Scooter in the Sticks

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

Junior the Birthday Boy

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Junior is five years old today.  Kim and I have had the pleasure of sharing life with him for almost four of those years and look forward to many more.  This picture, made on one of our morning walks in the hills near our house, shows Junior resting after miles of running up and down the hillside chasing his beloved tennis ball.  On some days as I make my way up the hill and the view of the valley sweeps away to the west and north,  I feel as if I’m walking through a scene from the Sound of Music.

Life with a good dog…


One many mornings during those walks Junior decides to go for a swim — a newly acquired taste on his part.  Made this video a little over a month ago when he finally decided to go after the tennis ball in the water.  He was still tentative then.  He’s an expert now.  Not sure how Belgian Sheepdogs generally react to water but Junior has become a swimmer.

Happy birthday Junior.  What will it be — Outback Steakhouse or Texas Roadhouse for dinner?  Or just a big bowl of Fromm’s?

Happiness is Not a Destination…

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There is a moment before I press the starter button on the Vespa when everything becomes simple.  Even on cold mornings that requires a frustrating amount of time to put on, the moment when the ride begins is a door into a simple place.

Gordon Harkins displays a found object at Saint’s Cafe.

Happiness is a strange thing.  I’ve learned over the years that it’s not a destination.  I’ve heard stories that it’s a state of mind.  And others have postulated it to be nothing more than a chemical reaction in  our brains resulting in an emotional reaction we collectively label happiness.

Most instructive to me is Thoreau’s pondering:


Happiness is like a butterfly; the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder…

The butterfly appears while riding, and I shed the worries of the world and am grounded in the moments flying by on the road.

The past week saw the last of the snow evaporate and temperatures climb close to 60F.  I won’t be sad to see the cold weather behind and warmer rides the norm.  In a few weeks these farm fields will grow green and the winter tires will come off the scooter.

Evenings are still cool but don’t limit riding like frigid, sub-freezing ones not so far off.  In winter sighting riders is an infrequent occurrence.  Standing on the concrete deck of the parking garage I think I saw a butterfly…

Waiting for Junior

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Junior knew this vet visit was different. I could see it in his eyes — a nervous scanning of the office, maybe noticing the place was empty at the end of the day. Maybe he could feel the small injury that resulted from his exuberant reaction to my arrival at doggy daycare when he banged his head against something as he strained to communicate, “Daddy’s here!”. Sedation and stitches were in his future.

So I wait.

Waiting for Junior.

I picture him coming through the door, wobbly from drugs, drunken on shaky legs wondering if he’ll be able to jump into his crate in the back of the van or if I’ll have to heft his 81 pounds like a sack of potatoes. It’s been 30 minutes — the vet said it wouldn’t take long to fix him, close the cut in his face just below his right eye.

On the counter is a picture of a man hugging a yellow lab. I know that look. I’m reminded of the intense, shimmering lives led by dogs that seem to sparkle past in an instant. I’ve had a lot of dogs.

Waiting for Junior.

A stuffed dog perched amidst pamphlets for pet insurance and memorial services provide no comfort. It’s dark outside. Just a little injury, a small mishap in a dog’s life. Still, I miss my boy.

The dark side of imagination works through unlikely scenarios. Still, sedation is never a minor activity. Or so I believe sitting alone in the waiting room.

Waiting for Junior.

A technician emerges, smiles, and tells me they’re almost done. The room brightens and I see Junior running through green fields leaping toward an orange rubber ball. I imagine giving him dinner later — letting him lick the dregs of milk and cereal in the morning.

Waiting.

Waiting for Junior.

A large inflatable tick hangs from the ceiling over a display of healthy pet treats. The technician who took Junior steps into view, stops, and softly speaks, “Come on Junior. That’s a good boy.”
Junior walks slowly, struggling to keep his legs under him, moving uncertainly. His eyes find me and his gait increases as he heads home. His body touches my leg and he melts onto the floor, tired, disoriented, relaxed. I know everything will be ok. I am reminded again of the place dogs have lived in me.

Later I hear his breathing, soft and regular, at my feet. I read on his discharge papers, “Junior was a very good patient today”.

He slept well, worn low by the day.

In the morning I took a close look at his injury. Small, almost insignificant. And I almost wonder why I was so nervous.

My dog Junior.

Riding and Aging

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My daughter sent me a link to this video about a woman who at 101 is still driving her Packard.  Surely the inference is that I should set my goals to still be riding at 101.

It’s funny how varied people’s ideas of old age can be.  Mine can change with the weather, the creaks and aches, or with the memories that surface at any given moment.  Right now, as I write this, I’m a young buck ready to take on the world.

Joe Paterno: 1926 – 2012

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Joe Paterno died at 9:25am today at the Mt. Nittany Medical Center where he’d been hospitalized since January 13 due to complications from the chemotherapy he was was undergoing for lung cancer. I’ve seen Coach Paterno often walking back and forth from his home to his office since coming to Penn State in 1972.

The Paterno family released this statement shortly after his passing:

It is with great sadness that we announce that Joe Paterno passed away earlier today. His loss leaves a void in our lives that will never be filled.

He died as he lived. He fought hard until the end, stayed positive, thought only of others and constantly reminded everyone of how blessed his life had been. His ambitions were far reaching, but he never believed he had to leave this Happy Valley to achieve them. He was a man devoted to his family, his university, his players and his community.

He has been many things in his life – a soldier, scholar, mentor, coach, friend and father. To my mother he was and is her soul mate, and the last several weeks have shown the strength of their love. To his children and grandchildren he is a shining example of how to live a good, decent and honest life, a standard to which we aspire.

When he decided to forego a career in law and make coaching his vocation, his father Angelo had but one command: Make an impact.

As the last 61 years have shown, Joe made an incredible impact. That impact has been felt and appreciated by our family in the form of thousands of letters and well wishes along with countless acts of kindness from people whose lives he touched. It is evident also in the thousands of successful student athletes who have gone on to multiply that impact as they spread out across the country.

And so he leaves us with a peaceful mind, comforted by his “living legacy” of five kids, 17 grandchildren, and hundreds of young men whose lives he changed in more ways than can begin to be counted.

In lieu of flowers or gifts, the family requests that donations be made to the Special Olympics of Pennsylvania or the Penn State-THON, The Penn State IFC/Panhellenic Dance Marathon.