Evening Mission

At 5:04 p.m. an alert vibrated the iPhone sitting on my desk warning of a severe lightning storm and calling for the evacuation of two athletic stadiums on Penn State's University Park campus.  For once my decision not to ride because of the weather made sense.  Three hours later the weather cleared and the Vespa was fully engaged in an important mission. The line of fire across the sky signified the importance of the task at hand.

Swift movement at dusk through the central Pennsylvania landscape inspires a heighten sense of risk; Bambi is lurking just beyond the green fringe, waiting to intercept the feckless rider. As missions can push limits it's important to remain attentive, focused, and bring all skills and powers to the task at hand.

Fragrance and fluctuation of air temperature seek to move the mind from the eye to the nose like mythological sirens luring the unsuspecting towards the rocks.  A few words of silent meditation refocuses concentration on the mission at hand, interrupted by the sharp pierce of a mosquitoe's proboscis through my cheek.  On the Vespa goes.

Only minutes left, moving silently across the parking lot, like a special operator in a hostage rescue, hyper-focused, committed, single-minded.  Moment by moment the number of possible decisions shrink until I'm face-to-face with the target.

Mission complete, target secure and enroute to a Friday evening summit.

Life is always an adventure on two wheels.

Unsatisfying Ride

Not every ride on a scooter or motorcycle is a good ride.  Some rides are just too damn short.  As the day drew to a close and the weather was beginning to look ominous I had a sudden desire to go for a ride.  I can never be sure if it's really a ride I'm after or just a chance to see the sky.  Nothing eases pent up mental claustrophobia like standing in a field and watching the race through the sky.  Or standing along the ocean and taking in the vastness of water and air.

So off I rode to the nearest promontory where I could take in a view and do it before the promised rain and thunder showers arrived.  As I write I realize that the forecast was wrong, the radar was wrong, everything was wrong including my reading of the sky that whispered "Get the hell home".  The picture almost look tranquil but the wind was blowing hard on my balding head.  Blew my gloves off the scooter though luckily not the helmet.  

I should know better than to leave my helmet on the seat.

The ride this evening was too short, too rushed to offer any sort of release.  Instead just a small sense of regret that I couldn't stay longer and watch the world grow dark.

Next ride will be different.