Reality and Fiction
Early summer morning rides when there’s a hint of fog in the air is a welcome change from the normal occurrence of blue skies and sunlight. There’s a shift in how I respond during a ride and tend to seek less traveled paths. And sometimes that shift opens a door to some of the darker thoughts that simmer in my mind. The dark thoughts while riding.
Most of what I write in regard to riding is positive and reflects the joys and restorative power I find while being on two-wheels. Despite this taking place in the relative safety of civilization in central Pennsylvania, there are times when imagination takes over to create a fictional world.
Thankfully the Vespa is quiet. Quiet enough to hear the roar of the pickup trucks with their loud, rusty exhaust systems. Time enough to vanish from the road and avoid any unfortunate encounters with the marauders and road bandits who’ve grown from the pandemic depression. I remember when I could ride these roads unmolested.
Broken Dreams of America
The seemingly endless ribbons of limestone roads explain the prevalence of stone quarries in this part of Pennsylvania. A morning ride on the Vespa is akin to morning walks of Thoreau and Hesse. Except there’s little physical exercise to improve the body. I’ll accept the shortcoming and embrace the flights of spirit and imagination. Even when they turn dark.
The country is broken. The once tedious repetition of lies and distractions eventually grew dire when the money ran out. When people couldn’t buy food. The old Spanish Proverb that there are only seven meals between peace and anarchy proved true. The virus still roams among us, at first out of stupidity. Now out of indifference. The dream of America died without anyone realizing it. And now North America has been isolated from the rest of the world. A place of myth. A place of sadness.
Into the Woods
Riding in the many state and private forests is a privilege. One that took me years to appreciate. The Vespa is a quiet observer of the plant and animal life that came before me and that would persist, hopefully, long after I’m gone.
The songs of the Wood Thrush and Hermit Thrush animate the air as I wander with a camera. Wondering where the road will lead me today. But my mind is gnawing of dark thoughts.
So many have died. Hundreds, then thousands, and finally millions. Friends and family have disappeared. Live free or die echoes in my head. We made the choice.
Die.
On a Foggy Road
Riding is a therapeutic activity for me. Whatever baggage I’m wrestling with falls to the roadside as I pilot the scooter. And these places are a feast for the senses, food that I readily devour
And the dark thoughts while riding, the fictional stories in my head continue.
Money. Could it possibly be all about money? The once-great University here is now a shell of its former self, now more like an institution from the 1870s than one I imagined for the 21st century. The desire, the need, the lust to have tuition dollars flow, and football generate financial fuel for the University and the local community outweighed the shrill warnings from epidemiologists and scientists. The downward spiral away from knowledge toward suspicion and mistrust was complete as the pandemic raged during that first winter. The virus mutated as they all do. But instead of the usual weakening, this one became more devastating.
The Woods
Photographing morning sunlight streaming through a forest is challenging. For me at least. I don’t seem to have the patience to find the right view that will allow the camera to adequately record the highlights and shadows and still reflect the glow that I find so inviting.
Riding the Vespa scooter through so many forests in Pennsylvania you begin to see evidence of the past. Abandoned Conservation Corps camps from the Great Depression. Or small cemeteries of ghost towns being swept away by nature. It’s in these places I sense the cycle of life. And where my imagination drifts off to another story. Those dark thoughts while riding.
I’ve heard of the mass graves that were common in parts of Pennsylvania during the 1918 Spanish Flu Pandemic. And a cemetery in Altoona has a large section dedicated to the hundreds and hundreds of children who died from flu. And now the same has happened. So many people have died. The cemeteries are full and few have money for a proper burial. Small towns use their road equipment to dig trenches. Others take their loved ones into the woods and a shallow grave.
How could this happen?
Light of Serenity
I’ve witnessed scenes of the scooter and fog so many times that you would think it would have lost its power. It has not. Each time I stop to bear witness to this world I give thanks. For the opportunity to witness. And the peace of mind to realize it’s there. These scenes fuel my desire to ride.
To ride.
How much longer will I be able to ride? Gasoline is getting harder and harder to find. At one point the government decided to ration fuel but too many believed it was an attack. On their freedom. On their wallet. Another ploy by the wealthy. Or China stealing our country.
The insanity and fighting amongst friends and neighbors were leading toward civil war. Until the virus decided differently. And none of it mattered. Once vibrant towns are boarded up. Like the ones I remember from childhood when the steel mills closed and with them the spirit of communities. The only difference is there’s no leadership in the country. No dream of hope to fuel a recovery. Just indolence and a quiet submission to a virus. Some believe it will burn itself out. I’ve heard that for years now. But the only thing appearing to become burned is us.
The Big Picture
Emerging from the forest into the valley on a foggy morning is always a dramatic change. The dimness of the woods gives way to a broad canvas of light gray with sparse lines and shapes. As if the Vespa and I are subjects in a painting. Riding exercises the mind and exorcises the spirit. It seems to be even more intense on these foggy days.
