Those old forgotten roads

I used to hate driving. Nearly seven years ago, a little red scooter offered an alternative. Five months later, a silver Kymco added more joy to the idea of vehicular excursions. Riding a scooter was unlike driving any car I'd ever sat in. That's changed a bit. Turns out I was driving the wrong cars.


A vehicle that hugs the road is loads of fun. A pleasant interior, good suspension, and a decent power to weight ratio makes a world of difference.


Then there's the roads.

Roads make the ride. If the vehicle isn't up to the challenge, the ride won't be much to talk about. Leaning into a corner on a bike, or feeling the g's as centrifugal force battles with the grip of the tires over possession of one's spine in a good car, the feel of flying down arbor arched first lanes, the excitement of whirring along between fields on a snaking farm path. All the perfect road needs is the perfect ride. I now know this can come in both two and four wheeled varieties.

Often, my work days come as split-shifts with a five hour window between. Days like today give opportunity to hit the unpopulated asphalt capillaries between the major arteries used by the bored masses in their humdrum voyage from A to B. Lower fuel prices make it more affordable to indulge in some wandering and G-forces; the fully repaired suspension hugging tight to the road surface, and a light breeze sneaking in through the sunroof.

Something about those roads. Those who have taken the road less traveled in a good car or on a bike or scooter know, they know and they look for every opportunity to take it.

Winter's icy grasp

The chill of winter is here in force. The once intrepid adventurer reclines, cocooned in a warm wooden chrysalis, away from the icy blasts of the northern winds. When he does venture out, the sleek, silver form of open aired freedom is left idle in favor of a conveyance more protective from the elements.

It wasn't so long ago that there was only one car parked in front of this house and the scooter was the only way to go in the wintertime, but for this writer, the cold just isn't inviting anymore. Little things like, oh, breathing for example, have become more important than fuel economy. Thoughts of those days bring a sigh of nostalgia. They are a pleasant memory of times gone by.

Spring waits under a broken blanket of snow and frost, the daylight waning later each day and the morning dawning sooner. Soon, soon, the intrepid adventurer will ride his noble steed again, but for now, it's warm in here.