Of all the names ascribed to me Curious Toddler might be the best. Or at least I’ve convinced myself of this after a long weekend. Stacy Bolty, author of Bolty.net for some reason chose me to bookend a wide range of riders as a curious toddler. Cool – my 15 minutes of fame promised by Warhol. He never said it would be a heroic or magnificent 15 minutes.
Curious Toddler. Curious.
By the end of the first evening I was talking to myself and standing in front of the mirror flexing my biceps. At least until I remembered being called Weenie Arms Williams in second grade. Pouring through websites for BMW, Ducati, Triumph and Ducati and commenting out loud, “I could ride that. Oh yeah, that one too, piece of cake.” And on and on until it occurs to me that I might need to renew my subscription to Guns and Ammo. I let it lapse in ninth grade.
Part of the evening is spent dusting off the free weight set in the basement. Hairballs from the last three dogs we’ve owned encase them under a workbench. Back in the living room I busy myself designing appropriate tattoos that utilize flames, lightning bolts, and mythical creatures. By bedtime Kim is stroking my hand and whispering, “You’re my man…”
Curious. Is that a polite way of saying odd? Or weird, strange, eccentric? The mind plays tricks with the ego. And toddler. Does that make me an infant, a big baby, or is it code for infantile? Or stupid. By midnight I’m standing outside with Junior peering up at the heavens asking, “Why?”
Ice water sparkles in a red plastic glass, a welcome hydration after several hours on the road. The narrow, white Formica counter top flecked with gold transports me back to dinner with my mom and dad at Danny’s Restaurant on Neville Island fifty years earlier where I marveled at the riches spread out before me.
Diner 22 just outside Alexandria, Pennsylvania on US 22, a stop for breakfast and a chance for my toes to warm. No riders here. None seen anywhere during the morning – the chill air still keeping most motorcycles and scooters at home. A few old men sit to my right lapping up chicken parmesan, the daily lunch special — $6.25. Overhead is a sign, “J-EET-YET”. Soon my predictable plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast will make the answer yes.
That meal is probably more dangerous than anything I encounter on the road.
I work methodically through my breakfast presented neatly on a heavy white plate. Taped to the glass door on the refrigerator in front of me is a hand-lettered sign on peach colored paper announcing fresh baked cinnamon rolls for $1.75. The crisp bacon looses flavor as I contemplate the snaps on my Tourmaster Overpants. A cinnamon roll sitting close to the door whispers my name just as a harmonica begins to wail on the overhead speakers. The waitress crashes two of the red plastic glasses into the ice chest. The Vespa keys are lying on the counter. I look up and catch her eye. It’s over, I’ve lost. I close my mouth tightly for fear drool might escape.
Defying reason I stand up and pay my bill and escape without the unnecessary weight of a cinnamon roll.
The ride started hours earlier as I explained to Junior that any long walk would have to wait until I got home. The sight of fog on the mountain coupled with a strong desire to ride the Vespa overcame the dog’s insistent suggestions of taking a ride in the truck to all his favorite destinations.
Traveling towards weather makes route choices easier. The temperature display indicated 35F as I rolled out of the driveway towards Rothrock State Forest and a maze of dirt and gravel roads. Eight miles from home and I’ve already stopped six times to take pictures. Curious Toddler comes to mind as I wander around the roadside looking for treasure. It begins to seem an appropriate title.
I can’t help being swept away by the gloomy landscape, as if walking through a Charlotte Bronte landscape.
Climbing towards the top of Thickhead Mountain, another stop, more wandering around, searching for a rock for the garden. Winter hasn’t been harsh on the road. Gravel still mostly in place and very little mud to deal with.
Despite the greater risk of riding in fog I am mesmerized by how things look. It’s hard not to give up riding and just make pictures. And there are no bad pictures when fog is involved.
The road and landscape merge to form a continuous picture that compels me to stop despite oaths to ride onward and allow the passing scenes to fade into memory.
Fog.
Standing in the road I see possibility, recall memories from youth, scenes of Barnabas Collins or passages from Edgar Allen Poe. Twelve miles now and I’ve stopped nine times to make pictures. Riding has become incidental, a means to another end. I am the Curious Toddler.
Proceeding down the mountain reveals a shortcoming of a scooter with an automatic transmission. A constant velocity transmission (CVT) for engineers or the mechanically minded. What this means is there is little engine braking available. Roll off the throttle, the RPMS drop and before you know it you’re freewheeling at increasing speed. Braking requires a sensitive touch and complete understanding of what is about to happen when the throttle is twisted. Applying power suddenly engages the powertrain and, depending on speed and road surface, can yield a sudden lurch as the transmission is engaged. On snow it can be a catastrophe. On loose gravel or mud it’s a wait and see thing. Motorcycle riders have it much easier with their endless features and capabilities.
Lichen covered rocks in a woodland setting. Gleaning ideas for a Japanese garden installation. Distant, almost insignificant in the photo, the Ves pa asks if I want to ride. At times I feel it deserves a better home. I keep promising to leave the camera and iPhone at home and just ride, explore on the road and not on foot. An attempt to rein in the Curious Toddler.
