Destination or Journey?
During my ride to work I was thinking about destinations, places I might like to visit on the Vespa. Aside from coffee shops and quiet places to write in my journal, I was coming up empty. There are no dreams of riding to the top of Pike’s Peak, Daytona Beach, the Tail of the Dragon or any of the other places that riders like to visit.
Perhaps it’s because I like to ride but hate arriving.
This morning was chilly with the temperature at 38F when I departed. The remaining snow and ice was almost gone leaving anything not paved or heavily graveled a soft, muddy mess. Strolling around for a few minutes while photographing the Vespa scooter with Mount Nittany I sensed a little of why I am not destination focused. I love the experience of travel and the exploration of the space I’m in, the continual revelation of things to look at. I don’t want to rush to get somewhere and not take time to investigate everything on the way. A destination focus hampers getting to know a place by demanding schedules and expectations.
I want to wander as a child.
Christmas 1956
I ache when I look at this picture of myself with my mother and father. They’re just kids. And now they’re gone. All chances to know them better have disappeared. The further I travel away from them, the more I realize how much they have given me — she a curiosity with the world, and he the even temperament to accept whatever I discover.
I’m a long way from home.
Sudden Golden Silence
Sunlight on a winter day warms the spirit. And the ground. An attempt to cross a pasture was thwarted by the scooter instantly bogging down in the mud that lurked beneath the grass. Without knobby tires the scooter was going nowhere in that mess. Still, it’s a quiet time on the way to work. A few minutes to appreciate the air I’m breathing, the world I’m beholding.
One of the things I love about a ride are the little discoveries — mud I can’t traverse, the sound of boots squishing through soggy turf, the dramatic sky framing a photo. There’s no destination or place (save getting to work) that is driving me.
Lessons on Travel
I learned from my mother how to travel. I learned from my wife how to savor the trip.
About a year after this photograph was taken I made my first trip to Germany — a vague recollection of a long flight on a Pan Am Clipper followed by mountains. My mother loved the Alps. She was an explorer and I learned to appreciate everything from reading a map to how to navigate strange places. Always on the go, it seemed we never were sure how a day trip would unfold. It’s much the same on the Vespa — in motion and few plans on where to be and when.
From Kim, I’ve learned to be somewhere, stop, and absorb the place without agenda or itinerary. Our stays in Ogunquit, Maine at the Beachmere Inn, weeks in one place, with nothing to do but walk out the door and see what the world was doing. It’s like that with the Vespa too — get on the scooter and absorb what the road reveals. It’s out there, just waiting.
Who cares where they’re going.
Rough Roads
The Vespa has taken a beating and has the earthly patina usually associated with BMW adventure bikes. It’s an indication of the road less traveled — at least for most scooters. If I was focused on destinations instead of “wonder where this trail lead…” I’d miss the opportunity to dirty up the scooter and a chance to explore what’s right in front of me.
Dreams of My Father
Dad and his boy. I don’t recall him ever referring to me by any name other than “Boy”. He’s been gone now for 10 years and I can still hear his voice.
I have to confess a there is a place I want to ride — to the cemetery where he’s buried. I’ve not been there since he died. It’s time to visit and say hello. I had a trip planned in November but some things came up and had to cancel.
Building Dreams
Home after a second trip to Germany. During or after each trip dad had something special prepared for me. I was craving potato chips during the first trip so he shipped a big bag by airmail delivery which had to cost a fortune. I still love potato chips though circumstance has changed how much or how often I can enjoy them.
A wooden push car built on the chassis of a little kid’s fire engine was the surprise in 1959. The pack of kids living on our street pushed that thing around all over the neighborhood. Three years later I arrived home to find that he built me a clubhouse in the backyard.
Not everyone has good memories of their father for lots of reasons. I’m grateful for mine but regret we didn’t talk more. I never asked him the big questions. It’s too late now.
Little Journeys
Every ride is a journey if only to the grocery store for milk, bread and eggs. I ride over the same roads and see the same places but somehow there’s always new things to see. During a video interview I did while in graduate school with photographer Stephen Shore, he shared the challenge of photographing the landscape when he moved to Montana. Shore told me it took him several years there before he could see anything.
I understand now what he meant. And why a race to a destination for a quick photo or two and then on to the next doesn’t leave much room to experience a place.
So I’ll continue my destination-less riding and see where I end up.
family, travel, the only true reality !!!
Very good post…
Laurent from France.
Exactly why I drove to Alaska last summer. It was the journey and the discovery along the way. The trip didn’t tame my wanderlust, only strengthened my resolve to do it all over again.
Thank you Laurent. Family and travel — it was a lovely combination in my youth.
To me this is one of your best blog installments. I like the connections with your parents that still exist (they always existed) and the homemade car and that nice Impala in the driveway. I was on that driveway once I think. Maybe your interest in cars and scooters started with this wood car in 1959. You were part of your parents before you were born and your parents live on in some form in Emma. So there is some kind of connection that goes back to all your ancestors. I mean a real connection.