And sometimes, inexplicably, my mind wanders toward dark thoughts while riding.
My savings are nearly exhausted. The once sound government pension ended when lack of tax revenues combined with a dramatic loss of jobs and people paying into the system made it impossible to continue. I’ve sold everything I could last year including the house. While at one time it was considered a substantial asset it has come to nothing with few having money or resources to own one.
Thinking back there were so many turning points for us. As some pundits suggested, Americans were no longer suited for struggle, sacrifice or caring. To the bitter end, we seemed to cling to ideas that were rendered idiotic in the face of a mindless virus that relentlessly infected us. Absent the drama and zombies of so many old science fiction movies, our was a story of decline with a whimper. Riding through these empty places I’ve seen graveyards of SUVs and pickup trucks. Powerful machines with no real power in life. Too expensive to operate and with little use save for ravaging unsuspecting travelers far from whatever civilization still exists.
I have my scooter and a stash of fuel hidden away. My Glock 17 is in the top case and a Ruger .380 in my pocket. I know where I can find fresh water and was lucky enough to cache food. But really, it’s just a matter of time before I succumb to the virus or an unfortunate encounter with a fellow citizen more desperate than I am.
A Familiar Respite
This was the first time I pulled into the parking lot of the Pump Station in a long time. There were only a few people inside and they all had a mask on and seemed to go out of their way to stay apart. I ordered juice and a breakfast sandwich and sat outside at the far end of the building. Alone. Apart. And perfectly happy.
A recent comment on the blog talked about a misanthropic tendency. That describes me and my behavior — before the pandemic and now. Crowds make me nervous and I generally avoid them if I can. And for me, a crowd is any time there is more than three people. I guess I should be grateful for that since it makes the isolation and distancing now almost seem normal.
Almost.
I suppose I should apologize for the darkness of this post. In part, I needed to drain the thoughts in the only reliable way I know — writing. But I didn’t need to share it. These dark thoughts while riding.
That was a result of something I read regarding the 2020 Sturgis Motorcycle Rally that simultaneously made me angry and laugh. It was a quote from a 66 year-old-man (my age) who said he went to Sturgis because he didn’t want to be cooped up for the rest of his life.
By my count, it’s been six-months. Less in some parts of the country. And the distance from being cooped up and Sturgis is measured in light years. It just seemed like the absolutely perfect rationalization for self-centered, selfish behavior.
I hope Sturgis turns out to not have a dramatic effect on the pandemic numbers and that as riders stream home to places across the country they don’t become super spreaders. I hope no one dies. And that those who decided to attend end up feeling good about the risk they took. I’m still wary going to the grocery store.
Sturgis is a bridge too far.
Dark maybe, but this is another thoughtful and insightful appraisal of our ongoing global crisis and both my wife and I found ourselves nodding in agreement with your comments and observations. Beautifully written and illustrated as always, your blogs are thought-provoking gems, Steve, and after all these years I still look forward to their arrival in my in-tray. I can well imagine how cathartic it is to capture your thoughts in writing, and I can assure you that you are not alone in your darker places. Take care, my friend.
Keith (UK)
Thank you for the kind words regarding this post. The first of its type.
You are correct is imagining writing having a cathartic effect for me. It is what continues to fuel the energy I invest in Scooter in the Sticks.
Let’s hope we see some light before long.
Dark thoughts indeed. Odd dark thoughts have long accompanied and seeped into my consciousness given the opportunity for reflection and I have always considered their presence part of the natural flow. Sadly, their frequency has increased dramatically, throwing me and many others off kilter and perplexed. Steve, your reference to Sturgis brings it all home. I simply cannot imagine. Is this real or are we watching a movie and just who has authored this disheartening screenplay. Stay safe eh!
I’ve often felt as if I were living in a movie now. As disheartening as things are, I continue to hope for an ending that makes the suffering and grief seem worthwhile. No one knows what tomorrow will bring.
I share your dark thoughts, and I’ll add one good one and one even darker. I know about at least 100 motorcyclists and none went to Sturgis. Now the dark. Something bigger than the virus looms over us. I used to take solace in nature when I personally or the country as a whole was in a bad place. I’d hike or ride out into nature and say to myself, “Well, the sun will rise tomorrow and the world will go on with all these trees and wildlife the same.” I can’t say that anymore. We are destroying the planet and life will not go on as we know it. One example, the overheating, burning and melting of of far north Siberia. Having been there, I can all too easily picture what is happening.
The desires reflected by Sturgis are possibly the same as those which make consideration of the environment on a grand scale seem impossible. I pray that the world awakens from its drunken stupor before the car crashes into the concrete pillar of the overpass.
Beautifully and evocatively written Steve.
