Flight from funk

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.