Scooter in the Sticks

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

Riding in Pennsylvania’s Magnificent Forests

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Looking up into the forest canopy.
Peering up into a canopy of hemlock and fir trees.

Surrounded by Trees

Every rider finds themselves blessed (or cursed) by where they live. Long ago I knew living in the middle of the vast forest lands of central Pennsylvania was a gift.

In 1681, when King Charles II gave a nearly 29-million-acre expanse of old-growth trees to William Penn, clearing a Royal debt and ridding the Crown of a troublesome Quaker religious movement by sending them across the Atlantic, I’m enjoying the benefits of that deal today.

Nearly 60 percent of Pennsylvania is still forested and provides a seemingly endless supply of dirt and gravel roads to explore. And for me, they begin just two miles from my front door. For my friend Paul and I, those roads are always beckoning.

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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.