Suffering and Joy

Sometimes, when desire meets reality, you come face to face with suffering.  Most recently it was unexpected physical discomfort related to the cold and my newly arthritic feet.  Out early yesterday with the temperature hovering around 20F should have been like a walk in the park.  Instead I was served a big bite of suffering.

Looking back I can see how my love of winter has decayed into a state of annoyed acceptance that it's a fact of life in central Pennsylvania.  This first cold ride of the season really surprised me and has me wondering how much cold I can tolerate.  A question every year round rider wrestles with at some point.

After an hour I planted myself in Starbucks to hold a paper cup full of hot chocolate in my hands, let my feet warm, and scribble a few notes on index cards about the challenges ahead.  I wrote "Suffering" at the top of the first card intending to post under that title.  But things have a way of changing.

The iPhone vibrated on the table displaying an image of my friend Gordon.  He and his wife Val bought their 14 year old son a .22 rifle for Christmas, a Ruger 10/22.  Nice gun.  And since he had never shot a gun before he asked if I could go with them to the local shooting range and get them started.  I remember the .22 rifle my father got for me around the same age and the joy I found going out with him to plink away at tin cans.  

Funny how warm some of my memories are related to weapons.

Last time I fired a gun at this range was in the early 1970s when a serendipitous encounter with gun dealer led to firing thousands of round of ammunition via an array of automatic weapons.  My first experience with a Thompson sub machine gun, M16, UZI, and an Ingram MAC-10 with a suppressor.  I learned two things.  Automatic weapons are fun to shoot.  Loading magazines isn't.  It's an interesting story that I'll share someday.

Gordon's son wasn't the only one surprised on Christmas morning.  Gordon's wife Val gave him a pair of riding gloves and some scooter brochures.  The meaning is obvious.  More joy at Christmas.

Went riding again today with no suffering.  Suppose there is a yin and yang to it all.  Didn't realize polar forces of opposite strength were at work in my riding life -- the suffering and the joy.

The Cold Weather Riding Frame of Mind

A morning drive, minivan, on the way to pick up my Vespa GTS.  But not until I pick up my daughter who's agreed to drive the van home.

Not until we have breakfast at the Corner Room in State College, Pennsylvania, a place I've been eating at for the past 40 years.  When I find something I like I stick with it.  Training for an upcoming half marathon accounts for her wet hair.  I don't understand running.

The scooter is home, safe in the driveway again.  The ride home was cold, 25F and windy.  Neglected to plug in the electric gloves and found myself warming my hands on the headlight at each traffic light.  Like the old days.  The pre-Gerbing gloves days.

Riding in the cold takes mental preparation that I've not done yet.  It's more than gear, it's a frame of mind that a rider has to place themselves in.  And right now it seems a far away place.

Left the scooter in the driveway thinking I would go for a ride later -- after I warmed up.  I've been warming up for hours and am no closer to a ride.  In another hour it will be dark and even colder.  Maybe a good night's sleep will help me enter the cold weather frame of mind.

Vespa Maintenance

My Vespa is nearly ready for the road again.  Snow tires mounted, drive-belt and rollers replaced, new spark plug, wire, and cap, oil and filter changed, everything ready to hit the road.  Aaron Grove, the technician at Kissell Motorsports who was working on the scooter, showed me the faulty plug and cap.  Somehow the threaded end of the plug stripped out and fused itself in the cap of the plug wire.  Not sure how it happened but with the new parts I should have another 30K kilometers of trouble free riding.

At least.

Aaron is a year round rider like me which meant he understood why my exhaust system was so heavily rusted.  You ride in the winter with salt on the road and things happen to metal.  He rides a vintage, (I think I can call it that) 1970s Honda CB400.  Raining hard outside he assured me that he would have ridden to work if the bike wasn't apart in his garage.  I'll have to keep my eye open for him this winter.

Most of the work was finished when I arrived but it was nice to watch a skilled craftsman work.  Aaron has a confident manner as he methodically moves through a task.  I watched him connect the battery leads and Battery Tender wires with a speed I can only dream about.  Not a single curse word to be heard.  That's probably just one of the differences between a professional and myself. 

Almost had me wishing I would take the time to reacquaint myself with the tools in my tool chest.  Someday.  Just not today.

Snow showers forecast for tomorrow with the temperature hovering near the freezing mark.  If all goes well I should be riding the Vespa late tomorrow morning.  It's about time I got back on the road.

