One of the treats of riding in the winter is the air is so sharp, crisp and clear that you can almost feel your spirit soar. At least that's how I experience it. Today, from the right vantage point, you can see for forty miles. With the sun shining and the air still the cold felt far away.
A stop (again for the thousandth time) at Mount Nittany to make a photograph. The image is burned in my brain but I still make pictures. Not sure why...
The roads were mostly dry but you can't ride in the sticks without paying close attention to possible ice. It seems to grow unexpectedly -- snow from a branch or a car roof, a splash of water or coffee from an unthinking motorist. As the sun pushed towards the horizon I made my way towards home from a few afternoon errands.
There is a weird, strange thrill in riding in the cold that's hard to describe. Part visual, part physical, part spiritual. The ride is important, an anthem to living, a meditation on feeling blood and breath course through the body. The cold sharpens the experience.
Or so it seems.
Time passes quickly on the road. The destination approaches rapidly regardless of how many times I stop or detours I take. The ride, as is life, seems to short, too fast, too soon over.
Under a clear winter sky each breath feels special. Each moment sparkling with life.
No wonder the Vespa finds its way out onto the road...