A Time to Hold, and a Time to Fold

I find myself riding less and less in groups and more and more alone.

I don’t go far yet.  Of course my commutes are alone.  As opportunity allows I ride with a friend.  Close in age, we are much alike.  We both enjoy dawdling on the ride. We stop to take pictures, have a cup of coffee, or even stretch our legs and chat.  On the way from point A to point B, we sometimes will take a little side trip just to explore and “see what’s down there.”

Can't do this in a group ride!

I think I enjoy riding alone because I enjoy solitude.  Getting free, for a time, of the pressures of other peoples’ needs preferences and desires.  It sort of empties clutter in my mind, realigns my perspective, and adjusts my attitude so that I’m more fit to rejoin the rest of humanity.

Alone, I ride my own ride, travel at my own pace, and feel free to take Frost’s road,     “. . . less traveled by.”

Some  complain about the roar of the wind around their helmet.  I revel in it.  Others seek to include themselves in a formation of scooters  flowing down a road like the graceful flight of migrating geese.  It is indeed a thing of beauty.  But I enjoy watching it more than I enjoy being part of it.

From time to time, riding with a friend is a workable compromise.  Especially if someone like my riding buddy, John, who is pushing 80 years, likes to ride at the same leisurely pace as I.

Ttwo old guys alone can stop anytime to get the kinks out of ancient bones.

So, last Saturday we met at a McDonalds in West Phoenix at ten in the morning and headed northbound toward Wickenburg by way of Lake Pleasant .  Beautiful day, but the wind became stronger and stronger to the point that by the time we started West on SR 74, we were getting our hands full just maintaining  a line.  Leading, I finally pulled over to the shoulder and let my friend slide up beside me on his Chi-scoot.

“Do you really want another fifty miles of this?” I asked.

He shook his head from side to side.  I could see his drawn face behind his visor was not smiling.

“This is no fun” I shouted through my full-face helmet.  “Lets head back.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He was a little more aggressive in doing the one-eighty than I, and sat waiting on the opposite side of the road while I backed my scoot  and sat on the shoulder at right angles to traffic so I could get a clear view in both directions.  SR74 on a Saturday is a busy road near Lake Pleasant.  Many years ago, one of the students in my high-school English class was killed on his motorcycle trying to do a U turn on a busy two-lane road.  He chose to do it just below the crest of a hill that hid oncoming vehicles.

I finally got turned around before John attained his 80th birthday (two-months in future) and I pulled up beside him.

“Let’s get to the other side of the freeway, and head south.”

He nodded, and we set out.

The wind was worse.  It had switched around to the Northeast and blasted at us from a forty-five degree angle.

Shortly after crossing the highway, John, in the lead, pulled over to the side.

“Ride close and see if you hear a rattling in my scooter,”  he called.

We set out again, but no matter how close behind him I rode, the wind roar around my helmet blanked out the sounds of his scooter.

We made a pit-stop at a Circle K.  Before mounting up again, we decided we were close enough to AZ Scooters on Cave Creek road, so we made the turn and rolled back toward Phoenix.

When a fella needs a friend!

Stopped at a light, John called over “If I leave the scooter, can you ride me home?”

I glanced over at him.  He weighed a little under 200 pounds.  “I’m not used to riding two-up.”  I replied.  “But my wife has the van at the Food Bank.  It’s close by.  I can get it and ride you home.”

We continued down Cave Creek and pulled into the parking at the Scooter shop.  John stepped inside, and I’d hardly got my helmet off before Kurt, the owner, was out the door, saying “Hello, Vic,” and checking out John’s bike.

“He’s already spent a ton of money on it in repairs at another shop,” I said

He nodded.

We exchanged sympathetic glances.

Kurt hopped on the bike and disappeared for a five-minute test ride.  When he rolled back into the parking area we all heard the rattle.

“Sounds like the clutch,” Kurt said.

John’s face got longer.  “Just had another shop rebuild it.”