If you find yourself wandering in a similar environment make a note – those damp rocks are slippery. Crashing down on your head slippery.
Earthly magnetism. I’m drawn to the edge of landscapes where one place ends and another begins – a canyon rim, seashore, overlook. Places to peer into infinity. Places found on rides. The road surface here is mostly sand and clay, damp, and prone to make the tires track sideways as times. The Heidenau winter tires perform well in this environment.
White pines suffocate the road. Descending towards pavement and civilization I stop to make a few photographs. The scent of pine and decaying needles fill the air. It’s hard to see more than 50 yards in any direction. Even the sky is cut off from view. I can begin to appreciate the terrible challenge European settlers had when they traversed these mountains in the early 1700s.
A few miles further; more toddling, more curiosity in play. Lost in a dark wood, the big bad wolf can’t be far off.
The moment the front wheel touches pavement I swear an oath that’s I’ll not stop for another picture until after breakfast. A twist of the throttle, I begin humming Sugar Mountain, the landscape sweeps by in an endless series of images. This is the freedom of riding.
Jane Stewart was born not long after the American Revolution and now rests with her husband James near Saulsburg, Pennsylvania. Each time I visit a cemetery I leave with a renewed sense of time and a reminder to make use of it.
The old graveyard and church stand in disrepair. Decaying forms of wrought iron fence and gates offer ideas for home. Kim and I both embrace the subtle grace of things being overtaken by nature. A quiet growl beneath my riding jacket reminds me of my mission.
On long smooth roads the Vespa is completely at home and can run all day at whatever legal speed I choose. Or some illegal ones as well. Roads lead south to Maryland, Virginia and beyond. Or north through New York and New England. When anyone asks about a scooter make sure you remind them that you can travel as far and wide as your time and resources allow.
What is it about train tracks vanishing into the horizon that’s so alluring? I stood here a long time before leaving. Not a care in the world; just the Vespa and the road. Everything else burned away.
Breakfast at Diner 22 marks the beginning of the end of my ride as I turn towards home.
The open landscape along PA Route 453 near Water Street. Thirty more miles until I’m home, relaxed, smiling, a curious toddler.
Another track leads off through a farm field that I have to explore. I’m tired and don’t fully pursue the opportunity.
The Vespa is silent as I pull in the driveway. Junior doesn’t wake and I walk up to the window to see Kim working in her studio. It’s good to be home.
Junior soon demands some action himself and we take a walk to the park where he and Buddy chase tennis balls.
Thinking about the ride later as I worked on this post I understand more fully the meaning of being a curious toddler. It fits, it works, and I think I will have a T-shirt made…
I suppose I ought to explain my reasoning behind the moniker I so callously bestowed upon you.
tod·dle
intr.v. tod·dled, tod·dling, tod·dles
1. To walk with short, unsteady steps.
2. To walk leisurely; stroll.
Definition #2 is what I had in mind.
“Curious” is self-explanatory to anyone who has a passing familiarity with your photographic work; more specifically, the curiosity I imagine a photographer would have for finding interesting scenes and subsequently capturing them.
Also, this: Risk Assessment With the Giant Tube
This is a great post and it seems that Stacy captured your riding style well. Though I think that toddler also suggests “short attention span” as in getting easily distracted. “Another track leads off through a farm field that I have to explore. ”
The shots of the Vespa in the fog are great as they really do invoke thoughts of murder mysteries or haunted castles. You could start a new trend by offering “photo rides” similar to the photo walks being offered by established pro photographers. Someone like me, lacking your artistic and technical skill, would probably look at the same scene as you and produce a very mediocre snapshot.
Richard
Dear Steve Williams (Scooter In The Sticks):
You will forever live in my mind as the Fischer-Price of scooter riders. When Stacy called you a toddler, I though she meant a person who stumples into things, before going behind the closet door to take a dump in their pants. She has that side to her. I try and play nice over there, though I have never been the same since she savaged my gentle blog in vicious parody.
I read CVT t mean “constant variable temprament,” which I thought really captured the essence of your personality. And yet, I read of your battle with a cinnamon bun the same way I read of the Celtic hero Concubar’s battle with the tide.
Since you aren’t toddling this way anytime soon, I plan to start haunting the Rt. 22 Diner. I hear the call of choclate pie, and I obey.
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
The Blog modeled after “Scooter In The Sticks” In So Many Ways.
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When I think of a curious toddler, I think of someone who has an unapologetic sense of wonder and an interest in everything. They want to stop and check it all out. That can be hard to do when you’re buzzing along at 75 🙂
This post is lovely. First of all I like the eery atmosphere that you create with the fog. It reminds me of the many classic mystery tales I have read.
Also, I find the curious toddler a nice analogy. Curious (in my native tongue: kurios) doesn’t necessarily have a negative ‘aftertaste’. Curiosity is caused by something or someone unique or extraordinary which or who arouses interest.
And I rather associate the toddling with your habit not to ride straight from A to B but use detours, and take your time to take pictures.
Stacy has done a good job describing you. A perfect fit!
