Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650

Suffering and Joy

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Sometimes, when desire meets reality, you come face to face with suffering.  Most recently it was unexpected physical discomfort related to the cold and my newly arthritic feet.  Out early yesterday with the temperature hovering around 20F should have been like a walk in the park.  Instead I was served a big bite of suffering.

Looking back I can see how my love of winter has decayed into a state of annoyed acceptance that it’s a fact of life in central Pennsylvania.  This first cold ride of the season really surprised me and has me wondering how much cold I can tolerate.  A question every year round rider wrestles with at some point.

After an hour I planted myself in Starbucks to hold a paper cup full of hot chocolate in my hands, let my feet warm, and scribble a few notes on index cards about the challenges ahead.  I wrote “Suffering” at the top of the first card intending to post under that title.  But things have a way of changing.

The iPhone vibrated on the table displaying an image of my friend Gordon.  He and his wife Val bought their 14 year old son a .22 rifle for Christmas, a Ruger 10/22.  Nice gun.  And since he had never shot a gun before he asked if I could go with them to the local shooting range and get them started.  I remember the .22 rifle my father got for me around the same age and the joy I found going out with him to plink away at tin cans.  
Funny how warm some of my memories are related to weapons.
Last time I fired a gun at this range was in the early 1970s when a serendipitous encounter with gun dealer led to firing thousands of round of ammunition via an array of automatic weapons.  My first experience with a Thompson sub machine gun, M16, UZI, and an Ingram MAC-10 with a suppressor.  I learned two things.  Automatic weapons are fun to shoot.  Loading magazines isn’t.  It’s an interesting story that I’ll share someday.
Gordon’s son wasn’t the only one surprised on Christmas morning.  Gordon’s wife Val gave him a pair of riding gloves and some scooter brochures.  The meaning is obvious.  More joy at Christmas.
Went riding again today with no suffering.  Suppose there is a yin and yang to it all.  Didn’t realize polar forces of opposite strength were at work in my riding life — the suffering and the joy.

Searching for the Christmas Spirit

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A week ago I borrowed a motorcycle from the selection of pre-owned machines of Kissell Motorsports –a 2005 BMW F650 GS. I’ll often find myself looking at their web site listings or trolling eBay for the quintessential deal. For a lot of riders a used motorcycle is the best route into the world of riding.  And during those rides I found myself thinking about Christmas.

Junior and I walked in the park this morning to the tolling of bells from a nearby church, announcing Christmas Day. Blue sky, bright sun and the temperature pushing forty degrees doesn’t feel like Christmas.

I’ve been thinking about Christmas all week, trying to bring to life those feelings I had as a kid when Santa Claus was real. Memories of candle light services on Christmas Eve singing Silent Night, the anticipation of presents under a tree seem to fade away a bit more every year. Charles Dickens wrote that Christmas can, “…win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home.”. Maybe that’s what I was looking for.

Roaming the countryside on a motorcycle often fuels a flood of thinking. I found my thoughts leaning towards the past, to things that would not come again. Each stop along the road seemed to trigger a memory of Christmas time. Each memory bringing another, and another.

Looking at motorcycles (when you tend to obsess about them) isn’t a lot different than coveting a BB gun or some other must have item of childhood.  The evening I picked up the BMW was like that — the proverbial kid in the candy store — so many things to desire.

A festive red Ducati should feel like Christmas shouldn’t it?

Or certainly a pink Vespa would conjure some sort of magic if only given a chance.  But maybe what the Grinch said is true: “Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn’t come from a store.”

The pink Vespa will have to wait for another day along with the Triumph Tiger 800 XC and the flat screen TV I was thinking about.

The BMW F650 GS in its 2005 incarnation is a marvelously nimble motorcycle on the gravel roads that crisscross the central Pennsylvania forests. Aggressive knobby tires provide a surefooted ride at speeds I don’t normally attempt in these environs. The bike is completely comfortable from the start.

I felt like Charlie Brown. Christmas time is coming and I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel. Or at least that was what I was thinking. Riding through beautiful landscapes I can’t quite appreciate because I’m searching for the Christmas spirit. The little red-haired girl is waiting at home for me, my black dog too, and here I was along a creek, watching the cold, clear water sweep by and nothing. I’m blessed but don’t quite appreciate it.

The F650 GS leads me to the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg where I can appreciate a cup of tea and a scone, and the blessings of the motorcycle’s heated grips when I take out my journal to write.  BMW has great heated grips.  They feel hot even through thick winter riding gloves.

I suppose there is no connection between riding and Christmas save for the incidental juxtaposition of machine and iconography.  But I did find that missing Christmas spirit.
Last night family and friends gathered on Christmas Eve, for fellowship and food, to spend time together and acknowledge what’s special this time of year.  Maybe it just becomes more difficult to see past all the wrappings and tinsel to the meaning of Christmas, a time of transformation and forgiveness where, for a time, the world is a more gentle place.
Merry Christmas to all and best wishes for the holidays.

