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Fighting Winter

February 24, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 17 Comments

In bed, dog still asleep, a glow of pre-dawn light illuminating the curtains, I sneak a look at the iPhone to look at the temperature — five degrees below zero. Winter has relentlessly chewed on souls and psyches, turning even the most positive outlooks into jagged personas. Fighting winter has become a full-time job to keep depression at bay and not feel like life has become a massive landscape of failure.

Call me gray cloud.

And like the Peter Finch’s character in the motion picture Network, I got out of bed saying to myself, “I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take this anymore!’

And the decision was made and a methodical undertaking of steps led me to be standing in the driveway with the Vespa scooter idling, ready to head to work in spite of the frigid temperature. The sky was blue, the sun was shining, and the roads were mostly clear.

I should add that winter riding is a game of relativity. My cold weather concerns are nothing compared to the weather that Dom Chang and Richard Machida endure in Colorado and Alaska respectively. My cold weather is their balmy weather. Richard doesn’t seem to worry about the temperature until it nears -40F and then only because “things” don’t sound right on the machine.

So maybe call me wimpy as well.

The ride to work was almost uneventful save for two unexpected stops. The first was to put air in the tires. In the cold I guess the pressure decreases, in this case by seven pounds per square inch. Nothing like fiddling with tire valves with your bare hands in sub-zero weather. On the heals of the tire maintenance was a need for fuel. Best to keep the tank full in cold weather.

On the bright side, the heated grips are fantastic. They get so hot that I can feel them almost burning my hands through heavy winter gloves. The Tucano Urbano muffs keep the wind off my hands with only some minor impairment of access to the brakes. Not so much impairment but a need to adjust how you manipulate your hands — you need to use exaggerated movements.

And another unexpected surprise was with the First Gear Kilimanjaro jacket. I usually ride in cold weather with several layers underneath the jacket but was distracted this morning and left without them. Didn’t want to turn back to make adjustments thinking I would be fine for the short trip and it turned out I didn’t need them at all. I was toasty warm with just a sweater on. First Gear considers the Kilimanjaro a three-season jacket but unless they are excluding summer I would think you could wear this year round.

Last time I rode to work in sub-zero weather I had a fuel line freeze by the end of the day and I was fearing the same this time. But the day warmed and there were no problems. Since having the fuel pump replaced the scooter has run like a champ again and I’m thinking of bigger trips. The ride home was pleasant and I was able to be on the road before sunset when it becomes harder to spot stray ice spots. Generally the road is clear but you can never be sure which requires major adjustments in riding style. After dark is an even bigger challenge.

I’m not mad as hell anymore. Life is good. A few miles on a scooter can serve multiple roles — an attitude adjustor, or an interventionist.

Are you needing to ride about now?

Courage or Insanity

January 3, 2015 by Scooter in the Sticks 14 Comments

The morning brought central Pennsylvania’s dreaded “wintry mix” — a combination of rain, sleet, snow and freezing rain in a constantly changing mix. During my walk with Junior the road surface changed from dry to wet to the amalgam in the above photo. Definitely not the kind of weather I venture out into on the Vespa and certainly not on Aleta’s relatively pristine Yamaha Vino.

Running errands had the tires continually spinning on the Honda Fit with the traction control and ABS lights flashing repeatedly. Traffic was light to non-existent as those not wishing to succumb to any Darwinian adjustments stayed home by the fire.

My last errand brought me to Rite-Aid Pharmacy and to my surprise there was a dripping, Bintelli Sprint 49cc scooter parked on the sidewalk. “Cool” was my first thought while wondering who inside would claim ownership. A closer look revealed a handicapped license plate which led second thoughts of courage or insanity.

Inside the owner was approaching, bright red 3/4 helmet on and one of those frightening, demonic skull masks covering the lower part of the face. An eclectic combination of a big, hooded parka, blaze orange vest, camouflage gloves, jeans, and black boots hinted that the rider used their scooter for utilitarian transport with little thought about the style and convention of the riding fashionista companies that consume a lot of us. The jury was still out on courage or insanity.

After an initial comment, “Quite a day to be on a scooter,” a conversation ensued that was both intriguing and frightening. Allow me to begin…

It was a dark and icy day. All the riders were home snug in their caves. But one rider was on the road, using his scooter to retrieve required medications, and take care of a friend’s dog. He had already ridden twelve miles in the icy mess and had displayed the soaking wet pants from knees down due to the constant out-rigging of his boots to stay upright. I know the technique and it’s tedious and tiring. At this point I was leaning towards the courageous side of courage or insanity.

