Oh ... my ... gosh! Riding on the scooter across the river at night staring at the lighted city … breathtaking. My first ride with the scooter club and it couldn't have been more intoxicating. I have to admit, I was a very tentative participant. I caved under the peer pressure of my Vespa buddy and my husband. They said, “Go, go …it will be great.” I went and it was.

My buddy thought she would valiantly lead us to our destination but at the last minute changed her mind so we sped to a club rendezvous point and rode with a smaller pack through the streets of the big city, up and down hills and across the river. Arriving in one piece and with cheeks already flushed from the pure buzz of the ride, we joined a much larger group at a pretty famous watering hole. As a first timer, it was a bit of a meet and greet as everyone drank and munched on some fine German food. Still hesitant about the group ride, I was perfectly content to call it a night after that but about an hour later we mounted up, jumped the curb and sped off into the night.

Someone takes the lead, holds traffic at lights and intersections when possible and watches out for newbie’s like me. Actually, a lot of people watched out for newbie’s like me. Everyone couldn’t have been nicer. Confidence exuded from me as we maneuvered through the winding streets of the small river town and then all of a sudden, we hit a small highway and the leaders (who I was sticking close to by design) took off like a bat out of you know where! My bravado drained as the average speed of the group went from 35 to 50 in less than a minute.

But I did it! I made it through the entire ride. First time with the club, first time riding downtown, first time riding at night and hopefully, first of many exhilarating rides to come. So, shut up and ride!

Caroline

I am having a significant birthday in a few months. Surprisingly, after all these years, I am making new discoveries about myself. Not just trying new things and finding out I can do them (like riding a motorcycle) but unearthing truths of my childhood that were buried or blended into insignificance by my lack of attention.

Let me start at the launch of my realization that I have always loved books. The trail backward goes something like this. A couple of years ago I read a fabulous new book, "Blue Like Jazz." Loved it so much I wrote a rather lengthy study guide to go along with the book. Used the guide with a group of ladies I had taught before. As a thank you for teaching the class, they gave me a gift certificate to Powell's, a famous bookstore mentioned and frequented often by the author of "Blue Like Jazz." Browsing the website to spend my gift, I came across a lovely little book about loving books called "The Yellow-Lighted Bookshop." Just my cup of tea. As the author mused about his early fascination with books I found myself resonating with his admissions.

He loved ordering books from "The Weekly Reader." Me too! His anecdotes took me right back to 5th grade and my love of Beverly Cleary and the excitement when I saw the book order on a shelf waiting to be distributed at the end of the day. He also talked about library visits. My aunt worked in the big orange sandstone city building downtown where the library was located. She was on the bottom floor and the library was on the top. Visits there yielded two rewards. Stopping by to see her usually meant her slipping me coke money and the trek up the worn marble steps to the top usually provided a new book or author to savor.

Another of his memories told of spending time in major department stores in the book section. All of a sudden I was downtown Columbus at the Lazarus store browsing the latest Nancy Drew or Laura Ingalls Wilder on the third floor, I believe it was. My mother and I would linger there while we waited for a table at her favorite store café.

I wasn't the typical gal with a book incessantly in my hands and in love with English class but I loved books every bit as those stereotypical bookworms.

For me, the love of books has translated into writing them. A natural progression, maybe but certainly not for all book lovers … loving the craft and now learning the craft. Getting older might not be so bad after all!

Caroline