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It only took three months, but I finally compiled the notes and said goodbye to the Schmoo. It’s over here (on http://www.digitaldemolition.com/the-tail-of-the-schmoo/ in case that link isn’t working; it’s been finicky.) Moving on…that’s motion, right?
I’ve been in a pretty deep funk for a month or so. No one reason, just a deep state of Bleh.
Today started off pretty normally for lately. I woke up late. Threw together my stuff. Jumped on the VBA and barely made it to class on time. After class, I had to ride to Milwaukie to get the scooter inspected. It’s no big deal, just a VIN verification. It’s a 15-mile ride that’s estimated to take 30 minutes. My appointment is at 1:15, so I left at noon (right from class, which is at Peninsula Park), hoping to get there early enough to 1) establish I knew the location of the cop shop and 2) get some food in me.
MLK sucks balls. It always does. I hit reserve before the southbound-split and get gas at the 76. The bike’s not idling well, so after a few minutes of sitting in construction traffic, I pull off to give the engine a stern look and rev it hard a few times to blow out whatever might be gunking her up. Back on MLK, even my California ninja driving techniques can’t get me past this stupid traffic, so I cut over a couple roads, parallel MLK for a while, then cut back over right where the traffic lets up. I ask the bike, “please please please, if you’re going to break down anyway, could you do it by the turnoff to P-town?” Maybe 100 yards after the turnoff, her clutch cable breaks, but luckily, it’s right before I have to commit to that long stretch of “no way outta this walled-in construction mess, you’re going to die.”
I flip around, wait for cross traffic to part and start that push-run, slam-it-into-second thing you do when you have no clutch … from MLK to 33rd and Division. I sailed through construction yelling to the guys, “no clutch! gotta keep rolling!” I executed questionable tactics to continue moving because I am so very out of practice at this push-run technique plus the way Portlanders like to stop all the damn time is not conducive to my mission: get to P-town without having to push her uphill.
The guys are busy, I know this. I don’t want to bug. Plus with all the Bleh that’s been lurking around lately, I have little hope of making it for my appointment. But I ask Patrick, “is there any way of getting my clutch cable changed and me getting to Milwaukie in … uh … 24 minutes?” “Let’s see!” he says, dropping everything to help me out. So he’s changing the cable on my bike, which has one of those pipes that’s right under the engine and gets really hot, while I answer the shop phone and chat with the guys. I call the place I’m going to ask if I can be a bit late because it’s 1:05. Answering machine. Patrick gets it all done and I’m back on the road at…1:20. It’s fine, and having a new cable makes the clutch all smooth and nice, so I’m feeling pretty OK about the day. I ride home, stop for some consolation Taco Bell, and plop on the couch to munch and watch Castle.
Oh yes, did I mention that I got to do this in the rain?
At 2:55, my phone rings. It’s the cops. If I can get there by 3:30, they’ll still do the inspection. I’m back on the road inside of five minutes. MLK is so ridiculously backed up that even lane splitting doesn’t help. So I cut over some random E/W street, zip around the Lloyd Ctr, and head down 12th. Traffic is flowing decently, especially for PDX. People are actually doing at least the speed limit. At some point around Sellwood, I pull over to check the map to see that I’m still heading the right direction. I am. I cut to the front of a line of three cars and sail through the just-turned-green light. I hear honking two cars back and know it’s for me. When I come to the turnoff for 224E, the honker pulls up next to me and says, “you can’t lane share in Oregon”. “I’ve heard that,” I reply, very chipper. “You just did,” he continued. “I know I did!” I say very happily as the light turns green and I leave him for 224.
Now I’m on 224, which is qualified as an “expressway”. Pretty much a highway. It’s the first time since I moved here that I have a chance to go as fast as I want, and traffic is actually going faster than me. I’ve got the speedo pegged and am sailing along a smooth road. (I really need the upgear kit; there’s a lot more vroom in this bike than she can do with the standard gears.) I’m having a wonderful time. Passing exits, none of which is mine. After a few, I decide to pull over to double-check the exit name. It’s 3:31. I don’t even bother to check the map since I’ve missed the appointment again.
I flip around and tear ass on 99E, maybe five miles, back toward the construction nightmare.
Then it occurs to me: I’m having a great time. It doesn’t even matter that I missed the appointment, that my wrists are killing me, and that my ass is still wet.
True to form, I do not acknowledge this mood until I get home (never declare victory until you’re out the door). Yes, I have to do some more creative carving around Grand Ave., the ubiquitous construction, and the idiotic Portland drivers (did I mention I’ve adopted a saying here? “Portland: take a breath, it’s going to be a while.” It applies to nearly everything.)
But when I pull into my garage, I am victorious and allow myself to revel in the feeling.
I scooted all over the place today.
My goal was never accomplished.
But I’m feeling better than I have in a long time.
Apparently I just needed to get out there and scoot. Fast. Just for a bit.
Motion. Don’t discount its ability to move your mood as well as your ass.
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Aside: As Patrick was pushing my scoot back out onto the street, I was telling him that for some reason I’ve been loving riding here more than I’ve liked riding in a very long time. It’s weird because though I do have a longtime connection to the vintage scooter scene in PDX, I have yet to go for a ride with anyone since we moved here nearly a year ago. But just seeing them at happy hours and at the races; helping out at the shop and smelling the grease and the two-stroke; reconnecting with these friends in ways that started in scooting and are growing and changing. I’m loving it. Caveat: I’m writing this while my ass is still wet and my wrists are still aching. Tomorrow may suck. But today? Well, today I realized that a lot of things in my life actually totally rock. My friends, my husband, my house, and my scooters and their combined ability to fly me out of the funk. I just gotta be willing to hit the throttle more often.
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I want to cover a few things in this entry because it’s been a month since my last post here. I’ve been busy: completely reworking my business site, going to week-long classes at the Playground (I don’t know if I’ve … Continue reading
One of the things I’ve been practicing since shortly after my stroke is Shivanata (aka Dance of Shiva). It’s less a dance and more a motion-study way of remapping our neural networks using physical movements. People use it for all … Continue reading
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Last week, one of the things I practiced was drawing labyrinths. It’s easy if you’re looking at the book, but hard if you’re just winging it. Apparently some people do finger labyrinths every day to clear their minds. I think … Continue reading
