Turning off PA route 45 into an empty field marked the moment of surrender—a transition to something slow and without expectation. It was a sudden and unexpected release of plans to ride far and explore new roads and landscapes. Rolling off the throttle, the speed drops to a pace where I have time to see what’s around me. I’ve chosen the slow ride.
Motorcycle (and scooters) offer a seductive experience of speed and power. Flying along there is a feeling of command and control that doesn’t often appear anywhere else for a lot of people. At least for me.
Riding slow, 20 – 35 MPH, requires effort and commitment. The noise and pace of living tries to push me to go faster, do more, pack as much experience and cover as many miles as possible in the time available. Anything less and I’m shortchanging myself. From that frame of reference the slow ride is something for the meek and feint of heart, those not courageous enough to ride the beast. The slow ride is for scooters.
Standing in the field looking towards the sun soon to crest the ridge I could feel all my plans drift away. I had nowhere to go, no place to be, and nothing to prove. As much as is possible I was free.
At slow speeds I see lots of things to photograph. I stop often, make U-turns, pull over, park the scooter and look around. It doesn’t matter how few miles I travel.
It was 68° F with clear skies when I left just before sunrise. After stopping for cash at an ATM I rode south with no destination in mind save for breakfast somewhere. I turned the Vespa off the road when I saw sunlight begin to lick across a field.
Watching the sun rise reminded me how alive I feel seeing the dawn. It’s the same everywhere for me, mountain, ocean, desert, or city.
On across the valley towards the Scotia Barrens. The temperature had risen to 72° F, fine for a long sleeve shirt and mesh riding jacket.
The Barrens is an odd place though and the unique soils found their radiates heat back into space at night causing unusually low temperatures in the morning, sometimes as much as 30° lower than the surrounding area.
As I entered the woods the sunlight gave way to a light fog and I saw the temperature drop 25° by the time I pulled over to put on another layer of clothes.
Once away from the Barrens it didn’t take long for the fog to vanish and the temperature to reach 68° F. By this time I decided to head back towards town for a cup of tea and blueberry muffin for breakfast to chase away any lingering chill.
Before breakfast I had to stop at a local fruit stand for a Red Delicious and a Honeycrisp apple. This is the time of year where a place like Way’s Fruit Farm shines.
Sitting at a table next to the window in a local Starbucks I began to write this post. That was on September 22. I’m not good but I am slow…
I didn’t go anywhere or do anything but the rushing man’s definition of accomplishment. I wasn’t in a hurry and didn’t need to be anywhere. If I had any cares I must have left them behind somewhere. A slow ride will do that to you.
Interesting post Steve, your description of the soils in the Scotia Barrens gave me the thought that if I lived nearby I would go there to cool off on hot summer evenings.
Where I live in western Oregon, I sometimes go the 50 miles to the coast to cool off, it’s often 20 degrees or so cooler over there during the summer.
“From that frame of reference the slow ride is something for the meek and feint of heart, those not courageous enough to ride the beast. The slow ride is for scooters.”
I beg to differ, Steve. It takes courage to go your own path no matter the speed.
A blueberry muffin? Come on, you’re a Sccoter Man! Surely there was something more decadent available than that?
Weirdly enough, I looked in my Merriam-Webster dictionary to see if I spelled “decadent” correctly. The very next word down is “decaf”. Talk about polar opposites!
I can really relate to your comment about trying to pack as much into a weekend as humanlypossible. I have suffered from this “condition” as long as I can remember and perhaps that is why I have taken so well to riding a scooter. I really feel like I am packing a valuable experience into my day when I go for a ride. I have started taking photos too as you do. It’s a nice way to relive a trip. I anxiously look forward every week to your posts.
Steve the tone of this post was just what I needed.
I was blessed with the opportunity to ride on Friday, Saturday and Sunday of this weekend. However all three days were more “commuting” than truly cruising. Any time I’m in the saddle I’m in a “happy place” as they say but I was longing to veer off and just ride “nowhere”. Instead I had to be some place by a certain time. Your post helped me to scratch the wanderers’ itch from this past weekend. Thanks!
By the way Steve, I hope you don’t mind that I put a link to your blog in my comment this evening. Your blog today was just too good for my friends to miss.
This is one of those posts that puts me in a more relaxed frame of mind. Except now I feel the need to run out and buy some apples and muffins!
Have fun,
Bill
kano: Kim and I have talked about walking there on hot summer evenings but never got around to it. It definitely would be cooler though.
irondad: You are right about following your own path. If it varies at all from what others consider normal or acceptable then you will undoubtably hear about it.
How about tea and a scone. A scone would be more decadant right??
sherry: Pictures can be an integral part in how memory is formed or recalled. If there were no cameras I am sure I would have learned to draw.
sarch: Things can get so complicated so fast. Even plans for riding can become overwhelming. It is a real challenge to just step back and let go.
And thanks for the kind words on your blog!
Bill: You just can’t have too many apples and muffins. Just polished off another muffin while writing these comments and preparing a new post.