A Christmas Greeting

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Last night, shortly before midnight, I was on the road again looking for the definitive scene for a Christmas greeting. No snow, no Christmas images in my book. Didn’t even get a tree this year.

Not that I’ve become Ebenezer Scrooge. I just don’t have any magical pictures merging Christmas, riding, and a Vespa. But there’s still magic without the Vespa, glittering lights, or the fragrance of evergreen drifting through the house.

After a late, Christmas Eve ride I stopped in Boalsburg and sat on the curb, straining my brain for an idea. And thinking of home. Earlier in the evening our family gathered at our oldest daughter’s house for Christmas. Home for the holidays. Family and friends.

So, from the curbside stop on a cold, winter ride, I wish each of you a Merry Christmas and hopes for a fine New Year!

Catching Up

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As much as I enjoy riding in cold weather the Vespa and I have been confined, of late, to morning and evening commutes to work. Cold is creeping into pictures. Maybe they’re triggering memories of cold hands and feet.

Over the weekend I clicked the submit button a few times to officially kickoff the holiday shopping season. On the way to my weekly 3 Prints Project meeting I stopped to look at Christmas trees. I wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit. Carrying a tree home on the back of the Vespa requires some snow. A thermometer reading of 27F isn’t enough.

The café is festive and I always enjoy a watching the world from a quiet corner. Notice there are no prints on the table at Saint’s Café. It’s been the no prints project the past few weeks, a symptom of bad planning, chaos and choices of sloth. Or I can search for places to unload blame for falling so far behind.

It’s obviously Junior’s fault. The athletic beast needs, demands, time and attention. Just because he wants to exercise and go forth in the world doesn’t mean I want to. He does pose well though. Doesn’t he look like he’s watching over a flock of sheep, waiting patiently to herd a stray lamb back or warn off a marauding coyote? He’s my boy, snoring softly at my feet as I type.

As managing editor of Penn State Ag Science Magazine there are times, like now a week before going to press, that I descend into some other kind of consciousness. Going through page spreads with a red pen is particularly seductive. And it’s changed me. I actually told the art director to reduce the number of photographs so I could keep more words. I look for the photography guild to appear any day now and rescind my rights to a camera.

Gordon arrived with two prints; one a portrait he made of me a few weeks ago at another Sunday morning get together where we both bemoaned the lack of production. I look more like my father as the years change me. No matter how much I look like him though I can never imagine him sitting in a café talking about photography or the challenges of a busy life. He would be too busy working.

A piece of breakfast chocolate cake and a fine portrait may just cause me to make those prints. I actually turned the heat on in my darkroom this evening thinking I might process film.

I didn’t.

Another local Vespa rider checking his phone. His girlfriend has one too. I don’t think either ride in the cold so the roads will be shy two scooters until spring.

I plan to fetch a tree on the Vespa when the time is right. Snow is in the extended forecast. For now I’ll leave you with a holiday scene of one of the village of Boalsburg’s Christmas decorations. And that will almost catch me up. Except for my long, epic Vespa camping tale that’s waiting to post, and a cold ride on a new Triumph Sprint.

There’s always something.

Season’s Greetings from the Sticks

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It’s Christmas Eve and time for me to extend best wishes for Christmas, the holiday season and the coming new year. At 2am this morning I was out in the driveway fighting with Christmas lights, camera and a bad idea to make a picture that would represent my feelings of riding and the holiday season. For the past couple years the safe bet was a picture of the Vespa hauling home the tree but Kim and I made an impulse buy one evening a few weeks ago at a local Christmas tree vendor. So no tree to haul on the scooter. For those of you who just have to see the tree on the back of the Vespa check the bottom of this post for one of the classic pictures.

The holidays always seem to become hectic despite the best planning. Providence intervened this year to bring a bit of needed solitude to the house in the form of an impending ice storm. We canceled our traditional Christmas Eve party this year when nearly everyone who planned to attend was now departing town early to avoid the weather on Christmas Day. So I can sit here now and type and reflect on the season and it’s meaning. Junior is laying at my feet gnawing on a marrow bone while Kim sits in the living room illuminated by the Christmas tree. Life is good and there is much to be grateful for.

After giving up trying to produce the picture in my head for my holiday greeting I put the lights, tripod and camera away. Could not seem to push the Vespa back into the garage though and decided to go for a ride. The night sky was clear and the temperature was a relatively comfortable 20F. Riding at night always is nice especially when there is snow on the ground and Christmas lights on. Though not so many as the clock ticks near 3am. In Boalsburg there were lights glowing on Main Street and I took a little time to wander around and shoot a few pictures. While it seemed nostalgic to me I’m now sure how a passing police cruiser would view me. Faith in the power of the Christmas spirit kept me going.

I hope these words find each of you with a quiet heart and a smile on your lips. For a day the cares of the world can slip away and the power of the season can renew us. For any of you who receive a new scooter or motorcycle, well, I don’t want to hear about it……*grin*

All the best for a Merry Christmas and bright holiday season!

Oh, one of the classic Vespa Christmas tree pictures.