I geared up.  “I’ll go get the van.  be about a half hour.”

As I drove him to his house, we commented about what it would have been like had we continued on to Wickenburg across SR 74.  Than would have been bleak indeed.

So, I guess there is a time to ride alone and a time to ride in company.

And there is a time to hold and a time to fold

“My Legs Are Long Enough!”

For over a year my youngest Granddaughter has been clambering aboard my parked RV 250 attempting to stre-e-e-e-tch he legs down to reach the passenger pegs on the pillion, only to be thwarted time and again.  Then one day, she looked up hopefully.

“I can touch them with my toes.”

“Not safe until your whole foot fits,” I smiled.

Thanksgiving weekend I stepped out on the porch where I parked my scoot to find her sitting on the pillion, her feet firmly on the footrests, and grinning expectantly.

I looked down at her feet more closely.

Her feet were flat on the rests — just.

“Looks like we’ll have to get you a helmet for Christmas,” I told her.

She replied with a wide grin.

That will give her another month’s growing room,  I thought.

Shortly after Christmas, we headed For Cycle Gear to get a helmet.  Not having one in her size, we ordered a white Scorpion similar to mine.

Now, How do I put this on?

A few days later it came in, and we headed back up.  We tried it on to make sure it fit.  The helmet had been upgraded from when I bought mine. Her youth helmet had an inflatable lining  so that it conformed perfectly to the head.  I was a little jealous.  Couldn’t swap, though — her head was way smaller than mine.

We looked around to see if there was an armored jacket in ther size.  No go on that one.  The smallest ladies petite was still too big.  Guesss we’ll have to wait for another year’s growth.

The following Saturday, we took our first ride together to get breakfast at the Deer Valley airport restaurant.   As soon as we got rolling, I immediately felt the difference in the way the scoot handled.  It was a little-top-heavy; quite different from when I carried her junior high-school mother as aa passenger on a motorcycle years ago.  I think the feeling of top-heaviness was due to the smaller wheels on the scooter–lessening the gyroscope effect– and the fact that one sits on a scooter, but wraps himself around a motorcycle.

I can reach the foot-pegs!

I rode almost tentatively, especially around corners.  Sure didn’t want to scrape the finish of the precious cargo sitting in back of me.

We arrived at the airport, got off the bike and entered the restaurant.  We chose a table by the windows so we could see the planes taking off and landing.  Michaela sat proudly across from me, her shiney white helmet on the back part of the table visible to all passers-by the she was a “rider.”  Our breakfast came.  We bowed our heads and asked the blessing on the food.

Breakfast at Denny's for her second ride

Finishing breakfast, I asked for the check.

“No check,” the waitress told me.  “Someone already paid for yours.”

It was a totally anonymous stranger.

Someone had performed a random act of kindness.

We left the restaurant and walked out the the bike.

Mochaela needed help with the D rings.

We mounted up and rode home.

We rolled up into the driveway and I hit the kill switch.

“Well, How’d you like it?” I asked.

“Cool,” she grinned from behind her visor.

Scooters are "Cool!"

I guess in another eight years we may have another scooterist in the family.

Be nice to “Pass the torch.”

I guess that’s what grandfathers are for.

Would You Believe a Quarter a day?

Great investment for just pennies a day (the scooter as well)

This last year milestones flew by — wore out my OEM rear tire at a little over 9,000 miles (replaced it with a Michelin), passed the 10,000 mile goal on the SYM — almost all commuting to save miles on the van   Sold the Buddy, paid off the SYM.

The year included a couple of group rides-a particularly memorable one to Tortilla Flat, and another with a buddy to Bartlett Lake

Much of the rest of this entry is dry stats; so for those who like adventure — it’s not happening in this post.

For those who gloat over how economical a scooter is, this post may have interest.  Since my first scoot (Buddy 150 St. Tropez), I’ve spreadsheeted every penny I’ve spent and every mile I’ve sat on a scooter seat.

