Another Vespa Morning

No ride begins, Vespa or otherwise, until Junior has his pound of flesh — some sort of walk, ball tossing/throwing/shoulder-destroying session.  He’s passionate about life and expects no less from me.

Was an odd morning as weather moved quickly through the valley providing an assorted palette of color and light in which to exist.  And ride.

Mt. Nittany, the familiar iconic ridge know to Penn Staters around the world, sits in the middle of Happy Valley and along one of my often used routes to town or campus.  I’ve been looking at a variation of this view for over 40 years now.  Where has the time gone?

State College, Pennsylvania is quiet on Sunday morning with the streets noticeably empty.  Riding, prowling the well worn byways in the area remain a satisfying action for me, mind wandering, eyes drinking in the color and texture of this little world.  I’ve always wandered like this with a camera.  The Vespa merely expanded my range.

During the week these motorcycle spaces are often full of the day riders, those individuals who venture out during the warm hours, the busy times.  On Sunday morning only the churchgoers, feral cats, and sober riders inhabit the world.  Or so it seems.

 Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.  Only I didn’t buy a fat pig.  Just a fine, uneventful, meditative series of moments on the Vespa.  Hard to explain to some why this ritual is important.  Popular myth presents riding as either a dangerous act or outlaw activity.  Or worse.  But on another Vespa morning I just don’t care..