My father died 3 years ago. He loved to talk about himself, but only what he wanted you to know. A couple of nights before he died I made the comment “At 80 you have had a pretty good run, you have been to every continent, with the exception of Antartica, you raced cars, built custom cars, worked in an industry that you loved all with fairly good health.” His reply, “Not when you planed to be 100.”
As I near retirement, the only destine I am look towards, I think a motorhome would be nice. One just big enough that I can load a scooter on and stop at places to explore. No places in particular, just other paces I haven’t seen.
Riding, in and of itself, and not the destination, was the end goal for the longest time for me.
It gradually became dissatisfaction with not being able to take “that interesting looking trail” because I was on a street motorcycle….now look at me.
My Dad was a stern taskmaster when I was growing up but his work made me never take things for granted. He taught me to respect my equipment if I wanted it to last. He rode his Triumph motorcycles to unheard of mileages at the time, some over 60,000 miles. I just spoke with him the other night and he said he’s still riding. His number one is riding along Shore Parkway on Long Island and back, approximately 50 miles. When I reach 89 I hope I can handle a 750 Kawasaki like he can.
My longest ride had no destination. Around Lake Superior and back to Long Island in a week. It was day after day enjoying the scenery and only stopping for gas or meals. My best riding memory ever.
My father wasn’t a taskmaster though he expected me to act responsibly. He tolerated mistakes but differentiated those from selfish behavior. He knew I didn’t mean to shoot the water rocket through the dining room window or have a stone richochet off my Wamo slingshot and go through the rear window of the family station wagon. But when I through a stone through a window in an unoccupied house I thought the world was coming to an end.
He didn’t ride motorcycles and felt they were dangerous nonsense so we never had that chance to bond. Hunting, for as long I hunted, and working on projects — home remodels and other building projects brought us together for long hours when I was growing up. He didn’t teach me to take care of machines though. He was more of the use it and when it breaks fix it or get another. Probably why he supported Detroit by getting a new car every two years…
The last time I rode to the top of Pikes Peak, the upper half of the road was dirt. It’s paved all the way up now; and I’d certainly like to do it again. I gravitate towards those high places, perhaps just to get a better look at the world around me. Besides Pikes Peak and many other peaks worldwide, I’ve ridden to the top of Mount Washington, New Hampshire (the highest peak in the Northeast US), and Mount Greylock, Massachusetts as well. Not too high, but high by Massachusetts’ standards. I laid on the grass mound at its top and watched the sailplanes glide by just overhead, listening for hours to the whoosh they made as they passed by. A magical moment.
You’ve collected some miles on two wheels. I’ve thought about a trip into New England and up Mount Washington on the Vespa. Someone told me they won’t let any scooters or motorcycles with automatic transmissions up the mountain road though.
Watching sailplanes from the top of a mountain is lovely business. I’ve done that a few times. Like watching big birds…
I believe that I’m in the “travel not the destination” category as well. I say travel as the means doesn’t matter as much though I do enjoy riding a bit more. This is a great post.
I figured you for a traveling man.
I can so relate to this. I am a meanderer and wanderer who likes to stop, see things and savour my surroundings. I am always tinged with regret when I ride in groups because no one usually stops for a photo or when they see something beautiful or interesting. When I was on a short jaunt with a friend, she wanted to ride a little way home with me when I was returning from a 4 day trip at her house, I politely declined because I had some places I wanted to stop and take pictures of on the way home, because she missed them on our first pass. I love taking pictures and I love seeing the little treasures I spot on the way. This is probably why I haven’t done any long haul trips, I hate hurrying to get to a destination only to be able to spend a few days and then have to rush to get back home because of limited time.
I also have great memories of my childhood and my parents are still with us, so I think I am going to pay them a visit this weekend to touch base. Your post resonated with me in many ways.
Thanks Steve!
Totally with you about stopping and savoring. Problem is, for me, the problem isn’t limited to riding in groups – so often I’m with one other person and feel the need to stop and look (or photograph) something, and too often get the hairy eyeball for the mere suggestion. For these reasons, even something as mundane as a shopping trip is often accomplished solo.
This is why I don’t ride in groups — you miss too much. So much to see and so hard to absorb when you’re focused on another rider. Hope you have a fine time with your parents. I wish now I had spent more time with mine.
One of your best posts thus far! Enjoying this journey…
Thanks for the kind words about the post. Ride safe!
Steve, consider this encouragement to visit your dad at the cemetery. I often visit mine there and when I turn the key and the scooter goes silent it’s as if I’m back in church with him as I often was, singing in the choir alongside him for so many years. Of course I didn’t take a beer to church to share with him; that’s a more recent tradition that I started. When I was a kid and he and mom would take my sister and me to “visit” our relatives interred at the parish cemetery I never understood why we did it. Now I do.
