Scooter in the Sticks

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

Swiftly Craved Ride

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Vespa GTS scooter in muddy field at duskWings of Desire

Cold, raining and the approach of night — individually each reason enough to stay home and safe.  Yet off I went on the wings of desire, a swiftly craved ride striking me from the warm embrace of a reclining chair, mind sudden burning with one thought — to be on the road.

It’s been weeks since I’ve been on the Vespa, illness sapping strength and desire and rendering me a mortal, non-riding man.  How dim that life…

And suddenly the desire to ride flamed again.  Who can ignore that call? Even if it leads to a field of soft mud…

Vespa GTS scooter in Boalsburg, PennsylvaniaFading at the End of the Day

I’ve walked this sidewalk in Boalsburg hundreds of times in all weathers and times of day; with dogs and friends, view cameras and Leicas.  It’s home and I’ve yet to tire of it.  Can’t fathom to call to stop the Vespa and stand again looking; as if it’s the last night of my life.

I can only think I’ve been inside for too long.

Vespa GTS scooter at a Sunoco stationPragmatism

A fuel light on the Vespa’s instrument cluster returns me to earth and the local Sunoco station to add some high octane fuel to the tank.  Part of me wants to keep riding — east or west, it doesn’t matter whether other than to stay on the road.  But there’s business to attend to that I can’t, or shouldn’t ignore.  The cold, damp air has started a cough, another pragmatic reminder that a swiftly craved ride may mask another goal — completely recover from the illness that’s dogged me for nearly two weeks.

So off home in the dark for food and work and chores — each made a bit more handsome as seen from the vantage point of smiling rider.

Do you suddenly stand up and venture into the gloom for no good reason other than a craving to ride?

Lost in Delirium

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Some rides are the product of illness — a projection of being lost in delirium.

Can a person ride motorcycles (or scooters) in their eighties?

For the past few days I’ve been swept up in a chain of illness (a cold or flu) and have lost touch with the routines and rituals that normally keep me grounded — walking the dogs, working and riding the Vespa.

I hate being sick; suppose everyone does. While drifting between sleep, delirium and mindlessly watching online videos I came across an old favorite — five aging men deciding to ride motorcycles again. I’ve posted it before.  When I close my eyes I want to ride again.

For a few moments I thought I could push through the illness but dizziness raised its hand to remind me of my current predicament.  I’m sure Kim would have added her input, “You don’t ride when you’re sick dummy.”

So I’m left again practicing patience, something I never do well with, and hoping whatever illness I have passes quickly.

If you’re feeling your age take a moment and watch the video.  It’s nice to think at 80 we might still have choices…

Dreams and the Tyranny of Adults

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Steve Williams thinking about dreams and the tyranny of adultsCafe Thinking

This morning I picked up a new battery for my daughter’s Yamaha Vino scooter. Traveling mechanic — it’s what dads do. Waiting for the battery to arrive allowed for a leisurely stroll around the collected Yamaha, Suzuki and Honda machines and imagine a road life with them:

  • A tedium of smooth roads and highways passing by faster than a brain can process with the Goldwing.
  • Backaches and hip cramps with the sportbikes.
  • The stink of chrome polish with the cruisers.
  • Mending bones and physical therapy with the dirtbikes.

Honda RuckusHonda Ruckus

And then, glistening like a perfect, wet sand dollar on a remote beach stood the Honda Ruckus. Shiny and black with a simple splash of red, the Ruckus promises uncommon experience to anyone courageous enough to abandon their ego and fear of how they’ll look to other riders.

In my dreams I have a Honda Ruckus. It’s on my list. There are rides in my head.

Dreams are a powerful part of being human yet I hear little from others about their dreams. Lost are the open and excited conversations from childhood where we would proudly exclaim, “I’m going to be a cowboy!” or “I’m going to be a baseball player!”. Somewhere the confidence to express dreams has been smothered by adulthood. Perhaps it lies beneath Henry David Thoreau’s thought that “Men lead lives of quiet desperation”. Perhaps our dreams have been squelched by expectation, fear and the need to conform.

Like any thought entering consciousness they can’t be controlled and should not create anxiety or guilt. They are after all just thoughts. So it is with dreams — just more organized and powerful stories our minds concoct to imagine our experience in life — possible or not. I’ve imagined lives as musician and athlete, artist and writer, rich man and poor. And I’ve imagined life with a motorcycle. Many motorcycles. But there is one that stands out at the moment. A BMW K75.

1992 BMW K75 motorcycleDream Bike — 1992 BMW K75

There is a page saved in Evernote that contains a listing for this motorcycle offered by MAX BMW Motorcycles in Connecticut. I have a dream that one day there will be one in the garage alongside the Ruckus and the Vespa — a riding option for a need I do not know or understand.

Rationalizing dreams leads to the death of youth and the enslavement of adulthood. Or so I think at this precise moment as fingers tap on keys. In ten minutes the thought would be lost lest I write it down. If someone wonders “Why blog?”, perhaps an acceptable answer is to try and remember dreams.