I keep telling myself that but with a week off for the holidays I am getting pretty comfortable laying on the couch...

Searching for the Christmas Spirit

A week ago I borrowed a motorcycle from the selection of pre-owned machines of Kissell Motorsports --a 2005 BMW F650 GS. I’ll often find myself looking at their web site listings or trolling eBay for the quintessential deal. For a lot of riders a used motorcycle is the best route into the world of riding.  And during those rides I found myself thinking about Christmas.

Junior and I walked in the park this morning to the tolling of bells from a nearby church, announcing Christmas Day. Blue sky, bright sun and the temperature pushing forty degrees doesn’t feel like Christmas.

I’ve been thinking about Christmas all week, trying to bring to life those feelings I had as a kid when Santa Claus was real. Memories of candle light services on Christmas Eve singing Silent Night, the anticipation of presents under a tree seem to fade away a bit more every year. Charles Dickens wrote that Christmas can, “...win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home.”. Maybe that’s what I was looking for.

Roaming the countryside on a motorcycle often fuels a flood of thinking. I found my thoughts leaning towards the past, to things that would not come again. Each stop along the road seemed to trigger a memory of Christmas time. Each memory bringing another, and another.

Looking at motorcycles (when you tend to obsess about them) isn’t a lot different than coveting a BB gun or some other must have item of childhood.  The evening I picked up the BMW was like that -- the proverbial kid in the candy store -- so many things to desire.

A festive red Ducati should feel like Christmas shouldn't it?

Or certainly a pink Vespa would conjure some sort of magic if only given a chance.  But maybe what the Grinch said is true: "Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn't come from a store."

The pink Vespa will have to wait for another day along with the Triumph Tiger 800 XC and the flat screen TV I was thinking about.

The BMW F650 GS in its 2005 incarnation is a marvelously nimble motorcycle on the gravel roads that crisscross the central Pennsylvania forests. Aggressive knobby tires provide a surefooted ride at speeds I don’t normally attempt in these environs. The bike is completely comfortable from the start.

I felt like Charlie Brown. Christmas time is coming and I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel. Or at least that was what I was thinking. Riding through beautiful landscapes I can’t quite appreciate because I’m searching for the Christmas spirit. The little red-haired girl is waiting at home for me, my black dog too, and here I was along a creek, watching the cold, clear water sweep by and nothing. I’m blessed but don’t quite appreciate it.

The F650 GS leads me to the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg where I can appreciate a cup of tea and a scone, and the blessings of the motorcycle's heated grips when I take out my journal to write.  BMW has great heated grips.  They feel hot even through thick winter riding gloves.

I suppose there is no connection between riding and Christmas save for the incidental juxtaposition of machine and iconography.  But I did find that missing Christmas spirit.

Last night family and friends gathered on Christmas Eve, for fellowship and food, to spend time together and acknowledge what's special this time of year.  Maybe it just becomes more difficult to see past all the wrappings and tinsel to the meaning of Christmas, a time of transformation and forgiveness where, for a time, the world is a more gentle place.

Merry Christmas to all and best wishes for the holidays.

A Sunday Afternoon Ride

Despite the cold it was good to get out for a ride this afternoon.  I don't watch enough sunsets; my life can be filled with chores and tasks.  On this ride I stopped to smell the roses.

An hour earlier I stopped for another reason -- to search for a view of a local landmark.  I rode the 2005 BMW F650 GS I had on loan from Kissell Motorsports up a winding, muddy path through a small patch of woods and stopped as it led into an expansive hayfield.  Less than a minute after arriving the farmer who owned the property sped towards me on an ATV with a look of displeasure on his face.

After an apology for trespassing and explaining what I was doing we determined that I had photographed him before.  Back in 1984.  He said he still has the picture of he and his dog in his home.  Just one of the serendipitous moments on the road.

Later in the ride I crossed through land owned my Penn State as I searched for light sweeping out of the sky in what I like to call "God light" -- those instances when the light is drawn in beams from the heavens.  Never did find the right spot but was impressed by the performance of the BMW.  First bike I've ridden in years with real knobby tires.  Makes a world of difference in gravel.  And mud.

I've put some time on this bike and will post more about it later in the week.  A lot of good values in the pre-owned category with this being one of them.  Liked it a lot.

