View From Above
You never know what you might find — evidence of something.
Or more.
Searching for answers to simple questions haunts my imagination. Looking out over the valley I call home I wonder how I’ve come to this moment in my life where I’ve stood on this overlook countless times and never really asked, “Why am I still here?”.
In a world in perpetual transition, with people moving rapidly from place to place, changing jobs, friends and families. I’ve worked for the same employer for 42 years.
I feel as if I’ve become an anachronism living here for so long. Sitting in a cafe during the middle of the afternoon, alone with these thoughts as I write, it comes to me. I’m searching for treasure. Not gold or silver, but rather moments in time where I recognize something that makes me smile, or wonder at the beauty, or just suddenly feel the flame of life leap up from my chest and utter to myself, “Holy shit!”.
I’m sure that’s how it was as I stood looking out over the valley on that cool, beautiful morning.
Rambling on a Vespa
Winding through the mountains and forests of central Pennsylvania has moved from coincidence to obsession. A thrill persists in the aloneness found in these places with space to think and dream about nothing and everything. Riding the Vespa has opened the doors to a search I was struggling toward for a long time before I started riding.
The scooter has a simple elegance in it’s design and utility as a vehicle to transport a rider physically, and more remarkably, spiritually.
This little machine is a fine companion.
Look Up Once in Awhile
Not everything important is on the road ahead. Or even to the left or right. I try and take time to look up from time to time. On clear days the blue sky is dazzling; so different from the night sky dripping with stars. As a kid I would strain at night to see to the edge of the universe. Now I understand the meaning of eternity.
And then off I go ducking the scooter left and right through tight curves and imagine a barn swallow gliding over fields and pastures.
Amiable Vagabond
Kim compared me to one of our dogs this evening — Iggy Pup. He was an American Foxhound who was always searching for treasure — rabbits, deer, food, and myriad attractions only a dog can appreciate. He had little interest in people save for those who fed him and kept his nose to the ground.
I’m like Iggy when I ride. People don’t account for much of my interest. Stopped at the summit of Jacks Mountain I forced myself to walk across the road to say hello to three riders. Two were on large scooters, a Yamaha Majesty and a Suzuki Burgman. The third was riding a Harley Davidson of some kind. Big one. After some brief discussion of the fine weather, where we were riding to and from, and some general chatter about being safe I was drained. Like Iggy I was more interested in the rabbit I hadn’t found yet.
They were all surprised to learn how fast the Vespa scooter could move.
Everyone always is.
Through the Mountains
Pennsylvania has mountains. Not by Colorado or Alaska standards. But for someone from Illinois or Nebraska, we have mountains. The roads are good and the views open to a wider world. And trees everywhere provide a sense of wilderness that you don’t get motoring along through the agricultural valleys.
In the Scooter’s Dreams the Road Goes on Forever
The road will end. And I believe there is more afterwards. The night sky tells me that as does the immeasurable complexity I see all around me. I’ve ridden by this sign before but this was the first time I stopped to make a photograph. Not so much to share here but as an acknowledgement of faith — fealty to an intuitive understanding I’ve long avoided.
Searching for treasure perhaps.
On the Road to Shade Gap, Pennsylvania
Riding south along US522 pushed me into a more rustic area of Pennsylvania, one full of legend and mystery for me. In 1966 America was held spellbound by the kidnapping of 17-year-old Peggy Ann Bradnick which led to the largest manhunt in U.S history at the time. “The mountain man got Peggy Ann!”, the cry of her younger brother as William Hollenbaugh dragged her off into the dense woods as she and her siblings were walking home from the school bus stop. Walter Cronkite provided nightly updates on the search which lasted a week.
I sense bad energy here. I’ve heard stories of serpent handling churches and the Klan. None of it may be true, but it’s in my head.
History.
Covered Bridges
For as many of these sorts of bridges that are indicated on maps I’ve encountered very few. I’m not doing something right. Don’t want to turn into a bridge chaser but may make some more deliberate efforts to explore these throwbacks to a simpler time.
Visual Monotony
The trek from Shade Gap to Mifflintown was nearly 40 miles of nothing — farm after farm after farm. The boredom felt during this stretch of the ride could have been the result of an aching shoulder or a growling stomach. The road just stretched on and on…
Lunch and Homeward Bound
Stopped to pick up a sandwich for lunch to eat along the road in the shade. Poison ivy kept me dining upright but it was still a fine way to take a meal on the road. Two vehicles passed by during the 45 minutes I was here, a road wandering along the Juniata River headed toward Lewistown, Pennsylvania.
