A long week, the kind thick with action and thought, wrapped in speed and seasoned with perplexing ideas and behavior. The kind of week that can make a person scream just to release a bit of the tension built up in gut, spine and eyes. At least that’s where it gets me. A nice evening ride into town is the perfect restorative prescription to herd life back toward a gentle landscape, one where the world feels full of wonder and opportunity. Seeing this mural painted on the front of Uncle Eli’s art supply store in State College, Pennsylvania seemed the perfect icon then and now.
Have I said it’s been a hectic week?
Evening rides are luscious. An encompassing warmth that makes it difficult to determine where your skins stops and the universe begins. Air dripping with summer fragrances, honeysuckle and warm asphalt topped with streams of cut grass and automobile exhaust. Standing in the grocery store parking lot I’m content to close my eyes and breath in the world. I’ve beaten this theme to death — I would never have these experiences in a car. Engineers surely have programmed the contraption to appeal to a genetic predilecton to be methodical and business like when in a cage. Get from point A to point B as quickly and efficiently as possible. Perhaps it might be different if I was driving a 1968 Sunbeam Alpine.
Right now I am alive and in the world with a Vespa. Another 60 miles today. Perhaps more over the weekend.
Oh, what fun. A colleague referred to cranky old white men today. I asked for the parameters of that assessment. Whatever it is, the Vespa is an effective medicine for that and other maladies.
As Nina Simone might say, “Feeling good!”
The Alpine may have been good enough for Maxwell Smart, but I would prefer the Alpine Tiger. Something about the throaty growl of the 231c.i. Olds V-8. The softness of the night, coupled with the assault of smells one passes through is heady stuff indeed.
Maxwell Smart did drive a Tiger on the beginning of the show…
Steve, with much respect, I disagree. Artists, true artists, may repeat, and most do, but the repetition never fails to find a fresh and satisfying expression. Like the hundreds or thousands of hammer blows that coax a dull sheet of copper into becoming refined and desirable artwork. The theme you beat is a drum and that is why many follow. You express life not death.
See? You’re wrong,
With the combination of words and images, I, again, am riding along with you.
Regarding repetitiveness: Charles Schulz (Peanuts) said his job was to tell readers the same thing every day, differently.
No need to stop beating the drum.
Steve:
Your photos are magical. You could go to the same spot every day and they would all look different
bob
Riding the Wet Coast
You are living in my head! LOL
Imagine if we scooterists woke up one day and all the cars were gone.
What a true joy that would be!
P.S. I like night riding too. Late night, after 10pm, when most of the cars are home tucked in their garages…
Another nice post…and photo. As a relatively new rider, I’ve only begun riding into the evening. I have to say, my favorite time is at dusk, when I can still see the landscape, but see the lights of my instrument panel shining at me, in a visual blend of nature and machine. The world does indeed look different from a scooter.