Junior is barking outside so I can't write more.  Tired and drained.  No stories or words left for today.  Just a few pleasant memories of a Sunday afternoon ride...

The Aging Rider

My father used to tell me “It’s hell to get old”. I’m beginning to understand and move that comment from the joke category in my brain to the section reserved for current events. My friend Gordon recently made this picture of me at one of our Sunday morning print meetings and I see my father. And I’m saying to myself “It’s hell to get old”.

Standing at the kitchen sink last night with a handful of Methotrexate I realized something had changed. Almost overnight I’ve traveled from oblivious through denial and on into acceptance that I’ve become an aging rider and with it all the rights and responsibilities attendant to a change in physical ability.

A week ago I was standing in a hospital gown with my back to a wall while two rheumatologists at Johns Hopkins Medical Center recorded measurements of joint flexibility, pain and range of motion, and finally confirming the diagnosis of my family doctor -- “You have psoriatic arthritis Mr. Williams.”

Great.

Aging is a natural, nearly invisible process until it isn’t. And one day a light is turned on and you realize some new limitation has formed, some new element to be managed. And it reaches out to every detail and aspect of living and informs a new life. It branded me an aging rider.

Men live in denial though.  I can't speak for women.

Two months ago I was deep in it, telling myself that my arthritis would have no effect on my riding. Sitting astride the Vespa was easy and I could ride all day but stopping was another story. The joints in my toes were on fire and walking was a problem. Pushing the scooter onto the centerstand was a challenge. And walking to make a photograph along this winding gravel road in Rothrock State Forest was near torture.

But I ignored it and pushed onwards in the rain.

I see pictures when I ride and especially ones where the scooter plays a role. Standing some distance away from the Vespa, thinking about this shot, I was regretting wandering so far from the seated comfort of my ride. Not yet thinking of myself as an aging rider I rode on.

Fear of aging generates denial. It takes time to acknowledge the fear and more time to understand what the march of time means. Personal dishonesty in this area can lead to bad decisions. An acquaintance comes to mind -- a fellow in his early 70’s who purchased his first motorcycle two years ago -- a Harley Davidson Ultra Glide. He had never ridden before but was persuaded by a friend that he would love riding.

Whenever I run into him I ask if he still has the Harley. His face lights up and he responds with a bright “Sure do!”. What I’m careful not to ask is if he rides it (which I’m sure he doesn’t) Not long after his purchase he discovered that riding a big motorcycle is not an innate skill and after a few scary moments on the road he parked it in the garage for good.

Denial is a wonderful thing and is helpful in making irrational decisions. I’m not saying a 70 year old can’t ride but I might suggest a different path to the road for a first time rider of any age. The accumulation of years (and wisdom) will quickly raise its case in these kinds of situations.

Back on the road I continued to ride and find opportunities for more pictures. Picking my way through the rocks on sore feet finally illuminated my limitations. I was going to have to change the way I think about my capabilities.

The Death Equation.

I like to think that I’m not the only one doing death mathmatics in their head -- calculating the difference in years between your current age and the age of your father or grandfather when they died. I can’t remember when I started doing this but it’s definitely related to aging and a growing awareness of the finite number of days at my disposal. I should add that it’s not depressing or obsessive but a result of an awareness and acceptance of my mortality. And fueled by my latest medical adventure.

Right now the only thing keeping me from riding to work is the fact that the Vespa is in for service. I postponed the work until a time I can meet with the technician to photograph him for a blog post. But soon the scooter will be parked again outside my office like it is in this picture expect the sportbikes will cease to appear as winter descends.

In the meantime Junior continues to keep me busy though our walks have diminished in favor of drives to the part where I can stand in one place and heave the ball across the field for him. He’s a potent reminder of the mobility that I have lost for now. He’s always in motion. I’m always.... not.

The change is something new to manage. Like rain or snow or darkness. As I assess routes and weather I now have to assess my physical state. Reading the current issue of the BMW Owners News I’m impressed by the number of aged riders piling up tens of thousands of miles every year. During murky thoughts it helps remind me that the passing of years doesn’t have to relegate me to the rocking chair, or worse, a trike. Actually, I’ve never ridden a trike. Experience has shown me that I really need to try something before judging it harshly.

A shiver of excitement swept over me as I stood in the road with the Leica. Despite any current physical ailments the road still rolled on ahead. There are more rides to make and things to see. And I'll view these rides through a new filter...

...as an aging rider.