I confess that I struggle to understand what is happening in America. If I had to choose a single word to describe it, I think it would be “fractured”. Like a mirror punched. As crises go, this one demands so little of us: stay home, bear with a mask, don’t congregate, keep your distance. Past generations were asked to leave their families and homes, bear arms, sacrifice their lives, and they did.
Thanks, as always. You are a ray of intelligence and compassion piercing this fog.
I appreciate your kind comments David. I’ve often wondered who the country would react now if there was a global conflict that required the military service of sons and daughters. What happened in 1942 seems impossible in my mind today. Maybe people were more patriotic then. Or naive. The kind of self-centered, selfish behavior wasn’t tolerated. Or at least it was paraded publicly as an expression of freedom.
One thing I do believe — the country will go on. Regardless of who is elected, who is in power, or what good or awful policies are enacted. My dark, dystopian thoughts are the stuff of fiction and fantasy. I don’t believe they’ll come to pass.
Still, my fingers are crossed!
Steve- I am always moved by your artistry of both your words and images. Today as I write, my heart is still pounding in my chest and I am deep breathing to give a chance for the booming to settle. The deadly spirit of the Corona Virus and our lack of appropriate action has haunted me for months, but your honest truth has brought the horror to light in a personal and accurate way that stirred in a deeper way. Thank you for your courage. Thank you for this blending of horror and beauty that is our world.
I’m sorry to start your heart pounding. I wavered on whether to post this piece at all since it was so out of character to the things I usually post. And I did not want to devolve into some political posturing. But as you say, there is something in the air that’s uncomfortable. For myriad reasons. This was mine.
As the weeks have piled up, I find myself slowly succumbing to these darker thoughts. When I go to the store now, I buy maybe a few more canned goods than I have been. Toilet paper, paper towels, any available sanitation products. Walks and being in nature do not generate the same sense of hope; rather, they have begun to feel more like crutches. And my scooter has been in the shop for over two weeks now, waiting on tires to be delivered. I have found I can only binge so much TV. Your sense of darkness captures the moment, like viewing a thunderstorm off in the distance. It is generous of you to share these thoughts.
It’s funny, but as you say, trips to the grocery store are now made with intention. And my house is stocked for the unknown in ways I didn’t concern myself with six months ago.
Externally, my life appears normally and without concern. There are no worries about food, shelter, or finances. And being a loner our social life has not changed tremendously. But there is something dark inside, a gut-level recognition that all is not right with the world. Binge-watching TV shows have taken up more time than it should and my once discriminating choices have disappeared as I’ll watch almost anything.
I’m glad this post hasn’t offended or ignited a political storm. That was never my intent.
Thank you for adding your comments to the mix. I do appreciate them.
Apocalyptic scenarios dancing in your head while riding….I realize you’re couching them as fictional story material and yet…what came to mind is reality is close enough to those thoughts. Try and not borrow trouble, there’s plenty to go around without dwelling on what cannot be affected by one’s efforts.
Might I suggest less “news”….?
You’re absolutely right that I have no power over events in the world. And I don’t presume power either. The fiction posted, my first is something that has long occurred in my head. Ideas for films, for stories. I’ve been collecting details for a long time for a yet unstarted science fiction novel I have in mind. Every so often it just becomes too much to carry in my head and I have to dump it.
Sorry about that.
Regarding news, I have drastically slashed the amount of time invested in it. And when I do, more often than not, it is with some long-form stories that provide more information and detail that one ever finds on television, and in very few newspapers.
When things get too bad, I look at your blog and imagine living on some remote stretch of BLM property with a dirt bike in tow and a few good books.
I think the answer is not less news, but better news. I live in Germany now, and when I’m back in the States I am always amazed at how sensationlist the news is. It’s invariably about the latest shooting or bomb attack or stupid presidential tweet. There’s very little of substance, of important decisions being made, or of international news. There is a lot of news out there that rarely gets presented because it’s pushed aside by those items the networks think will bring in the most viewers. Germany is probably headed this way as well, but there are still a lot of news items about government and business decisions, about culture, as well as politics and sports. I generally feel pretty well informed after watching the news here, and not scared to talk to neighbors because they might be terrorists.
Better news means longer stories and more reading. That’s a recipe for disaster in the news business. Not everyone wants to read things that look like they came from the Economist, The Atlantic, or the New Yorker. Tweets are so much better. Makes the world black and white and thinking isn’t required.
People seem careful in sharing their political opinions here. At least until they know where you stand. I suspect it’s different elsewhere but I’ve not encountered any evangelists or either side of the political divide.
For now, the United States seems to be in full flounder ahead mode. Maybe that’s the disruption that many seemed to want.
Science will win. Technology will plunder this virus’s core and offer up a vaccine. Don’t just blame the riders in Sturgis. Americade was canceled, Laconia is yet to happen. The City Fathers are taking up measures to attempt to mitigate spread. Sturgis has always been a crazy event all its own.