There is a cemetery down the street from where I live and when I pass through on a walk I’m always struck by how peaceful it seems. I remember visiting the grave of my grandmother in Germany with my mother and even though I barely knew her I felt a connection. Not sure what to expect when I visit my father. Thanks for the encouragement to make the trip.
“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” – Lao Tzu (But you probably knew that.)
Another commonality: I haven’t visited my father’s grave since he died. That was a good 39 years ago, and the reasons are rather complex.
Whatever the means, the trip has almost always trumped the destination for me. Road maps – the paper variety – captivated me to no end. Bicycles and trains fueled my wanderlust since childhood, and the introduction of the Vespa into my life these last few months conjures some interesting ideas, though nothing terribly far-flung thus far.
I did manage to take a brief ride today, after digging out the driveway, walkway and porch, once again. (That was supposed to be an inch or so of snow; after riding back yesterday evening I left Melody out of the shed, along the side of the house, reasoning that since it was raining, and she was already soaked, an inch of snow wouldn’t be a problem…my bad call for the week. But the ride, however brief, was great, with little in the way of roadside hazards. Even a wee bit of wandering is good for ails, or not.
I’ve had wanderlust my whole life and thankfully it’s easily satisfied by a walk around the neighborhood and doesn’t require a trip around the world. I have simple needs….;)
Glad you were able to get out on the scooter for a bit. The Vespa can easily stand up to some time sitting in the rain and snow. They’re tough little beasts.
Be safe!
I love this post and all of the pictures, but it makes me sad, too. We never really appreciate our parents until they’re gone. Its one of life’s greatest tragedies. My Dad is still living, my Mom isn’t. I miss her.
This bit of your post really resonated with me: ” I love the experience of travel and the exploration of the space I’m in, the continual revelation of things to look at. I don’t want to rush to get somewhere and not take time to investigate everything on the way.”
Well done.
I think you’re right about the tragedy of not appreciating a parent until they’re gone. And I did appreciate mine but there was so much more I could have done. I can’t help but think of the song by Mike and the Mechanics titled “The Living Years”. The music is sad and melancholy as are the lyrics. Here’s a passage:
When my Father passed away
I didn’t get to tell him
All the things I had to say
I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
I’m sure I heard his echo
In my baby’s new born tears
I just wish I could have told him in the living years
I suppose we just need to pay attention.
Thanks for your kind words about the post and for the prompt to do some writing this month!
Ah, I know that song well. It’s one I like to sing along with, but I always get choked up.
I appreciated my Mom, but she drove me crazy, too. There’s that ambiguous word again, but it’s far too much to explain in a comment. I could have been a better daughter. I need to go visit my Dad again.
I’m glad you’re enjoying the challenge. Now that my busy work week is done, the quality of my posts should improve.
At best, family is complicated and appreciated more in hindsight. Part of the human condition I suppose.
Have a fine weekend and ride safe.
As is so often the case, Steve, your post really resonated with me. I owned two Vespas (P-Series, a P125X and a P200E) for just over 20 years. The two Vespas were sold over eight years ago, and I now ride a Harley-Davidson (Ultra Limited). Yep, for racking up miles on two wheels, it is hard to beat a Harley.
But, like dom mentioned in his comment, I too am starting to find dissatisfaction in not being able to “take that interesting looking trail”. On the Harley, everything rushes by pretty quickly, but not so quickly that you can’t catch of a glimpse of “the road less traveled”, thus leaving me with a sense of regret at not being able to maneuver the 800+ pound beast well enough to investigate or explore it.
I guess I either need to buy a Ducati Panigale (so I will travel too fast to even realize what I am missing), or go back to a Vespa. And quite honestly, both options are appealing.
It’s kind of amazing how the machine you’re on can transform the experience. Maybe it’s like a man with the hammer — everything looks like a nail. A man with a Panigale, every road looks like a racetrack.
I’ve ridden a lot of big bikes and they are nice on the road but it just kills me I can bomb up that cow path…
Good luck with your riding decisions regardless of what they are. We’re all unique and that’s just fine.
This is a beautiful heartfelt post Steve that many of us can relate to…I certainly can. My Father was kind and my Mother was quite Biopolar at the end so I didn’t have much of a relationship with her or my Father for the last few decades of their lives. My Mother passed first and it gave me time to connect with my Father and I’m thankful for that. Too little too late but I value that time. My parents were wonderful people and when I was a young child my Mother loved me so and I am sure she did even up to the end. I look at similar pictures I have of them with me as a child and remember the wonderful childhood memories and things they did for me and my Brother and I feel what you have written. Bravo…visit and talk a bit to your Dad it is your special personal connection …it will be good. Brent
Thank you for the kind words Brent. Like so many things I seem to come to appreciate them only after they’re gone. I hope I can learn to change that.
I’ll make the trip to say hello to my departed father and see what happens. It’s startling how much time has passed.