Dreams are medicine and hope rolled together but they’re not universal. My dreams are not yours and sharing them is an act of faith because there are many adults in our midst that strive to bring a dreamer back to reality. I do it myself though I try hard to accept the dreams of others. If I can’t, at least I can try to keep my mouth closed. There is a time for critique and discussion. Just not when dreams are on the table. Husbands and wives, friends and relatives, parents and children — take heed and respect the dreams.

I wonder how life would have been different if I joined the circus…

Personal Riding Lesson

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Steve Williams portait at Pump StationMan in the Mirror

An honest rider will look in the mirror from time to time and remind themselves of their skills and limits — something different than the summation of years and miles on the road.  This morning while sitting in the Pump Station Cafe after a brisk ride on the Vespa I was quizzing myself on the creeping of complacency into my rides.  It was time for a personal riding lesson.

Complacency equals disaster on two wheels.

Vespa GTS scooter on forest roadJust a Little Ride

Riding experience is seductive and the more comfortable you become the easier it is to believe you’ve gained some magical riding power that will keep you safe.  Things happen on the road — other vehicles behave erratically, animals rush about, weather transforms the day, expectations of the road surface prove false or any of a thousand little things waiting to complicate a rider’s life.

A lot can conspire against me when I ride and if I’m telling myself I’m experienced and ready I might be kidding myself.  I may have what I need between my ears but if I don’t apply it constantly its not much use.  Attention is required second by second when you’re riding otherwise complacency surfaces.  Pile it on a little daydreaming and all the elements for a little personal riding lesson are in place.

That’s what happened on a little ride this morning.

Steve Williams and Vespa on forest roadWild, Happy and Free

Tearing along a forest road this morning like I didn’t have a care in the world.  When I first ventured onto gravel with the Vespa many years ago it was an exercise in slow speed creeping.  And now, with lots of gravel roads behind me I can ride a little faster.  Despite the thermometer hovering at 31F I had dismissed most concerns with ice.  The gravel road was clear as far as I could see and besides — what better traction than gravel.

So on I went on one of those rides where you just have to smile.

Vespa and ice covered roadEnter the Unexpected

Thankfully I was only going about 20mph when I became aware of the ice.  My gut wants me to hit the brakes but it was far too late for that.  Same with maneuvering toward a bare strip on the road.  Had I been paying closer attention I would have seen the ice in time to slow down or stop and pick my way through the hazard.

I was certain I was going to dump the Vespa.

So I’m left applying experience in a hurry.  I knew enough not to brake, swerve or scrub off speed.  The best course was to keep my eyes up, feet on the scooter, stay in a straight line and head for the ice free section about 60 feet away.  No panic or sudden moves — just keep going.  I understood how it would work and did what I had to do.

No slip, no slide, no fall.

Still, a personal riding lesson was in order.  Riding in sub-freezing weather regardless of how tame the road looks always has a risk of unexpected ice.

So some more deliberate looks in the mirror, reminders of who I need to be on the road, and acceptance that my experience is only as good as my willingness to apply it.

How Long Can I Ride?

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Steve Williams photography and printsLooking Closely

Sixty-one years old and one heart attack under my belt. It fuels some interesting thinking. Ten years ago when I was still invincible (and my riding jacket was still bright yellow) I was already drawn toward thoughts of mortality as I photographed my life, the people in it, and some of the icons of finality. I’ve always been curious about what’s over the next hill.  Seems appropriate that curiosity would endure thoughts about longevity — how long can I ride?

I’m not sure if a person reaches a certain point where they begin doing longevity math but the equations aren’t simple and the factors considered aren’t consistent.  My grandfather had a heart attack in the 1950s when he was my age and then lived healthy and at home another 33 years.  My mother died just a few years older than I am now from a rare disease. And my father from lung cancer at 76 though he was a heavy smoker most of his life, worked in a coal mine before moving on to a mill that worked with molten steel — something that generates a lot of great stuff to breathe.

Mental measuring of longevity is, at best, a fool’s errand and merely another way to rob the present with fears of the future.  Still, it occupies my thoughts from time to time.

What may be more important is the waking dreams of life down the road.

How do I see myself in ten years?

Vespa GTS scooter on a forest roadOld Man and a Vespa

It slowly comes into focus, an image of an old man on a scooter, moving smoothly along a forest road, his hands gives a slight squeeze to the hand grips and a smile grows on his face.  In the distance a granddaughter waves, wondering what treat the old man brought this time.

When I ride I can feel the flight of spirit and I squeeze the grips to hold onto the world. At 61, I hope I can stay close to that feeling for a long time and my body stays nimble enough to manage the scooter and my mind sharp enough to stay safe. And be able to hang out with my granddaughter long enough to warn her about boys and to not let anyone stand in the way of her dreams.

That would be a good ride.

Belgian Sheepdog portait in the snow at sunriseLike a Good Dog

How long can I ride? Only God knows. But like a good dog I’ll keep getting up every morning and make the most of what life has to offer.  Like Junior, who hopes he’ll get to chase some tennis balls and go for a walk, I’m going to hope I can keep riding. I’ll ride until I can’t.

That’s the view from 61.  I’ll check back in ten years and see how things are working out.

What’s your view of the road ahead?