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Frank Armstrong: Photographer

October 11, 2014 by Scooter in the Sticks 13 Comments

On the road early to have breakfast with photographer Frank Armstrong at the Naked Egg Cafe in Pine Grove Mills, Pennsylvania. Grey mist shrouded the valley with a quiet threat of rain. For a few moments I considered the seductive ease of getting into the car rather than pull on protective gear to ride. A moment in the driveway pondering the monochrome sky and the choice was clear.

Frank was on a photographic walkabout starting a couple days in Worcester, Massachusetts. I became part of a small email group of photographers that in the pre-digital era that included Frank and have been friends since.

I associate two words with Frank — photography and Texas. A camera is never out of reach and the Texan sensibility and storytelling is delivered with at Lone Star state drawl. This quick picture was made while waiting for an order of dry toast.

My chair faced the parking lot during breakfast and I noticed how insignificant the Vespa scooter looks amidst a sea of automobiles — a visual reminder of the need to carefully manage myself on the road and the American love affair with cars. I predict this will not change in my lifetime and the Vespa will remain alone in the lot.

Frank is criss-crossing Pennsylvania making photographs on his way to Ohio to visit friends. It’s been awhile since I engaged the kind of serious photography he has been doing for decades.

Gordon Harkins, a photography instructor at Penn State, Paul Ruby, a State College photographer, and Frank Armstrong are all members of the Zoners email group. As much as I look forward to getting together with these guys, I have to say I was feeling glum as I considered the photographic work they are engaged in while my own creative output has spun down to images with my iPhone or point and shoot camera. I’ve been in a multiple year slump. Talking with Frank has me thinking it’s time to work again…

After breakfast everyone went their own way. One stop on the way home to wonder how the summer slipped past so quickly and to think a bit about my own photographic next steps. It’s probably time to abandon film and darkroom work and make a commitment to digital photography and printing. I’ve avoided it for a decade now and the result is I remain frozen in time not making any new work. Ebay here I come…

Frank’s visit this time and the ones in the past all provided some creative kick-in-the-ass though I suspect he didn’t realize it. If you have a moment check out Frank Armstrong’s website to look at the complete collection of work.

Ducati vs. Vespa

September 21, 2014 by Scooter in the Sticks 20 Comments

Comparing anything, motorcycles and scooters included, invariably leads many to the mental trap of “which is better?”. As I think about all the times I’ve engaged in that pointless battle — which is the better camera, tripod, paint, microwave oven, car, faucet, tile, window — you get the picture, it’s been a complete waste of time. I will battle on though to rationalize my decision making process though. I’m that dumb. And so it goes with the Ducati vs. Vespa as it turned in my head during a ride to breakfast that my friend Paul and I undertook over the weekend.

Before delving into anything related to the machines or the ride I need to say something about the photography, or more specifically, the camera used. I’ve misplaced my trusty Canon G15 point and shoot and was left with only the iPhone to make images. Normally I would have gone to great lengths to find something to shoot with but on this morning I decided to let go of image making. It was not easy but well worth the struggle.

The iPhone 4 makes reasonably good images and I put it to use a few times during the ride. But mostly I found myself riding unencumbered by any concerns to document or illustrate what I was seeing or thinking. Many rides are filled with a mental narration that can consume the experience as I commit more and more mental resources towards photography. On this day I found that I got to a point where my mind was, well, empty. I was just on the Vespa flying down the road.

Paul’s Ducati Hypermotard is a pretty thing. He got rid of his Ducati 1198 to make room for this one in the garage. A lot more fun and more comfortable to ride in my opinion though each rider has their own taste in machinery. He acquired it on eBay and had to go to Mobile, Alabama to pick it up. He really wanted the Hypermotard. It does have a nice, throaty engine sound and can easily leave the Vespa evaporated in it’s rear view mirrors but on a ride through the countryside for breakfast it didn’t come up.

As fall approaches the world starts to change. The soybean fields are turning yellow in preparation for harvest and the atmosphere is just perfect for riding. There’s a trade off to keeping the power of the Ducati in check — foregoing dazzling speed for the dazzling scenery. The Vespa isn’t capable of dazzling speed but I suspect you can’t pay a lot of attention to the roses when you are dazzled.

During a stop for pictures Paul had me ride circles around him so he could get an action picture. I reminded him to make the scooter and I look heroic. He succeeded in making me look like the circus bear riding a bicycle. So much for heroics. I will say the scooter looks really clean — a testament to the dishonesty of photography.

When we left State College, Pennsylvania there were a number of options for route and breakfast eateries. Paul left it to me to choose so I thought I would surprise him by deviating from our normal 20 mile ride to breakfast by increasing the distance to 60 miles. For a moment I thought rain might intrude despite the forecast calling for sunshine. I didn’t care though having not been on the Vespa all week. And the Ducati, nice and shiny as it is, could use a bit of rain to humble itself. Turned out things remained dry.