Here are the figures for 2011:

Miles Traveled:                                              7149

Average Miles per month:                             596

Gallons of fuel:                                                 121.8

Number of fill-ups:                                           43

Average MPG:                                                    61.2

Fuel Cost for year:                                           $404.05

Average fuel cost for month:                         $33.68

Maintenance cost (service, tires, etc):         $246.92

Accessories, gear:                                             $716.75

Purchase Pay-off:                                             $651.60

2 year registration                                            $146.00

1 year insurance:                                               $199.00

2011 Miles saved on van:                                   5556.8

Cost savings on van @ $.41 per mile:           $2278.37

All scooter costs 2011                                       $2364.34

Subtract van costs saved:                                $2278.37

Adjusted out of pocket for 2011:                   $      85.97

Average daily cost for 2011:                           $          .24

In “All Scooter costs” I included purchase price and interest.  In figuring the van savings, I counted only the operating costs (registration, insurance, maintenance, repairs, fuel, etc).

Accessory cost for 2011 for the scoot included armored riding gear, shoes, back-rack, SHAD top box, GIVI saddle bags, etc.  Since these were one-time items, as well as the pay-off, 2012 costs will go down considerably

Write Now! Ride Now

Let’s get up to date.  June 30 marked the end of two years riding scoots.  12,125 seat miles total between my Buddy 150 St. Tropez and my SYM RV250.  Both trouble-free.  Sold the Buddy in March — didn’t need two scooters.  The Buddy was great, but not highway capable.   As of this posting, I’ve clocked over 11,000 on the SYM for a total of over 14,500 seat miles for both scoots.  I started to get a little over-proud of myself for that until I got on the Maxi-scoot forum and discovered the miles others rode.  I’m still in low mile diapers.

Although many of the seat miles on the SYM were commutes, there were several rides in 2011, including a couple of joy rides– one to the White Tanks and the other a repeat of the Old Highway 80 ride I had taken with the scooter club.

White Tanks

In all the years I’ve been in Phoenix, I had never been to the White Tank Mountain Park, at the western edge of Phoenix.  I had discovered another club member who lived nearby, and who was close to my age, and he knew the area well.  So I, on the SYM, and John on his Rocketa took a breakfast ride out there.  Again- the pictures speak for themselves.   Arizona has beautiful scenery.   John (the guy on the orangey-tan Roketa in the pix)  was also familiar with Old Highway 80, so we agreed on a future ride — this time at a leisurely pace.

Scooter is fuill; now it's my turn for fuel!

Riding buddy, John - both of us past the middle 70's

Great ride, stunning scenery

I did repeat the ride on old route 80, this time with John.  We breakfasted at a diner in West Phoenix, and the set out for Gila Bend by way of Arlington on old Highway 80.  I especially wanted to stop to photograph the historic Gillespie Dam steel truss bridge.The owner said he was about to throw the coffee out, so he gave us a cup freebie.  We were the only ones there.  I felt like we had stepped back in time about sixty years as he recounted tales of columns of army trucks trundling by during WWII.  Various movie stars had also used the Desert Rose as a watering hole, and he pointed out tables where they sat to drink.  Finishing our coffee, we promised to stop by to sample his renowned chili for lunch, took our leave, and mounted up.  It was only a few minutes ride to the Gillespie Bridge where we stopped to take pictures, and then continued to Gila Bend where we refueled and started back.