Steve, a very nice set of foggy pictures….we don’t get much of it here in Colorado, though we do get steamy streets after a good snow storm, once the sun comes out to melt it away….not much of that lately either….
What they heck are you doing in the first picture?
dom
Redleg’s Rides
Colorado Motorcycle Travel Examiner
Curious Steve:
It’s not often that a nickname is so appropriately given. Often nicknames are derogatory but in your case it describes precisely what you do . . . toddle around the countryside in curious wonderment.
I think the scooter is the perfect vehicle for being transported at a slower pace. Also it is easier to mount/dismount due to the step through design.
I too loved the mysterious fog photos today
bob
Riding the Wet Coast
Stacy: I think your description fits perfectly, definition #2 especially.
Thanks for shining a light on the lighter side of riding.
Love the kids crawling in the big tube. I hope I would have been one of the ones who crawled forward fearlessly.
RichardM: I certainly get distracted from a predetermined path easily when I am in the picture making mode.
Photo rides — there’s a concept. I bet you could pull that off in Alaska far easier than here.
Thanks for the kind words about the pictures!
Dear Mr. Riepe: I hesitate at the Fischer Price reference only because so many people think scooters are toys. Even the smallest of them can hurl a person along at deadly speed. I want them to take the machine seriously –like your K75.
Stacy is always polite and considerate. And shows great restraint where you’re concerned, especially since you’re always calling her lollipops and barbed wire. It probably would be a good idea if you never traveled to the West Coast.
I’ll get to Pottstown. I’ll arrive unannounced and unlooked for. I’ll be the guy on the Vespa.
Fuzzy: I had the Vespa speedometer pointing at 75 for a few moments on Saturday. At those speeds all systems are focused. No toddling allowed until the speed drops below 40.
I’m unapologetic but that’s not always a good thing.
Dom: We have a lot of fog throughout the year here. Not like San Francisco but enough to get annoyed with it at times. I remember several rides where I was concerned about being run down or I would run into someone on the road.
The first picture was a lame attempt to illustrate a toddler contemplating his hand. Bad idea and bad execution. I should have been in a diaper or something…
SonjaM: Thanks for the comments on the photographs. I continue to be excited to ride and take pictures. It’s such a great combination.
Fog definitely inspires mystery. I should do more with it. I have some ideas but I think I am going to have to recruit some models…
Curious Toddler is a good fit!
bobskoot: I probably like the curious moniker because I love Curious George Rides a Bike.
And it’s certainly not as bad as one unnamed K75 rider saddled with Fat Ass, Butter Ass and worse. And for me it’s a step up from Scooter Steve.
The more I ride the Vespa the more perfect it seems. At least until I ride something else.
Maybe I’m fickle steve.
Fun read, thanks for sharing!
Dear Scooter In The Sticks (Steve):
Not one of the BMW riders I hang around with takes my K75 seriously. It has become a curiosity out of the past. Not quite vintage… But scarce enough to become odd.
I must constantly demonstrate it’s superiority.
I’m not so sure that people regard scooters as toys, but more like the ultimate evolution of the bicycle. My daughter is thinking of getting a Vespa. She was shocked that I expected her to wear a full face helmet and a ballistic jacket.
I think scooter manufacturers have a long way to go at portraying them as legitimate motor vehicles, as opposed to a more carefree, cute, low-gas consuming alternative to a car. My daughter rides a bicycle in Philly. Twice she has had the sobering effect of watching cars sail through red lights. Since she was at a stand-still, on a pedal-powered vehicle, she had not the propulsion to get out into the interection the second the light changed.
Regular gas is going to hit $4 a gallon by June 15th as sure as dammit. And scooter sales will climb. So will a certain harsh reality, during the transition when the US switches to a scooter mentality.
The fog pictures were very good. The train track picture was the best. There is tragic romance in the rails that disappear over the horizon together, but which never touch.
Two of our guys ride scooters. You won’t even raise an eyebrow.
Fondest regards,
Jack • reep • Toad
Twisted Roads
Thank you. What a great ride, photos, and way to spend a day.
Rogier: My pleasure, thanks for stopping by and commenting!
Mr. Riepe: I can’t believe you have to demonstrate superiority to anyone. It seems, well, so obvious. Goes to show how much I know about the social workings of motorcyclists.
Make sure your daughter wears all the gear. Scooters aren’t toys. No high heels or miniskirts. That’s tragedy in the making.
I like your description of the train tracks. I’ll keep that in mind when I make the next picture.
Don: It’s a great way to spend a day. Looking forward to another trip soon.
Hi Steve,
I have been reading your blog from the very beginning this past week or so. And, enjoying it very much.
Anyway, engineer here: “constant velocity transmission”???? This is the second time that I have seen this in scooter blogs. Where does this come from?
CVT=continuously variable transmission.
I know that I sound like the engineering language police, but I just thought that I would set the toddler back on the right path.
Thanks for the great blog.
Ron
Your Vespa just gives me goosebumps! thank goodness i am not your neighbor because if i was, i would always be at your door knocking to borrow it. And if you are going with her for rides, i would always accompany you. If you were not a rider, i also think you would be a writer or a photographer! I just love your blog!
Wow.
Wow.