The official Ducati portrait for Paul’s website. I’ve been photographing him with his scooters and motorcycles for 20 years or so. He has quite a collection. I’ll try and get him to pose again when I have a real camera available.

It is a nice bike.

This portrait was made just a few miles from one of the breakfast establishments Paul has trying to get me to for the past couple years — Mamie’s in Martinsburg, Pennsylvania. Luckily, the surprise remained intact until we pulled into the parking lot because for all the riding in Pennsylvania Paul possesses a common talent of not really being aware of where he is. Or so it seems to me.

Mamie’s has great food and the fresh baked donuts are to die for. I forgot how good they were. If you pass anywhere near this part of Pennsylvania you must stop for breakfast or lunch.

The Ducati vs. Vespa question surfaced a few more times on the way home. Once on a three exit run on Interstate 99 as I watched the Ducati in my rearview mirror as we tooled along at 70 mph. Even though he could go a lot faster the beating by the wind wouldn’t be any better than what I was experiencing on the Vespa. Those naked bikes stick you right in the middle of things.

And a bee in my helmet and subsequent sting brought the Vespa to a rapid halt along a rural road with Paul following closely. The Hypermotard seems able and agile in negotiating pavement to gravel in a hurry.

Damn bees. It’s been awhile since I had to content with that stuff.

All in all a great ride. First time with the new (used) Ducati. At this point I’d say the score is Ducati 1, Vespa 1. Arrived home with just shy of another 120 miles added to the clock and a smile on my face.

Can I ask for more?

Latin Lessons, Breakfast and Other Riding Pleasures

September 22, 2013 by Scooter in the Sticks 13 Comments

If I had a quarter for every time I was asked “Can a scooter ride with a motorcycle?”…

The answer is simple — yes, and no.

On this morning last week my Vespa was an acceptable riding companion to Paul Ruby’s BMW K1200GT despite the gap in size and power. In this case the riding styles of the riders matched making the machines incidental to the ride. No freeway tricks or backroad racing involved, just a leisurely 38 mile tour through the woods on the way to breakfast.

Paul dispatched some trash from the road which offended his view in the pristine landscape. I can’t remember ever seeing a rider police litter during a ride, myself included. Only took a few minutes to gather, stow in the sidecase, and return to the ride.

Positive Karma points involved.

The woodlands and waterways in Black Moshannon State Park are more like the arboreal forests of Maine than the typical Pennsylvania ones. The last flowers are blooming on the lilypads before everything recedes into fall and then the cold of winter.

Speaking of motorcycles and scooters mixing — there’s a reason why the BMW isn’t in this picture. Fine, soft gravel provides uncertain footing for the big bike where the scooter, while no dirt bike, is easier to flog without fear of dumping.

My wife is the naturalist in the house, by temperament, training and love. I know this plant as Doll’s Eyes. She does too but consistently shocks me with her encyclopedic knowledge of scientific names (in Latin) of plants as Actaea Alba flows from her lips. I tell myself I’m smart in other ways.

On rides like this I wish she had a Vespa and we could ride together…

Ruby and I arrive at the Retro Eatery in Philipsburg, Pennsylvania for breakfast — hungry. It’s a great place to eat and not what I would expect to find in P Burg. If you’re out that way it’s worth a visit.

Paul always investigates the menu and engages in a range of culinary evaluations. Regardless of where we are though the end result is the same: waffles and bacon.

I’ve never questioned the choice. Some things are private.

After breakfast we made a quick stop at my entrepreneurial enterprise that promises to make my retirement years profitable and comfortable. I see new socks and underwear in my future.

We took the long way home — a 50 mile trek across the edge of the Allegheny Plateau until we descended into Bald Eagle Valley and the beginning of the ridge and valley section of Pennsylvania. The abrupt changes in natural and geologic landscapes are a pleasure to experience and with the tutelage of my loving wife I see a lot more than I used to.

Just not in Latin.

Family, Friends and a Ride to the IngleBean Coffee House

September 9, 2013 by Scooter in the Sticks 10 Comments

Not just another Saturday morning in central Pennsylvania. This one was one of those magnificent days where the atmosphere is free of haze that postcard photographers love. Add a constantly changing variety of blue sky and wispy clouds and it feels like you’re in a Disney World commercial.

With the temperature at 48F, Aleta, Paul and I pointed our scooters towards Millheim, Pennsylvania and the IngleBean Coffee House for breakfast. A fine, lazy ride through some of the most picturesque agricultural landscapes in Pennsylvania — a real ride through time as a result of the growing Amish communities here.