Gillespie Dam Bridge ol old US 80 -- the first transcontinental auto highway in the US

But the ride back was not as smooth.  About 10 miles North of Gila bend, out in the middle of dry, lonely desert, I started to hear a clanking.  At first, heart in throat, I thought is was my bike, but it was from John’s tho seconds in front of me.   Apparently he heard it also, because he eased to a stop.  He didn’t dare shut it down.  After a few moments of conversation we decided to contiunue at a slower pace.  We crawled back North.  I followed with hazards flashing.   When traffic drew up behind, we eased over onto the shoulder to let them pass.  We slipped over Gillespie bridge and up the rise toward Desert Rose.  When we reached Desert Rose, we paused, looked sadly across the road, and decided we had to break our promise of stopping for the owner’s famous chili.  Once the John’s bike was shut down, we feared we’d never get it started again.  We eased throttles and crept toward Phoenix.  John’s scoot seemed to recover a little, so we got up to 25-30 mph, easing over onto the shoulder whenever traffic came up behind us.  Finally to to where John could turn off to his home in Maryvale.

“Thanks for sticking with me!”  he called as we sat side by each at the last light.

“That’s what friends do.” I replied.

The light changed, and we parted.

ZAX Cafe

Lots of parking for Scoots!

For a couple of years I’ve ridden past ZAX Cafe on the Northwest corner of 23rd Ave. and West Northern in Phoenix — only a mile from my house.  It didn’t really catch my attention from the outside, and I figured it was another of  the myriads of “Mom and Pop” places that struggle along in countless strip malls one encounters in  Anycity USA.

But, in my quest for scooter-friendly eateries, I decided to give it a try.  Was I ever wrong!  When I stepped inside I saw tables with actual table coverings.  On each table was a small glass vase with real fresh flowers!

I seated myself at a single table.  The service  more leisurely  than at the local Denny’s  — thankfully, this isn’t a fast-food place , but more “homey.”  Coffee was good.  I ordered hash and eggs.

Generaous portion, well prepared

When the food came, it was hot; the hash was just right – not soggy as so often I’ve encountered in other places – eggs were the way I requested, and the greatest test –the English muffin was dark. I don’t like ‘em raw.  The food was tasty and servings wre generous.

Many “regulars” frequent ZAX’s not simply for good food and reasonable prices; but also for the friendliness and welcoming atmosphere.  Even though it was my first time there, within minutes I found myself in easy conversation with people at nearby tables .  It was a pleasant experience to do away with the isolating “bubbles of privacy” we so often adopt in public spaces.

Before I left, I checked out  little gift shop they cubbyholed in the back corner.

Even a gift shop

A few days later I came with a friend for lunch.  The menu featured mostly sandwiches, pasta and subs.  Ours were well prepared, again generously portioned and reasonably priced.

For a scooter, the access for entry  and exit  is easy, parking is ample, and there are even tables set up outside  so you can sit near your scooter!

As I returned over the next several weeks, I noticed the owners worked at improving the already varied menu; and I experimented with different food choices.  Everything was well prepared and well presented.  I’m now a regular.

 

Old Highway 80 Ride

I figured I’d better stop being lazy and catch up on posts; but us OLD GUYS can sometimes beg off a little. Most of the riders in the Metro Scooter club are “East-Siders”, but they make real efforts to plan rides in the west valley. The ride down Old US 80 from Buckeye, through Arlington, to Gila Bend was one especially planned to accommodate us (click on link to see map).

We met up at a Burger King in Buckeye — about 24 miles from my home.   The East-Siders had to come thirty miles further than I, and  they arrived about a half-hour after I did.  Burger King thoughtfully provided benches out front of the restaurant, so I sat, enjoyed the early morning sun sipping the chill from the air, and thought good thoughts.  The rest of the riders swung in.  We chatted for a few minutes while they topped off with fuel and took off.

Ready to roll with the group

Traffic was light to non-existent.  One writer on the net claims that a friend of his stretched out in the middle of the road for over twenty minutes and no traffic came by

Old highway 80, was the predecessor of the super-slabs, and part of one of the main transcontinental routes of the early twentieth century.  As such, it was once called, “the Broadway of America.”   The stretch between Gila Bend and Arlington, including the old steel Gillespie bridge near Arlington is the earliest surviving section of the original US 80.  The  one-lane Gillespie bridge is named a historical landmark, and has been featured in several Hollywood movies.

