the freezing mark in the morning.  And I want to go for a ride.  The desire is still there…

Pass Through Time

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Vespa GTS scooter on country roadThe Road Ahead

Autumn amplifies my recognition of the passing of time.  It’s more than the visual recognition of leaves changing color and falling to the ground.  It’s a deeper connection to the cycle of life.

I’ve been taking little rides for the past couple months, in part because of the limitations of a slowly healing lower back, and partly because I just don’t have time to ride.  Despite all that, riding in autumn is a lovely experience, heady with the fragrance of drying leaves, lovely for eyes filled with the glowing warmth of light and leaf, and all packaged with the label, “Pass Through Time”.

On the scooter or on foot, the road ahead is taking me somewhere new and I’m loving the ride.

autumn leaves in a forestAutumn Leaves

I’m lucky to live in the heart of Pennsylvania’s hardwood forest and the canvas of color it creates this time of year.  The leaf-peeping season doesn’t last long but oh what a show.

Vespa GTS scooterRiding a Vespa

A BMW R1200 GS passed me today on the way home from work.  The yellow version from 2007 or so.  I covet that machine from time to time along with a short list of other motorcycles.  But none (yet) have the addictive and overwhelming good feeling of my Vespa GTS scooter.  It’s perfect in many ways and good enough in others.

Will the spell break at some point and allow something different in the garage?

Riding a Vespa, a modern four-stroke version, is just plain magic.

Really.

And I’m not getting paid to say this…

Autumn leavesThe Lure of the Canvas

Along with many other things on a list of “before I die” activities is painting.  Acrylic on canvas.  I want to try my hand as a painter.  Seeing the autumn leaves and the wonderful landscapes of the season triggers the desire.  Perhaps something to do in retirement.

Funny thing about the list, a bucket list I suppose, is there’s really nothing on it pertaining to riding.

What’s that mean?

Vespa GTS scooterRiding to Work

Stopped on the way to work one morning last week to stretch my back that was starting to cramp. Striking a yoga pose while simultaneously grumbling and cursing might create an odd mix for anyone passing by.  Despite the need to sometimes stop I’m grateful to be riding to work.  Every commute is an adventure.  Every adventure is a reminder of the damn great life I have.  Even is it’s just to pass through time.

You experience the nicest thoughts when you’re a rider.

Appreciating Warmth

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Vespa GTS scooter near Bald Eagle State ParkAdjusting to the Cold

The march toward winter continues.  My spirit hasn’t accepted the change yet.  And my body resists both and cold and the ritual of donning heavier riding gear.  The lingering gnaw of a still tweaked back doesn’t help.  The world is dim and grey.

I have nothing good to say about any of it.

It’s easy to understand why men and women park their scooters and motorcycles for the winter and walk away from any joy or enlightenment that riding can present.  When the thermometer was pointing to 29F a few mornings ago I was asking myself why I would ever ride when it’s that cold.  Some would say I’m coming to my senses.  Or a grudging acceptance of the aging state of my body.  I see the wisdom in both.

Still, I want to ride despite everything.  Not riding is a decision I’m not ready to make.  It seems a surrender more ominous that merely parking the Vespa for a few months and doing something different.  It’s a turning point.  One of no return.  A realization that I’m leaving something in the past.

Forever.

Lest this post grow dark and dreary there is something positive which grows from the cold — appreciating warmth.

Appreciating warmth.

When the body awakens from the lull of warm weather the contrast between cold and warmth is startling.  Wrapping a cold hand around a heated grip is a luxurious feeling.  Or better yet around a cup of steaming hot tea.

Riding in cold weather teaches me to appreciate the lovely gift of being warm.

Old Age and Youth

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Vespa GTS scooter in front of the Family Chill & GrillFamily Chill & Grill

After several weeks of work to rehabilitate an angry lower back injury, I felt well enough to explore the physical limits with a short ride.  Nothing like a sore back to make you feel old.  I’ve read the yoga adages, “You’re as young as your spine is flexible.”

I’ve not been feeling young.

My friend Paul and I departed for a short ride to breakfast at the Family Chill & Grill and Firehouse Pizza in Tyrone, Pennsylvania, just 15 miles from home.  A reasonable distance to appraise how things are going.  Unfortunately the place was closed — Labor Day — requiring us to move further down the valley to find a place to eat.

Paul Ruby with his new BMW R1200 RT motorcycleBMW and Vespa

Eventually we made our way to Altoona and Kings Restaurant.  Paul commented on all the old men gathered for breakfast.  I gently reminded him we’re old men…

By the time I rolled the Vespa back into the garage there were 85 more miles on the odometer. As long as I don’t have to pick up anything heavy (like a dropped scooter or a quarter) my back is pretty good.  Another week and I should be back to normal.  Whatever that is now for me.

Paul got rid of his Ducati Hypermotard and replaced it with a 2005 BMW R1200 RT which he plans to ride to New Mexico in November.  With a full fairing, heated grips and seat, and spacious hardcase luggage it will be a fine machine for a ride like that.

I’m not thinking that grand.  I’ll be happy when I can put the dog food dishes on the ground without supporting myself with a walking stick.

Old age and youth — two sides of the same coin.  I need to keep tossing it.

Walking Stick

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Steve Williams with walking stickA Walking Stick

A recent rainstorm coupled with drought hardened ground, and neglect in keeping rain gutters clean, combined to fill my basement with water.  A few hours of after-midnight cleanup and 18 trips carrying a Shop-Vac up steps to empty was all that was necessary to create a returning patient for my chiropractor.

I have an old yoga book that I’ve glanced at a few times over the last 25 years when the idea I should care for my body takes hold.  There’s a line etched in my memory — “You’re as young as your spine is flexible.”

I’m not too young.

A week of incapacity and riding-free life has passed.  Mornings of struggle to get out of bed and strategies to get dog food bowls to the floor have passed.  New ways to tie shoes were developed and standing up straight is a reason to celebrate.  I’ve been walking slowly through the garden to help  limber the lower back and hips while hoping the dogs don’t run into me as I play the fragile aging man.  And from this place of woe an old friend emerged — my faithful walking stick.

I’ve had this walking stick since the early 1980s.  It’s a long staff reaching almost to my shoulder and has travelled along on many hikes and backpacking trips.  It’s tapped along the Maine coast and the Appalachian Trail.  Now it provides welcome support to an otherwise shaky existence.

The back is much improved but I’ve come to appreciate the form and function of a walking stick.  I’ve often wondered why people use a cane when a walking stick is far superior.  You can lean on it, pull yourself up, and keep an angry dog at bay with it.  It is a damn function bit of technology.

The Complete Walker

My love of walking sticks grew out of books by Colin Fletcher, especially The Complete Walker.  This book fueled a love of walking and hiking and is full of stories and reflections of a life on foot.  Between the lines of much of what I write is the influence of Fletcher.

The morning may bring enough back recovery to consider riding to work.  If I do, the walking stick will have to stay at home with the dogs…