Riding alone has curative powers for my irritated mind.  Destination or route don’t seem to matter as much as being alone with my thoughts.  Being alone isn’t as much a desire as it is a need.  Without recurring doses of time alone I get:

• irritable
• grumpy
• disagreeable
• out of sorts
• quick-tempered
• cranky

Basically a pain in the ass.

At some level I probably recognized this personal quality and adjusted my interests and time to satisfy the need to be alone.  Walking, hiking, wandering with a camera and now riding.  A few miles on the scooter and the world begins to make sense.  Or at least my restless thinking begins to calm down.

This morning it was cold when I left the house with the temperature at 41F.  Destinations rolled through my head as I pushed the Vespa out of the garage but none fired enough neurons to form a plan.  A plan isn’t really necessary when being alone is the goal.

Most of the leaves are down now and we could see snow at any time.  The days continue to shorten and already I’ve gone to work and returned home in the dark.  This morning I took a short ride just to soak up some sunshine and embrace the day.  I’ve been by this place many times but I’ve still not really seen it.  When asked if I bore of riding the same paths I always think of the photographer, Josef Sudek, who during the Nazi occupation of Prague spent years photographing in his little studio and window and made a remarkably complex and rich collection of photographs.

There’s much more to see on the roads I travel.

I never saw this hay bale pilgrim all ready for Thanksgiving.  Someone spent some time and effort putting it together including the use of hydraulics considering the weight of a round bale of hay.

Lots to see on the road.

A perfect morning.  Looking at the scooter in such an idyllic setting it’s hard for me to understand why anyone would oppose someone learning to ride.  Even when considering more traffic intensive places the question persists.

I’ve heard a resistant spouse or lover raise the danger question fearing the almost certain death that accompanies riding.  It may present as “we have children” or “I had a friend who rode…”.  I understand the concern and I’ll be the first to admit that riding is more dangerous than driving a car.  But there are other points to consider.

Who is taking the greater risk?  A distracted driver, frustrated and in a hurry to beat traffic or a rider focused on the road, relaxed and happy?

And who is a better partner, parent or lover?  The angry driver who comes home wound tight or the rider who arrives home with a measure of serenity mixed with pleasure?

I like to think riding has made me a better person.  I certainly feel lighter and happier after a ride, even a short one through ordinary places, alone on the road, alone with my thoughts.

At the end of the ride I stopped at the Pump Station Cafe to make a few notes and read a few more pages from Thomas Merton’s Thoughts In Solitude.

Like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values, it takes some work to understand and for some the Christian perspective can be a problem.  Even though Merton was a Trappist monk, his writing kept his religion personal and never felt as if he were preaching.  The first book I read by Merton was The Seven Storey Mountain, a fascinating story of Merton’s withdrawal from the world and into a monastic order of silence.

It’s safe to read — I wouldn’t fear abandoning your worldly possessions to become a monk.  And besides, if you have a scooter or motorcycle, you don’t really need a monastery.