But there was the matter of the handicapped plate. The rider shared his conversion from four-wheels to two which hinted at financial need. The scooter was his daily transportation. He also related the incredulity he faces when people try and balance a handicap with a two-wheeled scooter. Listening I was saying to myself “emotional or mental handicap of some sort,” though the conversation did not reveal any hints of this. Then the facts emerged.

Nerve damage affecting both arms to the point they could not reliably be used unless a surgical intervention took place. Current status has several vertebrate fused and a titanium plate and rod keeping the neck together. “Nerves are like bare wires,” made me cringe as he discussed how sudden jerks and movements could impair movement or cause permanent damage. I’m now moving towards the insanity side of the courage or insanity balance.

And then he becomes quiet for a moment and says, “I want to live my life.”

The statement hangs in the air like a slowly fading smoke ring until I reply, “I understand.”

And then he went outside and was gone. When I left a few minutes later I could see his single track across the parking lot with his boot marks dragging along side.

And I’m still wondering now if it’s courage or insanity.

Inferior Machines

December 30, 2014 by Scooter in the Sticks 13 Comments

Almost every rider I’ve ever spoken to embraces the idea that the natural progression when it comes to scooters or motorcycles is from smaller to larger with the exception being old age forcing inferior machines on a person. But I’ve started to wonder if there’s more marketing than nature to that progression with evil forces preying on ego and anxiety to extract more cash.

Such were the thoughts going through my head as I rode my daughter’s Yamaha Vino 125 through the valley this morning through 26F air under a dazzling blue sky.

Riding the Vino is an exercise in simplicity with few technological distractions and seemingly demanding less skill to manage on the road. During the ride I kept turning this over in my head until I arrived at a conclusion — bigger is better is flawed along with bigger is more challenging.

I’ll agree that a big motorcycle or scooter takes more physical practice and skill to manage than a smaller machine. And a rider needs to make faster decisions when they’re traveling at high rates of speed. But relatively speaking, that’s easy stuff to do compared to the mental and emotional challenges of a little machine.

Generally, little scooters and motorcycles don’t have a lot in the way of creature comforts. No heated grips, seats, power windshields, etc. Just basic transport with exposure to the elements. This morning was the first cold day I’ve ridden without heated gloves or grips in years. The little Vino demanded I prepare myself meaning I had thick, expedition mittens on my hands and a recognition in my head that I would be needing to stop periodically to warm my hands. Just like the old days with my Vespa LX 150.

A smaller machine requires a rider to physically prepare for more direct contact with the elements. In winter it can be dramatic. Using heated gear almost feels like cheating.

Guess I’m a big cheater.

The biggest challenge though is mental. A little scooter requires you go slow, and for many in this culture, going slow is a lost art. So much so that it generates frustration and anger. Just query those waiting in traffic or in lines at stores or restaurants. Going slow is a symptom of failure right?

And symptoms aside, actually moving down the road at 35mph, or up a hill at 20, it can feel as if an eternity will pass before reaching a destination. I have to force myself to think differently about not burning up miles as if I were in an automobile. The inferior machines can drive you crazy.

And let’s not even talk about ego issues.

I have a lot of respect for people who embark on adventures on little scooters, mopeds or lawn tractors. Those are tough trips requiring patience, sturdy egos, and measures of humility just not entertained much anymore.

The little Vino scooter performed well on the 35 mile ride I did in the cold. I learned I’m neither as cold-hardy or patient as I used to be, and that even at slow speeds, a ride can be quite satisfying.

Other Forms of Travel

December 1, 2014 by Scooter in the Sticks 9 Comments

Having taken a few days of vacation time from work provided the potential opportunity to do some more serious scooter riding with the Vespa. Sloth, weather and bad planning on my part eliminated my options revolving around the Vespa and relegated me to other forms of travel.

Weather interfered on a few mornings as the temperature dipped below freezing and transformed lingering slush and moisture into the kind of early season road ice that can give a scooter rider fits. Standing in the driveway I could see the remains of salt still at work and with my Heidenau snow tires still sitting in the garage it would not be a great idea to go for a ride.

Even if the snow tires were mounted, the scooter headset is still dismantled as I await some additional parts for the heated grips.

Sunday morning in State College, Pennsylvania, the view down Allen Street as I make my way to Saint’s Cafe to join fellow riders and photographers Gordon Harkins and Paul Ruby. Neither rode on this morning either though ice was not an issue with the temperature in the upper 30s.

As the morning unfolded I realized that there are more travel options than I often realize. And many don’t involve motors or wheels.

Finding and establishing rituals is more important to me now than when I was younger and the world was something to consume and discard with each new day something to experience. I don’t believe my experience was that robust or unique but it was easy to romanticize newness and adventure in ways I don’t now. The younger me wanted to see every sight on a trip. The older me wants to revisit the familiar over and over until I understand what I’m seeing. Can’t say which is the better approach, only that they’re different and where I am now.