With a couple hours of riding ahead before arriving home I was happy to have the chance to explore a bit more along the road.
And continue searching for treasure.
Nice, you need to stop by, I have rabbits to share nice pics know the roads well.
Rabbits. Can’t tell Kim about those. Dogs would love them though not in a good way. Have you gotten yourself a scooter yet???
Having only recently expatriated myself from the concrete canyons of New York, it’s been a revelation to actually live where nothing is more than five or so storeys high – and that’s in the downtown area. So much light and air…not quite a died-and-gone-to-heaven thing, but still achingly good. To see a wider expanse of blue sky, like yesterday at a pot-luck gathering at the restaurant across the street of out house, or stepping out at night and seeing not just the handful of starts you might luckily notice when in Gotham, but whole clusters, constellations, where you suddenly assess scale and enormity, both exciting and humbling all at once – my mind is blown like it hasn’t been since being a kid at sleep-away camp.
On the bicycle, it’s been something akin to a religious experience, and I’ve never been particularly religious. On the Vespa, however, the intensity gets turned up considerably, with revelations on the road that reverberate long after the the engine’s cooled down.
On a trip to Philly, some weeks back (Sig. Other driving), I thought about the roads you’ve traveled, saw some interesting roads along the way, and made another mental memo to travel that way once a few more things (license, house) get settled over the next month or two. Also experienced some amazing bits of two-lane when we visited friends in upstate New York a week or two after Philly; Ann was cautious on the twisty dips and rises while maneuvering her Honda CR-V, but I was just thinking, man, these roads would be an effing blast on the Vespa. The fact that the weather at the time was near-postcard-perfect made the pining all the more urgent.
And, yes, compared to New Jersey, almost anyplace could be considered “hilly.” In my worst cycling shape, I can manage a 20-mile round-trip in these parts without killing myself. I look forward to discovering the more-interesting reaches around me, in your neck of the woods and mine.
I’ve met a couple city dwellers over the years who don’t take to well to the sudden open skies or lack of human activity. They had an irrational fear of bears and snakes and felt they were in the wilderness. Sounds like you have a much more fruitful response to your new environs.
While I would never characterize my time with a bicycle as a religious experience I can see how it might be for someone more physically inclined. Maybe I should get mine out again. The Vespa definitely has been like that though in much the way you describe.
Good luck on your future riding adventures on the twisty dips! You’ll find them everywhere in Pennsylvania and upstate New York.
The view from Jacks Mountain is a treasure, both sides. On the opposite side of happy, I remember the mountain man nd think of that story every time I go that way.
That mountain is a legend for a generation perhaps.
On a morning when the world is getting me down, your words and photos bring some serenity. Thank you.
Thanks for your kind words. I appreciate them.
“Searching for answers to simple questions haunts my imagination.”
Statements such as this one reveal to me our kinship, at least as far as being solitary riders is concerned. And I suppose there are many like us..some of us ride Harley’s, some ride Kawasaki’s, some ride Vespa’s, etc. Probably doesn’t really matter what we ride.
I am not sure we will ever find the answers, or if there are even any answers to our simple questions.
But like you and many others, I do know how much I have come to love the search.
As you already know, there’s a lot to be said for solitary riding, especially for the time it offers to wrestle questions in your head. And it absolutely doesn’t depend on a specific brand or model motorcycle or scooter. Personal preference will intervene but riders will experience the effect on anything.
Thanks for taking the time to comment here and share your ideas. I’m certain they’re as instructive to others as they are to me.
Searching for treasure or searching for inner peace?
The trip to Ireland must have been good for you. I expected something like “Searching for treasure or whirled peas?”
Seriously though, inner peace or whatever you want to call it — that’s an unlooked for benefit to riding for me.
I remember Peggy Ann Bradnick very well, she did an autograph signing at G C Murphy’s in Bellefonte after her recovery from the kidnapping. Shade Gap and Burnt Cabins are old time Appalachia in all senses of the term, there are some interesting characters in the area, that’s for sure.
GC Murphys. That’s going back. State College had one too with a great lunch counter. I’m not going to call it the good old days though.
South central Pennsylvania is sort of textbook Appalachia in many ways. Interesting characters is an understatement.