More About Being

My rides of late have become more about being places than going places. I think I've finally realized that until I decide to do some serious expansion on my self imposed mental limit of what constitutes a reasonable distance to travel on the scooter I'm pretty much bound to riding "in the box" so to speak. I rarely venture more than about 20 miles from the house these days. I'd not say that I'm having any less fun riding the scooter, yet when I need to go out somewhere I find myself heading toward the car more often than before.

Yesterday promised to be dry at least till around noon, so having the day all to myself because of the daughter's bridal shower being hosted by her future mother-in-law, out of town, I knew I needed to take advantage of the opportunity to ride before the showers of the wet variety hit. Having nowhere in particular that I needed to go I decided to take the long way along a country road to a local orchard to get a jug of their fresh cider though I could have gotten one of their half gallons at the supermarket around the corner.

It was the evening of October 29th in my sophomore year of high school when I played the accordion at a senior citizens' center for their Halloween party. I'd had a glass or two of cider while I entertained the cute old folks who'd dressed up in their odd assortment of costumes. That night I awoke sometime between midnight and morning with an agonizing pain. Noon the next day I was undergoing emergency surgery. From that night on I couldn't so much as look at a cup of cider because I'd somehow associated it with the pain and the resulting operation. It wasn't until last year when I took a sip of the stuff right from the orchard's cider press that I regained my taste for it.

I wrote about my scooter dream here a few posts back. I remember only vaguely another one that I had last night or the night before. I'd put the scooter down at a familiar and often traveled intersection. Somehow I managed, while the machine tumbled onto its side, to scramble out of the saddle so that when it had hit the pavement I was standing beside it on my feet. There's a dream that I hope won't be coming true!

I'm afraid that short sleeved riding will be a thing of the past in a week or so. It felt good today, even down by the river, but I could tell that my days are numbered.

I've had this final picture on my drive for over a month now. When I snapped it, I was sure there was something I wanted to say about it. Now? I'll be darned if I can remember what it might have been that I'd thought so post worthy at the time.

I believe it might have had something to do with how all of us, as little boys, had such an attraction to big trucks, especially fire trucks with their screaming sirens, blasting air horns, and the general excitement one felt when one of them thundered by. There's still a temptation in me when I see a dinosaur like this one to get behind the wheel, check over my shoulders to make sure there isn't another soul in sight, and give it my best "Vrrrroooooom! Vrrrroooooom!" sound while racing to some imaginary fire.

Well, there you have it - the best I've been able to crank out lately. I've been wanting to write, but when I sit down here to put the pen to paper - the fingers to the keys - I realize that there isn't anything upstairs for my brain to deliver to my hands. It's not like I'm going to stop trying, though!