Saint’s Cafe has been the place I return to on most Sunday mornings for the past seven or eight years. I wonder if I’m considered a regular and if I’ve become a character like those on Cheers. I don’t think many people know my name but they do recognize the yellow riding jacket.

Earl Grey tea and a Moleskine journal — part of another long standing ritual. The tea has remained consistent though my writing has fluctuated in the past couple years as I’m drawn more and more into the digital bog. Digital is so alluring and easy that I’ve considered abandoning the pen and paper, film, darkroom and more. Some lingering voice whispers for me to resist. Part of the ritual of being at the cafe is to ponder the meaning of those whispers.

Gordon returned some of the Kodak Tri-X film I lent him to shoot the Penn State football game. I bet there were no other photographers along the sidelines shooting film, especially black and white film. I’m not sure if he’s an enigma or an anachronism. Either way, seeing that film sitting on the table triggered some powerful desires to pick up my Leica M6 again and make the photographs that so faithfully fulfilled the creative hole that lives in me. Everything stands ready to do it save for the personal hesitation I shroud in excuses.

Film is not dead. Merely tired.

Paul and Gordon routinely show up with new work while I sink into my chair as a distant observer who remembers what it was like to be a photographer. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Or maybe just over scheduled.

Gordon brought a lovely set of images he made of our friends and colleagues Stephen Dirado and Frank Armstrong at the opening of their exhibition in Massachusetts titled Regarding Landscape.

I can barely comprehend the work involved to produce another exhibition myself. It’s been too long.

Paul also had a lovely set of images made over Thanksgiving at a friends place in the Catskills. This print of his girlfriend’s daughter emerged from his backpack along with some others of the location. Paul is persistent in his image making and works hard to stay engaged with the camera, a critical component in being a good photographer. He was working with an 8×10 Deardorff camera when I first met him and while today he’s fully digital his work sometimes echoes that large format approach.

Paul put together this lovely composite image that for me creates a powerful feeling of that snow filled landscape. I can’t wait to see a large incarnation in print.

Thinking about photographs and photography I realized that there are other ways to travel besides the physical act of moving through space. Like Rod Serling often said, “You are traveling through another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop, the Twilight Zone!”

Perhaps that’s where I’m headed.

The signs juxtaposed against Gordon was too much for me to resist. He would be the first one to say he’s always going the wrong way. While I don’t agree with the assessment it was a funny scene.

For an hour or so each week the three of us exist in close proximity, sharing ideas, problems, stories and lies, all part of a ritual that provides me with a great deal of satisfaction. Seeing our feet on the floor reminded me of the closeness that’s developed because of our shared interests.

I still don’t have the scooter put together. I’ve not shot any film. I haven’t accomplished much of anything lately. I did buy some craft beer.

Alcohol is no longer part of my life. Not even a little due to the medication I take for my ankylosing spondylitis. My doctor at Johns Hopkins grilled me about perils of even sips of beer or wine and how they can fry my liver.

Right now. Fast. Badly.

My luck it would come at a time when the craft brews exploded. So while I can’t sample any of them I do enjoy looking at the labels and names and putting together little collections for friends and family that can still partake. This Christmas Ale was one of the graphical items that caught my eye.

So that’s the news from Happy Valley. Hopefully by the end of the week the scooter will be back on the road and life will be grand…

Autumn in the Air

October 29, 2014 by Scooter in the Sticks 7 Comments

Everything is moving quickly now — the days, the color change in the leaves, my perception of the passing of time. I feel autumn in the air but it’s passing fast like clouds in a storm. This morning on the way to work I could not account for the time. Seems like just yesterday I was sweltering in summer heat and today the leaves are jumping off the trees. I swear time would slow down if I just rode more often.

Mornings of late have had a strange yellow-orange glow which gives the world a pumpkin colored feeling. The fragrance of crisp, dead leaves fills the air and stirs memories of family outings and picnics with my parents. Autumn triggers heavy melancholy feelings as my body must know that things are dying, that the process with the leaves is the same for every living thing.

Must be careful not to dwell long in that place.

I love the mornings when I get out of bed early enough to ride a lazy course to work, one that allows many stops for thought and pictures. Mount Nittany hasn’t changed but I have. Change isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.

The trees outside my office windows (the two on the ground floor-left) are almost finished. The leaves have moved from verdant green to yellow, orange and red and soon they’ll all succumb to gravity and leaf blowers. The crane lifting new heating and ventilation units onto the roof will be gone soon as well allowing all the scooter and motorcycle riders back to the now cordoned off parking spaces.

Man, I hope this dismal feeling goes away soon. If I weren’t so tired right now I’d get on the Vespa and try to sweat it out.

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