It was an easy ride.  There were only four of us, and the road through farming and ranching country was little traveled.  A short distance outside the town of Arlington we encountered a sharp curve to the left and we approached a picturesque historic bridge.  Sadly, riding with a group, I was unable to stop to take a picture.

That’s when I started to think about contrasts of group riding to solo.  There are advantages to riding with a group.  There is help in case of breakdown, friendly company, greater visibility for motorists, a certain sense of safety and security and good conversation at meals.  But there are limitations.  You must pay attention to ride-discipline — keeping station, watching out for the other guy, keeping up to speed.  You can’t stop spontaneously to poke aroun a little or to take pictures.  If there is an interesting side trip, you have to let it go by.  I would dearly loved to have stopped at the Gillespie Bridge and spent a little time taking pictures.  But that will have to be for a solo trip, or maybe with only one companion.

In all, the ride was satisfying.  I got to see a part of Arizona I’d never been through before; I learned a little history; sprung free of the daily hum-drum for a few hours, got to know some scooter friends better; and built a little more of the impression that I was becoming a “hard-core” rider.

First Lead

When I saw a thread from Mike on the Scooter Club website that he wanted a riding partner and was willing to scoot over to the west valley, I figured this was a good opportunity to plan out a ride.  I clicked on to Google Maps and plotted out a loop to Pleasant Valley Airport, New River, and ended it at Deer Valley Airport where we would eat lunch.

 

I’m not quite certain how it all happened, but somehow this “casual ride”  ended up as a formal club meet-up with me as the designated leader.  This made me a little nervous.  Leading a ride and keeping traqck of a group behind me was a level of responsibility above that of simply looking out for myself.  Intersections, lane changes, planned turns, twisties, road-discipline were all things I had to be aware of for others as well as myself.

Great company!

I took another look at my planned route, and decided I to ride it alone the following Saturday to avoid any surprises (gravel surface, construction, detours, etc.  All went well except I made a wrong turn and missed doing the upper loop.  Google came to the rescue — over the next few days I used Google street-view to do the upper loop around New River and felt comfortable that all would be well.

The night before the ride, I checked the website and found that Mike and three other riders had signed on.  That made me feel better.  At least there wouldn’t be a dozen or more scoots behind me if I screwed up.  I printed out maps for each, checked my bike over (tire-pressures, oil-level, general condition).  After the Byler ride, I had purchased a “Cramp-buster” for my throttle hand, a foot-operated pump and a container of “slime” in case of a flat.

Waiting for the east-siders

The morning of the ride I arrived at the Denny’s meet-up point, ordered a Senior breakfast, and waited tor the rest of the riders.  When they arrived we had a cup of coffee,  distributed the maps and discussed the route.   I had planned the original route to accomnodate scooter that couldn’t go on the interstate.  Mike, Tim and Howard all had Burgman 650′s tghat made my little SYM RV250 look like a mini-me, but it had enough to hold its own with them.  Subsequently we modified the route a little to take advantage of the larger bikes.

We headed out and headed north.  I couldn’t have asked for a better group of riders for my first lead.  All three guys were experienced with more miles under their belts that I have enough lifetime left to match.  Traffic was light and the back roads were clear.  We buzzed along to

Where's the engine?

Turf-Soaring School, gawked at the gliders, mounted up, went the back way to New River, headed back south through some twisties, and cut back across to the restaurant at Deer Valley Airport.

End of ride

Great ride, great friends, good food.

When do we go again?

Longer Rides

Now that the weather is a little cooler, I thought I’d stretch my scooter legs a little and push out further than my regular commute – especially since the head of the Scooter Club of Metro Phoenixwww.meetup.com/Phoenix-Scooter-Club/ suggested – in a most gentle and tactful way  — that it was time I got out of my comfort zone and venture further afield (I guessed he needed more members to qualify to lead group rides).

