After work, chores and all things responsible, I needed to go for a ride. Just a short one. The sky was thick and Kim and I traded theories on whether we were seeing fog, low clouds or rain. The National Weather Service issued a warning of lightning, high winds and hail with the admonition that people should seek shelter, and still I found myself on the road with the red light on and Crosby, Stills & Nash’s “Lady of the Island” playing in my head. Obsessively — like my attention to the red light (actually orangish yellow) indicating the end of the fuel supply was at hand. And like a bad tooth or mouth sore that your tongue just can’t stay away from my attention kept returning to the damn red light — not a good thing to be distracted late in the day when I really should be paying close attention to deer and the weather.
As the weather closed in everything takes on an odd feeling, like something out of a Stephen King novel. What passes unnoticed in the sunshine takes on a more ominous appearance under a heavy sky. On some level it makes a ride more exciting.
At the risk of being caught off the road in the rain I explored a few small dirt tracks as the sky lowered and began to sweat moisture onto the visor of my helmet. One moment the air would be still and the next blowing hard with a promise of something more to come.
Riding through a construction dump I realized how far the Vespa is from the Kawasaki dirt bike I road as a kid. Small tires and little suspension travel make dirt riding a physical and mental challenge. Still, it is fun to run around in the dirt. Standing on the hilltop with the little flag I saw the first flash in the sky. Light but no sound so there was no way to determine distance and danger. And the fuel light was still annoyingly occupying space in my head that forced me to the local fuel dump.
Now, hours later, the rain has begun to fall steadily and thunder rumbles in the distance. I’m glad I didn’t waste the clearer hours with the Vespa in the garage…
Steve, I love the composition in each of those photos. It’s all about contrasts that are striking, in each case with at least two, sometimes more elements of contrast always in really nice balance. Really nice. National Geographic could do no better.
Steve, I constantly marvel at your effortless poetry created from something as trivial as rain and clouds.
As always, I thoroughly enjoyed the photos and narrative. One thing you said about the fuel warning light reminded me of an experience when flying on a mission in SVN. I was the aircraft commander piloting a Huey on a recon mission when my low fuel warning light and audible signal came on. One of the officers in the back voiced his concern. So I told him if it bothered him I would turn it off, which I did. Unknown to him, we were very close to a refueling base which could be made in less than the 20 minutes indicated.
Wonderful photos! It’s hard to focus on anything if you were distracted byt the little red/orange light. At least is wasn’t blinking at you. No low fuel light on mine, it just starts to sputter when you need to switch to reserve. The first couple of times that happened, I was flustered. Now I’ve learned to expect it.
Steve
I really liked the last photo best….kind of reminded me of the small flag left on the battlefield in the movie “We Were Soldiers”….
Just a red light, no gauge?
dom
David Masse: Thanks for the kind words about the photos. National Geographic — now there’s an idea for retirement — pitch a story to them about a man riding through America. Or Canada. Just to see what he can see.
SonjaM: Appreciation of the little things makes my life richer. I know it’s different for everyone but that’s where I begin…
FZipperer: It’s funny how warning lights can affect a person. They drive me nuts, even when I know there is no problem. I just can’t get them out of my head.
You’re not supposed to scare your passengers when your piloting a Huey!
RichardM: The only reserve I have is a virtual one — I fill up when I am about halfway through the supply.
Charlie6: I have a gauge but the low fuel light comes on much too early. The light just bugs me. Interferes with the solitude of the ride.
I’ve looked at that flag many times waving in the distance on the top of the mud hill but never wanted to ride up through the dirt to get a picture. Now I wish I had knobbies on the Vespa.