Not everything here is about riding. It’s a means to an end. I’m never sure what I’ll discover on the road.
A dozen personal journals found their way to the landfill. Years of thought and complaint vomited on the page. Memories suspended in ink on hundreds of pages of paper. Free now of the weight of their presence.
Riding the Vespa scooter earlier in the day after an appointment with my cardiologist; wandering in mind and body and thinking of the past.
Wondering about the future.
The cool, autumn air keeps me bright and awake as it seeps across my skin. A sure sign of sloppy preparation and attention to detail — typical of early cold season riding.
The doctor swept the past aside as we talked about the future — medication, exercise, diet and lifestyle, the magic mix that increases the odds for healthy years ahead. Only my own thoughts keep me oppressed by the past. In this case — a heart attack.
Those discarded journals had their own power to oppress just as beliefs and assumptions and physical possessions can. It’s easy to become chained and weighed down without even realizing the ponderous load being dragged along. Slowly I’m working to free myself so I can experience more fully what’s right in front of me.
Riding the scooter through the woods is an exercise in simplicity. It expects nothing from me save for the basic skills required to safely operate. In that simple act is the space to observe chains and baggage, and hear the seductive song that softly winds through them. It’s the rare ride where I return home with no education.Continue Reading