Seeing horse-drawn buggies is a common scene with road apples everywhere and the telltale lines on the road sketched by hundreds of thin steel wheels. During the ride we passed a number of them. I noticed one Amish farm is a solar array on the roof. Wonder what that powers…

We were lucky enough to get a parking space right in front of the coffee house. Notice the parking pattern — Paul and I represent the older generation parking head out. Aleta does the head in parking. Evidence of an intergenerational ride.

Aleta Deveau in the Inglebean Coffee House

The IngleBean Coffee House is a relaxed, comfortable, feels like home kind of place with good food. Definitely worth the half hour ride. The place has a rustic, LL Bean feel to it and is the sort of establishment you would expect to find friends (which we did when we first arrived). Paul and Aleta seemed to be at home.

Paul Ruby, BMW, Ducati, vintage Vespa, and on this day Piaggio Fly rider. I think he’s sucking in his stomach…

Aleta puts up with one more picture with the local mural on the side of the Elk Creek Cafe. Another fine place to eat.

We wandered across the street to the Green Drake Art Gallery where I bought a small clay tile for Kim. On the way back I had the chance to catch another Amish rider…

As fast as the morning develops it draws to a close. Departing Millheim we wandered a bit until Paul and Aleta decided to head to the Nittany Valley Antique Machinery Show and Flea Market while I chose to head home. Riding with family and friends is great but there are moments that I like to keep to myself — the little walks along the road looking for a vantage point, burning memories into my synaptic pathways, being grateful that I’m alive and on the earth.

Riding through the middle of the valley on the small roads, the ones the Amish use, and just thinking how fortunate I am to be here.

Another little ride stored away, percolating, mixing into the Vespa experience.

Chick Magnet

April 8, 2011 by Scooter in the Sticks 17 Comments

Paul Ruby with his self-described chick magnet — a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon, a cream puff car he purchased last year at the Carlisle Car Show. He owns a number of chick magnets by his reckoning, including a big, black Harley-Davidson, a red Ducati 1198, a ’70s vintage red Ferrari, and a ’60s vintage Vespa. He describes them in various ways, from pure mojo, chick magnet, or other “pure” terms I would rather not put in writing. All are part of a unique Rubiesque lexicon. Under intense questioning he’ll eventually admit that none, save the vintage Vespa, have ever attracted a female. He may go further in saying that the women he’s encountered, in fact, seem completely disinterested in any of these machines.

Maybe the special power resides in the white socks and black slippers.

This past Saturday, something happened to possibly alter my perception of the idea of a chick magnet. The Oldsmobile Cutlass wagon may just have those fabled powers.

Dan Leri and I stood outside Saint’s Cafe, discussing Dan’s recent mishap with his BMW RT1150. I’ll be posting that story sometime soon. As we talked, Paul trotted up with a cup of his favorite Duncan Donuts coffee in hand, smiling and thankful to be walking on the good earth. He is generally that happy.

Before Dan could continue with his story, which included how the throttle froze on the way to work, Paul suddenly interjects: “You can’t talk to me. I have a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon. It’s a creampuff, pure mojo, a major chick magnet!” Bam. Or so he could have added. Bam is a common way Paul punctuates his deliveries.

Just as the words pass his lips, the crash of metal meeting metal stops the conversation. Paul’s head rotates toward the sound as if mounted on some fine, German, geared system. Eyes wide, his body is already in motion towards the parking lot across the street. It takes a moment for Dan and I to comprehend the situation. A gray minivan has just plowed into Paul’s creampuff. Like many guys, well, maybe most guys, we grin, chuckle and return to the frozen throttle conversation.

Only a few minutes pass until I notice Paul, standing behind the minivan, his arms wrapped around a woman. Another few minutes pass. Dan and I part ways. I head across the street towards my Vespa and see Paul still talking with the woman. The side of the wagon is clearly wrecked, and I’ll later learn that the minivan was in far worse shape. I stifle a strong, very strong, urge to chirp “chick magnet” as I walk by.

A few hours later, Paul is on the phone asking me if I think God is trying to tell him something. He’s wondering if he’s making light of women, by thinking his possessions have some magical power over them. Does this mean he believes– they’re one-dimensional creatures drawn merely to the sparkling of worldly goods. I listen quietly as he expresses deep, spiritual concern for his actions and speech–as he questions the foundations on which his beliefs are based. His angst flows through the phone in a heavy wave of emotion. I listen until he’s drained of speech, awaiting my response.

In our front yard, a Carolina wren sings loudly for a mate. Junior stretches on the floor as my foot rubs his soft belly. Finally, I respond.

“No, none of that. It’s a chick magnet.”

What are friends for if not to rubber-stamp each others’ shit.

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