So, being shamed into it, I made the group ride around the Buckeye, Arlington, Gila Bend, Maricopa loop (all told about 150 miles door to door at my home).

View Larger Map

Vic and Club riders meet up for Gila Bend ride

But he was right.  I have been too timid.  I need to trust both myself and my SYM more.  But that doesn’t mean I should get too casual.  So before the Gila Bend ride,  I went to the local Checker auto supply and picked up a foot-pump and a container of “slime” for the eventuality of tire trouble.

At 7:30 on a Saturday morning  we met up at the BK just off of I-10 and Miller road and set out for Gila Bend the back way.  Great ride – picturesque bridge outside of Arlington and some nice roller-coaster hills and twisties.  The SYM purred along as 65-70 like a well-fed cat.  By the time I got home, I had covered about 150 miles.

The following week, I decided to make a the forty mile jaunt to get some breakfast  at Byler’s Amish

Byler's - A favorite stop for two-wheelers

kitchen in Black Canyon City. 
View Larger Map

I left home at 7:00, slipped onto I-17 and headed North.  That forty miles taught me a couple of things.  First – strong crosswinds and highway speeds make for a most uncomfortable ride.  Concentration level has to be higher than normal.  If I were to lead a group ride, keeping track of what’s behind and keeping station would be two additional levels of challenge.  Second, I

Good Breakfast, well-served

will definitely wear ear-plugs on my next extended ride.  In light or no wind situations, the noise level is not bothersome.  At highway speeds with wind, wearing a full-face helmet, the pounding against my eardrums caused a lot of discomfort and distraction.  Third, my throttle hand cramped.  I’ll try to get something like a “cramp-buster” to ease the strain.  It may or may not work.

It took me about forty minutes to swing into Byler’s Amish Kitchen, and the breakfast was worth the ride.  The hash and eggs were tasty and well-prepared.  Serving was more than generous, and the coffee hit the spot.  I sat by the picture window where the owners had placed a group of bird-houses outside where quail and other

Breakfast with a view

birds often flocked around the brush and logs – really a cool sight!

Going back down the hill to my home was a much more pleasant ride than the one going up the hill – less wind and less throttle.  Closer in to Phoenix the traffic got a little congested, but I had plenty of oomph on my RV250 to hold my own and be safe.

Eighty mile round trip solo.  Perhaps the next ride will be to Sunset Point – with ear plugs and throttle aid.

Some Like It Hot — Sometimes

I started the following on May 2, the last day of school, as I anticipated a hot, scooter-less summer.    

 Although scooting in Phoenix –(the “Valley of the sun”) gives me bragging rights concerning the weather from mid-September through late May, I become somewhat silent in the “unmentioned” months.  Temps between 100 and 114 do present challenges. 

The most obvious is that of apparel.  The temptation to wear as little as possible is strong.  There are many two-wheelers who zip along without helmet and other protective gear.  I see a lot of colorful bandanas tied tightly around heads.  I suppose they’d have some usefulness in absorbing some of the blood spilled in a 60 mph collision with the pavement; and they may even keep some of the skull fragments from scattering.  I also see people ride in muscle-shirts, shorts, flip-flops, sandels, and even with nothing on above the belt line (men, thankfully). 

After having one little spill – and that in cool weather – I’m afraid I can’t march in that parade.  No matter how hot it gets, I still wear a full-face well-ventilated helmet.  I really don’t want to give the road a piece of my mind.  I bought a Scorpion armored mesh jacket.  The air flows through quite freely. (I planned to place a photo of myself in the mesh jacket, but I never got around to having someone grab my camera and do it).  Shoulders and elbows have CE armor.  Yes, in extreme heat it will be a little uncomfortable; but skin peeled and burned off against sun-scorched 160 degree asphalt is a lot more “uncomfortable.”  I still wear my Icon leg armor (no photo of leg armor -same reason).  It is perforated and provides some ventilation; but I also wear denims over the armor.   Again, a little less than comfortable and somewhat restrictive, but not nearly so much as plaster casts and traction in a hospital bed.  Cheaper, too. 

