Scooter in the Sticks

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

Our Beautiful Earth

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Deep in the holiday season the world still turns with it’s tapestry of good and evil.  A video crossed my digital desk that reflects the our physical world, at times transcending the noise and chaos for a few moments, and at others providing a mesmerizing look at our collective influence on the planet.

The Baum Foundation, an organization committed to improving people’s lives through programs in the arts, education and environment, presents a video by director and composer, Kenji Williams, who compiled views from NASA and other sources of the Bella Gaia, our beautiful Earth. Give yourself a gift by watching and for a few minutes soaring through the heavens.

This video was supported by NASA, the Baum Foundation, the Foundation for Global Community, the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, and is a production of Remedy Arts, LLC.

Please enjoy and share this unique view of the Earth and its environment with those you know.

Autumn Light

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Autumn near Galbraith GapJust a few weeks ago autumn was still amidst its fragrant, natural bloom of color and leaf.  Circumstance and schedule largely kept myself and the Vespa indoors engaging other worlds and foes.  But Kim, Junior and I did find a few moments late one afternoon to drink in the spectacle that comes to central Pennsylvania each fall and let the autumn light wash us clean of responsibility and concern, if only for some dazzling minutes.

On the way home from an appointment, the light guided our little car towards Galbraith Gap and a corridor of land recently acquired by the Commonwealth that leads into the mountains.

Kim Dionis in autumn light

Long shadows imply a rapid change in the day as the sun plummets toward the horizon.  I’m convinced the transition is faster in autumn and winter.  My camera watched Kim explore as Junior watched me, waiting for a tennis ball to emerge from a pocket.  Funny how attention, human and canine, can be so focused and connected among a group of people.

Kim Dionis, photographer

As the remains of the day began to fade toward dusk I watched as Kim worked with her camera.  She considers me the photographer in the family but that’s purely a one-sided judgement.  In the art world arena she’s sold more photographs than I have.  She shoots more that I do.  And her relentless approach to a subject is dizzying.  I’ve learned much from that approach though must confess I cannot bring the focus of mind or will to bear on any subject.  It remains a goal but I suspect I don’t have the intellect or obsessive capacity for it.

Due to a chronic medical condition her productive time is limited, strangled really, to a few short hours each day.  Some days less.  In any good relationship people find strength in one another.  How those are embodied are different, and for some perhaps unknown.  It’s clear to me though.  I’ve watched Kim struggle with loss and defeat, but she returns over and over in enthusiasm and desire.  In the autumn light I’ve had the chance to witness the soaring of human spirit and be able to say, “Hey, that’s my wife!”.

I hope I can offer something useful in return because Junior just wants fed, played with or another biscuit…

Traveling on Through Life

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Standing along a winding road, the fragrance of honeysuckle and Lily of the Valley drifting through the trees, I’m uncertain whether I’d be happier walking, just leave the Vespa and make off through the woods.  Memories of a million footsteps through fields and forests flood into view, a gift of consciousness that I too often take for granted.  Alone, relaxed and for a few moments at peace with myself and the world, life passes slowly and for a moment time almost stands still.  I don’t want to miss a moment and think about something Benjamin Franklin said, “Lost time is never found again.”

Riding has a marvelous capacity to create experience through the way it hurls a rider naked through the world.  Every sense can be ignited and a push on the handlebar or a turn of the throttle can sweep you into a different place.  Departing the beaten path, a decision fueled by a passing association with the agricultural landowner led the Vespa through grassy tracks and attention to scooter wheel eating groundhog holes.

In the scooter’s dream, the road goes on forever…

The statement is homage to poet Susan Mitchell’s work, “The Road” in which she writes “In the car’s dream the road goes on forever.”  The first time I heard that line, lovingly whispered to me by my wife, I felt a shiver of excitement run through me.  Little did I know I would live it over and over again on the scooter as I travel on through life.

In the heart of central Pennsylvania the roads do seem to go on forever, a dream for anyone just needing to ride quiet.

Someone asked me recently when I was going to move up to a motorcycle.  It puzzles me what moving up means though I’ve long ago realized it’s not a conversation for polite company and instead respond with, “Oh, I don’t know….”

The Vespa GTS250ie still exceeds my expectations for performance and I long ago fell in love with the way it looks.

Rain threatened a few times during the ride, something I prefer not do deal with when I’m traversing grass ways and dirt paths.  This picture suggests an innate ability to ignore present danger and dawdle with a camera as the weather sweeps across the sky.  Luckily only a few big drops slapped across myself and the scooter.

Somewhere near the southern end of Centre County, Pennsylvania I found myself walking further and further from the scooter, savoring each footstep and breath.  My wife turned me on to Verbascum thapsus, the long stemmed plants in the picture.  Weeds to many I’ve now come to enjoy them and am happy to see a half dozen or so have volunteered to grow in our own woodland landscape.  This picture is for you Kim.  Thank you.

The scooter is small and I’m not in the picture.  That has to mean something right?

Just one more ride and I’ll find the answer…

The Big Picture

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Embracing the big picture, visually and mentally.  Looking out over the Nittany Valley, home for the past 40 plus years, it’s easy to let the mind wander, imagine, and plan.  I always think I know what the picture is.  Experience proves otherwise.


