Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

Watching Clouds

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The change in light and leaf vibrate in bone and marrow as the dance between earth and sun moves from summer to autumn.  An evening laying in the grass on a hill, watching the sun drop towards the horizon, I could watch the clouds swell and dissolve at the end of the day. Watching clouds has no use or purpose save for the nourishment it provides the soul.

clouds at sunset

Two jet planes move west towards Pittsburgh, Cleveland, Detroit.  The sun will be gone in minutes, a dying swan in the sky.

contrails

As the seconds pass I sink deeper into the grass and grow more content in witnessing the aerial struggle between light and moisture.

contrails

It can be challenging to lay and do nothing other than inspect the slow but relentless changes as a contrail becomes a cloud.

a single contrail

I have to remind myself to take a few minutes to look skyward.  Too many sunsets and clouds have passed by without recognition.

clouds at sunset

In the final moments before the sun drops too far along the horizon the color palette changes.

contrail at dusk

And finally the light and color fades and only the fall of night remains.  Such a small investment of time to watch a minor miracle and asking myself why I don’t do it more often.

Watching clouds.

Fall Skies and Motorcycle and Scooter Magic

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Riding under a strong, dramatic sky on a fall day lends offers a certain je ne sais quoi.  I feel something different in my blood, an excitement shimmer through my bones just being on the road and moving.  Scenes that pass with vague indifference in a car ignite my imagination on the Vespa.  Or any motorcycle I have ridden in fact.  Those skies don’t favor one machine over another.

This time of year, with bigger shifts in temperature and light, I find a rolling unfolding of aerial tapestry that threaten to cut my rides short as I stop and watch shafts of light sweep across a field, clouds pass overhead in a collage of shapes and forms rekindling memories of childhood spent lazing on a hilltop just watching the sky, free of worries beyond being home in time for dinner.

 On days I can’t ride to work I often find myself rolling the Vespa from the garage and heading down the road “just for a short ride” I promise Kim.  An unwinding of the strangling energy of a busy day, the quick thrill of flying over the pavement, the momentary fantasy of freedom that a ride can bring.  And then, an image of something so ordinary and familiar beckons for attention.  Standing along the road, not far from home I look and wonder and make a picture.

The Vespa is elegant in its mechanical simplicity and continues to surprise me with its faithful performance and willingness to tackle anything I’ve asked of it, from smooth pavement to gravel paths to snow covered roads.  I would be lying to say I have not considered other machines, imagined different rides in different ways on motorcycles that have caught my attention.  But I continue to be glamoured by the Vespa, it’s magical hold clouding my mind, calling me back, over and over again to the silver scooter. 

The important thing is to ride. Even for just a few minutes — that’s all it takes.  Here I stopped to look back towards home, watch the sun go down, and express some gratitude for being alive and walking on the earth.

I never do that when I’m driving.

So I keep riding. For fellow riders keep riding.  For those would be riders reading and dreaming, take the leap, assume the risk, and find some magic.

Especially now, under those hypnotic fall skies, cool days and fast changing colors.

The Prowl: Experiences with the Triumph Tiger

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Snow’s falling again and I’m daydreaming about the road and the Triumph Tiger I was riding back in late November. The last motorcycle of the 2009 season with temperatures hovering in the mid 40s the memory of that motorcycle fresh. And tempting. The Tiger story’s been hibernating in my brain all winter. Now may be the right time to revisit the prowl. Thanks to Craig Kissell of Kissell Motorsports I have the opportunity to ride such fine motorcycles.

The Tiger is sleek, powerful, and tall – at least in terms of getting onto the bike. With the hard side cases attached I needed to make a real effort to mount up without scuffing things up with my boots. On dicey terrain I didn’t want to step up on the pegs either. Some flexibility work would definitely be in order before I could bound onto the back of the Triumph. Once onboard the sense of height was gone.

With excellent planning I always seem to ride before breakfast. As much as I wanted to head out into the Moshannon Forest my stomach was making a stronger argument as I headed over the mountain towards Unionville. It doesn’t take long to realize how sweet the Triumph Tiger is. Everything about it is smooth – the ride, the transmission, the brakes. And the torque it puts out allows it to pull hard at just about any speed and any gear. Definitely a plus for a tourist like me who likes to wander and not be overly concerned with the workings of the machine I am riding. Coming down the mountain into Unionville I was pleased at how well the Tiger holds the road in a hairpin turn. I’m no racer but I’m sure this bike could fly through the curves if I made a request.

Railroad tracks strike a wandering chord in me. Looking at them vanish in the distance has me wanting to explore. What’s out there, over the next hill, around the next corner? It’s a big part of what riding is for me. The Triumph would be happy to come along and take me anywhere I want to go.

The Tiger is a nice looking machine. Even in a rush to get breakfast I couldn’t help buy admire it. This bike could take me to a lot of breakfast places. I can see myself in the northern reaches of the Adirondacks, or south along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Or in front of a diner in Utah. Alas, if I only had the time.