Footwear – I wear ventilated combat boots from the local military surplus store. They are inexpensive, give great ankle support and some protection.  The run a little on the large side, so I wear athletic socks under to absorb sweat.  The thick lugged soles provide great non slip traction when I put my foot down, and the soles are thick enough to insulate against hot asphalt. 

For the scoot, I try to adjust my speed when commuting so I minimize stops at lights.  The more air flowing past the powerplant – as well as my bod –, the cooler it  runs.  My liquid-cooled SYM RV250 has yet to get really hot, but I keep an eye on the temp gauge and make certain I check coolant levels regularly. 

Strong sunlight and dust are killers on plastic panels.  When I have to park the scoot, I try always for a spot of shade.   If I’m going to be a couple of hours or more, I have to plan ahead and anticipate if the shade is going to move away from the scoot during the course of the day.  If worst comes to worst, or if I’m leaving the scoot for an extended period of time, I carry a lightweight cover to stretch over it to protect it from sun and dust – and the overly curious. 

Riding – Extreme heat makes the oils in the lane center of the lane surface similar to the effect of rain.  I’m even more particular to avoid center areas when riding.  Also, I  maintain a larger space bubble on the road.  The heat often affects “cagers” in unpredictable ways, especially at the beginning of the summer when we are all getting acclimated to it.  Irritability, shorter tempers, inattention, physical distress, slower reaction times.  I find myself a little more paranoid than usual.

Having thought about all of the above, I took the WIMP’s way out.  Both my scooters remained parked on their side-stands from June to August while I enjoyed the air-conditioned comfort of our family van.

But school started August 9.  Temps were still well above the century mark, and I had to fire up the two-wheelers and do the commute.  90 deg mornings weren’t bad.  But wearing even a mesh jacket, leg armor beneath my trousers, and a full-face helmet encouraged me to get home as soon as possible. 

In spite of all that, it’s good to be on the road again.  The temps are easing; morning rides to work are pleasant; and I even got over enough of my laziness to add to my blog.

Life is good again.

The Ride’s the Thing

Five days each week for 27 weeks is the extent of my school-year commute.  But it wasn’t until eight months ago that I started getting up a little earlier for “the ride.”

Why do I choose to scoot rather than “cage” it?

Why do I leave the house 15 minutes earlier than I used to so I can travel a little slower as well as have time to strip down to my street clothes when I get to work?

Why do I choose to ride when the weather gets colder and the mornings become blacker, and my fingers turn to icicles?

Why do I tolerate wriggling into the too-long sleeves of the closest-fitting armored protective jacket I can find and velcro on the pricey leg armor that tends to creep down my skinny legs by the end of my commute?

Why do I spend more bucks than I ever thought I would spend to acquire gear I never thought I would need simply to get back and forth to work on a scooter?

Why do I gaze more at Mapquest, Google Maps, and the horizon beyond the end of my commutes and let my mind dwell on places calling to me like the Sirens Odysseus heard?

Why do I expose myself to far greater risk from other users of the street that I would ever encounter in a four-wheeler?

To corrupt Hamlet’s immortal utterance: “The ride’s the thing.”

In cold, in heat, in darkness, in light, in dawn, in dusk, or in-between; — the ride’s the thing.  It’s only ten miles, but the attention demanded to navigate safely; the scent of fresh-grass in Spring; the crisp coolness of a late winter dawn; the gradual sharpening of sunrise shadows fleeing the gold of morning, the insistent pulse of the engine, the roar of the wind around the helmet, the vibration of the machine through the handle-grips, the motion of the beast under me — it’s a twenty-minute symphony of the six senses composed and performed every day just for me.

“The Ride” opens my day with pleasure; and, no matter what happens in between, it ushers me with a quiet spirit into the evening.

The ride’s the thing.