On the way to work, wet morning, early enough to stop and look.  I never plan to stop, it just happens on the way to somewhere.  The new tires are worn in and fine on the damp pavement.  For a few moments, taking in the view, it’s as if there are no cares or concerns, just breathing and living.

Chinese philosopher Lao Tzu said, ““A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” It’s taken years to understand what that means and even longer to become, if not a good traveler, at least a half-assed one.  I have a love-hate relationship with plans; I love making them and hate abandoning them.  Riding has helped illuminate the value of unexpected paths and detours, roads and routes outside the plan.  Still, I make plans both large and small.

A few evenings ago while wandering through the grocery store I was building plans for a quiet evening dashed by a broken waterline in the basement.  Not so many years ago this unexpected change of plans would leave a sour, bitter, angry taste in my mouth.  Remarkably I’ve found some satisfaction in embracing the unexpected.  So an evening of work with flux and solder, mop and broom, delivered an experience I would neither anticipate or choose.

In the flood in the basement reached a collection of journals, written evidence of my existence all neatly stacked, stored and soaked.  The road this evening called for methodical, careful work to retrieve these books, drying what I could, turning pages, inspecting the faded, bleeding ink.  And here and there reading of life from five, ten and twenty years earlier.  Standing in the basement I had a glimpse of the big picture that I call my life, all thanks to an abandoned plan.


A tiger was drenched in the flood, a Moon Tiger, icon of the Moon Senior High school’s Flame yearbook from 1972.  Paging through history it was hard to fathom how quickly the years have passed, and wondering what’s become of all those people.

Earlier in the evening I was surveying the valley, gazing at the big picture of Boalsburg, State College, and the Nittany Valley.  I’ve always been attracted to high places, overlooks, promontories, places to take in the world, wander, and think.


Junior and I share the experience though for decidedly different reasons.  The plan often changes during our walks, or at least my plan.  Can’t really speak to his though I have my suspicions.  I want to walk, throw the ball, and just spend some time with my thoughts.  And keep Junior out of the ponds so neither Kim or I have to endure the fragrance of wet dog.  And more times than not my plan changes when Junior decides to head off for a swim.

He’s just missing the big picture.

The Pleasure of Being Lost

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This past Sunday morning was remarkably clear — bright, crisp, the world a surreal stage on which my friend Paul Ruby and I were riding our scooters. Abandoning our normal meeting at Saint’s Cafe we veered north towards Beech Creek, Pennsylvania, a 30 mile ride for our breakfast.

Easy riding through the broad Bald Eagle valley and along the lake at Bald Eagle State Park was a quiet reminder of how simple life can feel on my Vespa.  Paul abandoned his BMW K1200 in favor of a Piaggio Fly 150.  Sometimes less is much more.

After donning a liner to my jacket — the air temperature was hovering at 62F — it was time to eat.  Or so demanded my stomach.

I don’t come to Beech Creek often and when I do it’s just to pass through on the way to somewhere else.  The Furst Corner Restaurant deserves more allegiance.  How many places can I say serves more bacon than I can eat?

After breakfast a decision was made to take a scenic route home and I suggested a road along the west side of the valley that would wind the 15 miles to Milesburg.  Turning right towards Orviston would lead us to the road I thought I knew.

A few words about Orviston…

My knowledge is limited of the place which is nestled in the far northern end of Centre County seemingly lost at the end of a road far from anything.  I remember stopping there over 10 years ago at a little store which was part of the livingroom of a house to get something to drink.  All they had was chocolate milk.  More than a few of the houses had padlocks on the front doors. I thought it odd then and expected the same now.

Perhaps it was the light or things had changed but Orviston seemed a fine little town of 95 people.

On this day I never planned to be in Orviston but rather turn off towards home on some other road.

My cartographic memory failed me at Orviston.  I neither found the road or knew which way to go.  After a momentary pause to consider returning the way we came or to head up a little dirt track marked only by a sign “No Winter Maintenance” I motioned to Paul towards the path less traveled.

As the trail climbed up the mountain and the ride rougher I had absolutely no idea where I was or where we were going.  For someone who’s life is full of planning and careful consideration of strategy and tactics it was an absolutely electric feeling to be disconnected from everything.

The pleasure of being lost is rare in Central Pennsylvania, at least for me.  As Paul and I raced our scooters along a path more suited for a dirt bike I remembered why I have little interest in a GPS.  There is little primitive or wild available easily to me and a GPS would obliterate any chance like the one presented on this ride.

A view looking down the mountain road.  Steep and not the easiest to negotiate with a CVT transmission.  Loose gravel and unexpected washboard and rocks made several miles of riding that was outside the norm for the Vespa.

Emerging onto pavement on the other side of the mountain near Polecat Road I passed Paul who was riding standing up in what I could only assume was a gesture of triumph.  A half mile up the road, still unsure or where I was, a came upon a coyote standing in the middle of the road, a tall animal, lank, staring and glittering a warm brown in the sun.  As I slowed he walked off the road into a thicket of scrub trees.

And me, lost and seeing that coyote — how could I ask anything more of the world?

The pleasure of being lost…