I spent my entire career in a research university and have great respect for science and technology. But there’s still no cure or vaccine for the common cold, AIDS, cancer and tons of other things. Science and technology will play a role but only time will reveal if and when it plunders a virus. I hope it does.
I watched the fiery online conversations about the BMW International Rally possibly being canceled back in the spring. Two camps emerged — those who felt the risk was too great and something recreational could wait until the following year, and those who felt the virus risk was overblown and possibly a hoax and besides it was their right to gather if they wished. For whatever reason, those in power canceled the rally. There were similar conversations around Sturgis but a different conclusion was made.
Here in Happy Valley, all big events this summer were canceled. And it appears in the next day or so that Penn State football this fall will be canceled. And time will tell if bringing students back to campus is a good idea or bad. I’ll keep my distance and evaluate if and when the local hospital starts feeling the pressure. When that happens I’ll hang up the keys to the scooter and motorcycle and do something different.
Steve, wow. I had just finished reading Wade Davis’ article “End of American Era” in Rolling Stone when I opened your vision of today’s world. A powerful combo to start my day. These dark thoughts have also entered my mind in worry and wonderment about now and what may lay ahead. There is so much positive potential if we work towards a true reset, instead … A ride offers me respite most often, a focus on right here, just now. Thank you for providing such rich imagery in mind and eye, again.
Thank you for the head’s up on the Wade Davis piece. It’s a stunning account of America in the world today. One line stood out for me that seems at the center of so many problems:
“More than any other country, the United States in the post-war era lionized the individual at the expense of community and family.” That line reminds me of something my dad would say to me when I was whining as a kid about what I wanted. He said, “Gimme, can I have, I wanna go.” His summation of my self-centered outlook on things as a child. Wade Davis has it for the country.
For those who want to read that article, “THE UNRAVELING OF AMERICA” I’ve provided the link. It’s well worth reading.
Thank you for your comments Shirley. I do appreciate them.
No apologies needed for this well-written post! We all have dark thoughts, but few can probably write about them so well. I tend to have mostly positive thoughts when riding, as the landscape is gliding past. It’s during the night when I’m trying to sleep that my mind becomes active, reminding me of all the things I haven’t finished or the difficult challanges that lie ahead. And I share your thoughts about a lack of leadership in the US at a critical time, as well as the selfishness of those going to Sturgis and then potentially spreading the virus all over the place. Hard to express my feelings of helplessness and outrage at this!
It’s strange but night has seldom been a time of worry about the world for me. I suppose I need more energy to stir concerns.
I’ve not heard much about the effects of the rally on infections. Most likely it’s too early to tell. Hopefully, it won’t be a nightmare. I’m trying to be optimistic.
I wish there was a national strategy to control the infections but so far I can’t find one well articulated. Tomorrow is a new day. Perhaps good news will emerge.
“I have my scooter and a stash of fuel hidden away. My Glock 17 is in the top case and a Ruger .380 in my pocket. I know where I can find fresh water and was lucky enough to cache food. But really, it’s just a matter of time…”
Steve, this is a story I’d love to read.
It’s a story I would love to write Andy. Along with two others that have been simmering in my notebook since I retired. If I just wasn’t so lazy…
Didn’t know what Sturgis was until I read it in your post here. And then there was some coverage about it in the news on national television here today, kind of critically looking at it, wondering if some of them will become superspreaders. To me it looked like the same not wearing masks off their bike were the same not wearing helmets on their bike. Coincidence? Freedom, right?
I can’t say for sure what has possessed so many to do what they’re doing at Sturgis. It’s frustrating to think people would intentionally thumb their nose at a virus, but then, if they believe it’s not as harmful as they’ve been told, or worse, a part of some broad conspiracy, then I suppose it makes sense.
I’ve long ago given up trying to understand helmets and myriad other behaviors that make no sense.
Best for me to just do what I think will keep my family and I safe and not worry about the rest.
I bet it is not quite true in your case, Steve, but I’d say there are too many people, especially in US, who just “Best for me to just do what I think will keep my family and I safe and not worry about the rest.” I’m guilty to a degree as well due to my background, believes and capacity. Sorry to grab your words like this, but I think these underlying modes of operandi are the cause of “unraveling of america”. We must strive for more.
Being selfish is human. Rising above that requires some enlightening experience I think. One would hope our country would come together in the face of a pandemic but I suspect that would not happen now until everyone felt their own well being was threatened.
America has been unraveling in one way or another since its founding and has always seemed able to weather those storms. I see no change in that tendency now. What has changed is the pervasive ways to share fear and stories. But even with that, we’ll muddle along.
Until then, I’ll do what makes sense for Kim and I, be kind, compassionate and generous with others, and hold faith that today will be a good day.