The Unionville Café is a good, solid breakfast place. Any riders passing through the area will find a place to relax and eat. It’s always nice to stop when it’s cold outside. There are times when I get warm I don’t feel like climbing back on the motorcycle and facing the elements. This wasn’t one of them.

The road out of Unionville towards Moshannon State Park is a clean, winding road climbing up to the Allegheny Plateau. The Triumph Tiger could race to the top if good sense didn’t govern the throttle. I’ve been up this way many times on a variety of machines. I just never got there quite so fast before.

Central Pennsylvania is blessed with endless miles of roads that no one seems to use much. Concern for other motorist’s fade as I find myself more concerned with bear, deer, and dogs.

Local forest roads come in two varieties – paved and gravel. A path heading off the main road is hard to resist. While more aggressive tires might be a nice addition for some riding the stock tires on the Tiger were easily up to the choices I made. With so much natural gas drilling and timber cutting underway there are a lot of places to explore.

Riding along a road more packed dirt and sand than gravel I began to worry that the heavy, grey sky would begin to release rain. With little desire to return a mud covered bike to the dealership I returned to solid ground. But it was hard to resist the siren’s song of those long, winding, dirt roads.

Many of the smaller roads are uneven, the pavement heaved and twisted from the harsh winters. The suspension of the Tiger doesn’t blink.

There comes a time in almost every ride I make where I am not sure where I’m going. Riding down through some of the thickest growth of rhodendron I’ve ever seem I thought I might head towards Snow Shoe and a different kind of landscape. By this time I have been crisscrossing the region for most of the morning and was aware of how comfortable the seating position, seat, and handlebar position is on the Triumph Tiger.

A course correction and another little traveled road leads me to lost. The tank has plenty of fuel so I’m not too worried. I can’t remember exactly where this place was or whether I was crossing the West Branch of the Susquehanna River or Red Moshannon Creek. Lost is a gift in my book. And the reason why I’m not too keen on GPS. There ‘s something magical about being lost. And in the East, you seldom get that opportunity.

I eventually passed through Snow Shoe and headed off the plateau towards home. This little red and green building, some sort of remnant of the coal mining in the area just called out for a picture.

I had the option of trying the Tiger on Interstate 80 and see how it prowled along with the 18-wheelers. Passing on the freeway option I found more interesting roads that allowed me the chance to put the Triumph through some performance paces. Acceleration, check. Braking, check. Fun, check.

Tired, cold, and still not ready to take the Tiger home I make one last run along the rolling hills leading up to the Allegheny Plateau. Standing in the corn stubble and looking at the motorcycle and the valleys beyond I feel lucky that I am a rider. Being out here with the day fading and the temperature dropping is not what most riders strive for. But the spirit of adventure is something a lot of riders have in common. It feels good to stand up straight and take in the world. With this motorcycle I could take in a lot of places.

Until those rides come along I had to be content prowling home on the Triumph Tiger and hoping winter would not be too long or severe.

Small Riding Accomplishments

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Fall is my favorite riding season. Cooler temperatures coupled with light and color from a magic paint box make every curve in the road a visual feast. I can’t help those of you who live in the flatlands where the roads are all straight.

Riding has collided with responsibility. New work responsibilities, old work responsibilities, a new dog, and all the other things I need or want to do shred my days and burn hours at a startling rate. Long rides seem impossible. That’s why I’ve had to mentally regroup. There is much to gain in small rides.

On Saturday morning I had one hour to ride. Sixty minutes to embrace two-wheeled motion and see what would happen. As usual, the Vespa releases me from the weight of my thoughts and I’m in the flow of the ride. My focus shifts from things I have to do to what is happening right now, right in front of me. I move from my mind to my senses and the world gets brighter.

Stopped along the road taking in the tunnel of changing leaves I am grateful for a chance to be on the road.

Riding only 25 miles there is no shortage of places to see. I wandered into the woods at a place where Kim and I once found a Blood Root plant. Peering through the woods at the scooter I’m reminded of how little I stop when I am in the truck. The world exists only as destinations and I tend to ignore the journey from inside the cage.

I told a friend yesterday that I don’t like group rides because they don’t stop enough. I’m not happy with only food and bathroom breaks. I wonder at times if I would ride at all if the camera wasn’t involved.

On a stop to peer out along the valley I noticed a salamander crossing the road. I think this one is a Wehrle’s salamander. Crouching on the road with my camera on the macro setting I wondered whether this guy was going to bite me. Amazing what passes through a head. And equally amazing how much detail I miss because I’m not paying attention.

I arrived home rested and recharged from a short, small ride. I had forgotten how good they are. As I typed this post I’d been wondering if it is worth the trouble to gear up and ride into town to meet my friend Gordon (3 Prints Project). The temperature is in the 30s and it’s just a short distance.

Now that I remember my short little ride I am now going to head to the garage and fire up the Vespa.