Early Autumn, Connecticut

Wayward Traveler

The road widens gradually, imperceptibly, and the few cars that travel it fall away, so that soon I am the only one on this road and the road is wide and soft.

The road is a thing of beauty, winding through aspen groves, rivers sliding by here and there. I fly up the road and around the sweeping curves. A large, mottled hawk is flying in his own curve.

At the same moment we notice each other, and in that moment, see that our paths are about to intersect. Our eyes lock as we realize our impending collision less than a second before it’s bound to happen.

The hawk rockets backward, impossibly, as if on a rubberband as I jerk the Vespa to the right in a quick swerve. The noise I make is something between a laugh and a gasp.

"I almost collided with a giant hawk!" I think to myself out loud - because there’s no one to tell. I tell it to the aspen trees; the hawk is probably doing the same, it had looked as surprised as I was.

Bear Butte

Getting Philosophical

Riding curves is an art, and on this northern Nevada mountainside I finally did something beyond a doodle. The road was carved into the mountain and traversed the slope in curves and twists. The edge dropped off just feet from where my thigh cut through the open air, solid earth giving way to canyons and valleys. I leaned deeply into each turn, beaming, in joy and bliss and concentration - immersed in the exquisite thrill of being synchronized with the road and the ride.

In every curve there’s a moment that feels out of control. A common reflex stemming from fear, from the feeling of loosing control, is to squeeze the brakes in the center of the curve. Yet if fear is allowed in, trouble often follows. The key to riding curves is in the acceleration, not the breaking. We are meant to join forces with the momentum. A slight, steady increase in speed helps maintain the desired course. Curves ask us to lean into the abyss, to understand that letting go a little is what carries us through. Mastery comes from trusting enough to look beyond where you can see.

Bad Blogger!

I've been MIA for a while... because Spring finally came to Wyoming and after spending the winter in a log cabin with no running water and a woodstove as the only form of heat and temperatures averaging below zero for months on end, I had to bask in the sunlight and frolick and play. Please forgive me.

Totally non-related to Vespas and cross-country travel, here's a bit of Wyoming spring - horseback rides and baby calves. (Yes, mother cow has her tongue in her nostril; they do that.)

New posts of the ride on their way, pronto!