Scooter in the Sticks

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

When the Road Ahead Changes

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Vespa ET4 on a long rural road.
Along a road in Penns Valley Pennsylvania.

Sometimes the Road Ahead is Straight and Familiar

I’m not talking about the pavement. Or dirt and gravel. The change I refer to is when life disrupts my routine and expectations. When I ride I seem more aware now of those changes and the potential impact they have on the journey forward. Even little things stand out and leave me confused about what’s ahead. What will happen next.

During a recent ride to breakfast with my friend Paul I found myself thinking about the road ahead and the things that are changing.

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Fueled by Desire

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Vespa GTS scooter on gravel farm roadRestless on the Road

A ride can begin without goal or expectation — just a twist of the throttle and touch of the bar fueled by desire for movement and motion, a flash of vision as the landscape sweeps by.  And before long you’re miles from home.

Sunday morning began in uncertainty for I wasn’t sure if I wanted to ride, walk with my camera or just go to church.  There are days when I feel restless yet unfocused, at least regarding a plan of action.  At sunrise I was in the garden with the dogs making photographs between requests to heave a tennis ball and recognitions of glowing portions of our naturalized landscape.

Photography is a compulsion, a condition I recognize requires periodic purging lest I become irritated by visual overstimulation.  It’s as if my eyes collect more information than my brain can manage and the camera serves as a tool too download and provide space to function.  I’ve taken part in group photo sessions where a number of camera wielders in a single location all work to “photograph” the place and later share what they saw.  Seeing that work gives you an idea of how differently people see the world.

I suffer by the visual.

The Vespa scooter and I traveled south down the valley toward Spruce Creek along winding roads and farm paths.  The combination of light and sky, field and road agitated the eye and led to a growing ride fueled by desire to see and experience nothing in particular, everything in general.  What started as no ride at all quickly turned into something I had to force to an end due to time and other commitments.

Deja vu — standing on the gravel road looking off toward the lone tree; I’ve been here many times to make a photograph of the tree from this same perspective.  I have a contact print in my office of a view made with an 8×10 Zone VI camera.  And probably a dozen images of a Vespa or motorcycle including an early one made during an Altoona trek on the LX150.

By the time I arrived at this place near Seven Stars, Pennsylvania I had stopped a dozen times to make photographs and was in a rhythm that I can’t call riding or photography — just a ritual dance with camera and scooter.  It moves in fits and starts. It’s fueled by desire for recognition, understanding and something I can’t define.

The “ride” a private experience and responsible for my reluctance to ride with others — in part embarrassed to put my compulsive behavior on display, but mostly because I’ll grow annoyed finding anyone in the way of eye and camera, scooter and road.

I made about seventy photographs during the ride and have been sifting through the experience, making notes, looking at the pictures, wondering what it was all about.  Perhaps something will come of it worth sharing.

For now, just a single image made with my iPhone and processed with Google’s Snapseed app.  A Vespa on a gravel farm road under a sky of drama.

Just the way I like it.

Seduced by the Morning

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farm field at sunrise

I’m a morning person.  Or at least I used to be.  Eyes still spring open automatically at 6:05am regardless of when they closed.  The mind is ready but the body has begun to resist the transition from horizontal to vertical, from the dream world to the real world.  Riding one morning last week I was reminded how I’m seduced by the morning as I watched the light sweep across the fields as the sun breached the horizon.  Fog and mist glows as the day begins and I am grateful to be a witness.  I know so many people who can’t remember seeing the sunrise, don’t care actually because the bed offers a greater allure.

A road at sunriseNot every Vespa ride unwinds as a quiet, zen-like experience.  Some mornings are unwelcome packages of rush, stress and chaotic thinking allowing mere glimpses of the world.  A quick stop to drink in the day first and forget about placing the scooter in the picture.  A few seconds of freedom before moving on into the noise of the day.

On through the day with a taste of the morning lingering on the lips.  Oh, the joy of riding…

 

A Plain Ride to Work

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I could not resist stopping to talk with this horse. I figured he might be related to my Belgian Sheepdog Junior being a Belgian draft horse. Pauses like this during the morning ride to work are sort of, well, therapeutic. Calms my squirming brain before sitting down to a day’s work. When I first stopped this horse galloped off, undoubtedly frightened by the mighty roar of the Vespa. It did not take long for his curiosity to get the best of him though.

The chilly 39F morning ride was replaced by a near 60F ride home. Warm enough that I found myself engaged in my usual Family Circus style circuitous route home weaving through every lane and field I could find. I had forgotten the little thrill I get just poking along and seeing what the snow had hidden for so long.

I don’t ride in groups and seldom ride with anyone at all. Looking at this scene reminded me of what I find most powerful in my little adventures — solitude, escape, and a feeling of being alive and walking on the earth.

Just another plain ride to work.

A State of Mind

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On the way home from work I was doing a bit of musing as I wandered around a farm field with my camera and was thinking about how I often come to be in places like this.

Dan Bateman, author of Musings of an Intrepid Commuter, recently wrote about the state of mind that riding can put you in – one decidedly different than that sitting behind the wheel of an automobile. I revisited the two paragraphs below a number of times. What Dan wrote soundly struck a chord and neatly sums up the magic of riding for me.

There’s something about riding a motorcycle that puts us into a different state of mind than cagers. Sometimes that’s bad. We’re more likely to find ways to get into trouble, you know! On the other hand, or maybe just the other side of the same hand, I find myself so much more open to the world around me. I see more, feel more, and thus experience more, than when in a car. I find myself so much more willing to wander off the beaten path. The age old question. What’s down there? Let’s go find out. I’m not so likely to bother with it in a car or my truck. On a bike, in vivid contrast, I’m ready for adventure at a moment’s notice.

I think most people who ride experience the same thing. Using a bike for regular transportation amplifies the effect. I spend a lot of time on a bike. So I also spend a lot of time in an open and inquisitive state of mind. It’s become a regular trait of mine. Riding is a Zen-like journey. There’s so much personal growth that comes as a result of, but not directly tied to, riding. Thus my journey Monday evening.

Musings of an Intrepid Commuter, April 9, 2009

Riding strips away a lot of the noise that builds through the day and can open the door to adventure. I’m not talking about the big, heroic rides across continents, but rather movement through a regular day, through the daily rituals of life. When I push the Vespa back onto its center stand it is almost always to look around. At nothing and everything. I feel the same way I did when I was a kid and everything seemed new and treasure is everywhere. I’m fortunate that I can ride regularly and enter this state of mind.

Dan talks about how a motorcycle makes him more willing to wander off the beaten path. I have to agree. I seldom wheel my Ford Ranger off the beaten path. The enclosed comfort in a modern vehicle makes those turns ponderous and difficult. Or more often just unimportant. I don’t often feel like a kid in my truck. I know it can be done because I used to prowl the Central Pennsylvania landscape in a truck with my view camera in tow. I would move slowly, just as I do on the scooter, and travel down every unmarked path searching for photographic treasure. But it was never easy and I always had to push past the slothful comfort of padded seats and stereophonic music. The Vespa appears in these pictures without any need to push.
Riding to work the next morning was a repeat of the previous evening. Another path, another opportunity to breathe in the world. They aren’t dramatic rides but they are opportunities to be present, something that is more difficult to achieve amidst the noise of daily living. 
I’ve been here before but each time I stop it’s the first time I’ve been here.