Scooter in the Sticks

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

Evening Riding

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Vespa GTS scooter at sunset

Riding at Sun Down

Often, I feel a sudden burst of mortal awareness as the sun nears the horizon. The end of something. Or perhaps the beginning. Life with the lizard brain is never easy to predict or understand — just relentless in it’s march of survival and desire.

I look to the sky whenever I feel stifled or trapped by a mind refusing to disconnect from the trials of a day. The tapestry of clouds and light kindled a need for the camera and a desire to go for a ride. Even a short journey through familiar ground.

A short time on the road.  Evening riding.

Pausing on the approach to the expressway to make a photograph I wondered at the longing for rest as I looked at the open sky. Riding, the Vespa is my counselor, questioning and directing a conversation no one can hear. It’s why I ride.

Vespa along freeway with truck

Flying the Expressway

Odd choice to ride on the expressway. It was the fastest route to what big sky we have; glimpses of what the landscape is like in the flatlands. Open and looking at heaven.

And then a monster roars by. The modern era bear or Tyrannosaurus. It’s hard to dismiss the destructive power of a large truck hurtling just a feet away. A potential embrace too awful to imagine.

Yet I continue to ride.

And enjoy it.

The joy of evening riding.

Fading in the Rain

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Working with a laptop computer in a coffee shopWriting while fading in the rain

An afternoon apart from the office, a mistaken sense of freedom fueled by a dream of riding the Vespa.  Somewhere.  Anywhere.

Sitting in the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg, I can feel myself fading, eyes heavy and the desire to crawl in bed and disappear over powers and thought of riding.  Especially in the rain.

Like a sleeping potion, rain and gloom can reach inside and massage my soul into worldly submission.  Thought, movement, awareness — all adrift in a thick sea of sleepy pleasure.

Hot tea in paper cupAttention to detail

Next to me stands a cup of hot tea.  Wisps of steam dance wildly.  Tiny beads of moisture line the rim.  I can barely look let alone watch.  My fingers crawl across the keyboard in a slow march as my brain drains away onto the screen.

Soon I’ll take a sip of tea in hope it restores my soul and leads me into green pastures.  If I’m blessed, I may even find myself riding.

Somewhere.
Anywhere.

laptop computer and cookiesNo Vespa pictures

For a moment I wonder if I’m on a path to another heart attack.  Or just getting old.  Either way, my eye is on the two chocolate chip cookies to my left.  A personal failure to leave them uneaten for some reason.

There are no Vespa pictures and no adventures on the road.

The temperature is perfect as the hot tea strikes my tongue.  A simple pleasure; like a hot shower, rubbing a dog behind the ears, or riding a scooter or motorcycle along an empty road with only the echo of worldy concerns in my head.

The cookies are like a drug, straightening the spine and I reach for the camera. I wonder if climbing mountains or riding across continents can exceed the ecstasy of a good cookie?

The effects are wearing off; the arrival of more people and the attendant din of humanity can only agitate and cause a migration.

The Vespa is at home in the garage.  The rain has slowed to a drizzle.  Brand new tires may be slippery.  The evacuation of Penn State students at the end of the semester have the roads ugly with four-wheeled machines.

Rain clouds overheadRain clouds overhead

I have no idea where to go or what to do.  A familiar feeling, one I’ve come to appreciate for the unknown adventures in that place.

Nothing is happening.  Anything is possible.

Anything.  Even if I’m fading in the rain.

Riding and Writing

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Whether you’re keeping a journal or writing as a meditation, it’s the same thing. What’s important is you’re having a relationship with your mind.
— Natalie Goldberg

Vespa GTS scooter and Mount Nittany on Christmas morningChristmas morning, a short ride through the valley, alone on the road with my thoughts, an experience I’ve come to call meditation.  Lest the word become off-putting I have to say those meditative experiences range from quiet reflection to exhilarating thrill with great measures of fun stirred into the mix.  I find both riding and writing play an important role in how I wrestle with the sights and sounds of the road I travel — literally and figuratively.

I keep three journals.  One, a small Moleskine journal which travels with me almost everywhere to dump noise and fear, frolic and joy as needed.  Another larger plain, black Moleskine classic notebook that I sketch ideas for blog posts and riding dreams and nightmares.  And the third is Scooter in the Sticks where many posts take shape from a blank screen as I push my fingers over the keyboard with undefined need.

In each case, riding and writing often play a role in sorting out what’s moving through my head.

Standing alone in a field and gazing across the valley I call home is common.  Sometimes it lasts only a moment while I make a photograph. Others are a more extended visit while I engage a larger conversation with the universe or as someone recently suggested a conversation with God.

Vespa scooter on a winding forest roadEveryone has limits — real and imagined.  For riders it might be weather, location or time of day.  Riding through a little gravel track in the woods on a Vespa scooter may work for me but rise toward the top of the stupid list for another.  Regardless, for every rider the important part is to ride and for many that act is a challenge with so many competing demands for time and attention.  Sometimes it’s just hard to make the choice to go for a ride.

The same applies to writing. Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within is perhaps the finest book on writing I have read and helps move from a few scribbled notes on through doubt on to something called writing.

For me writing has been a faithful friend through joyous and troubled times alike.  It requires little more than a willingness to invest myself with time.  Most of what I write is never seen by anyone and I seldom look back at what I’ve written.  The act itself is the end much like riding — the movement through space, physical or mental, is its own reward.

Vespa scooter on a misty morningIf pressured to describe myself I’ll say I’m alone in the world.  Many of my photographs are probably a reflection of that feeling.  Perhaps I see myself as the Vespa.  That idea isn’t important.  What is important is how I’ve come to know myself.

Riding and writing open doorways to access what otherwise may remain hidden — thoughts and feelings bubbling below the surface yet animating actions and behaviors.  Finding those tools along with others has been a gift.  When asked about Scooter in the Sticks I tell people it’s a blog about riding a Vespa scooter.  And while that’s true it’s more than that for me — it’s an opportunity to sift through experience and hold onto the little lessons that are easy to miss.

Standing in a field on looking out at the world I see my long dead parents and the Christmas mornings we had.  I see my heart attack and physical life beyond.  I see my family and their hopes and dreams.  I see myself as an old man riding a Vespa.  And without writing I would be blind to those lessons.

Riding and writing — the gift to myself on Christmas.

Seasons of the Soul

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Vespa GTS scooter on a forest road

Struggling to focus my thoughts about a cold morning ride in the central Pennsylvania forest I heard my wife talking out loud about a book she was downloading — The Seasons of the Soul: The Poetic Guidance and Spiritual Wisdom of Hermann Hesse — and everything became clear.

It was 38F when I woke with a steady wind and forbidding sky made riding the Vespa scooter seem foolish and when it began to snow only the simpleminded would venture forth from the coziness of a warm home.  It’s the kind of thinking that the cold season provokes in me — a sacrifice of mental wellbeing for physical comfort.    The mental process is indicative of one of the seasons of the soul.

Vespa GTS scooter parked outside the Ski Patrol office

The light over the Ski Patrol office at Tussey Mountain Ski Resort is a sure sign winter is near. Lately it’s been dark when I get ready for work and dark again when leaving the office for home which makes the sun more distant than the season already does.

With my cold weather gear in place and my brain coaxed into place the pilot light of desire bloomed into a hot flame as I moved through the winding forest roads of Rothrock State Forest.  And I thought about something I read about how a person might think about how their life is going.

Of the ten messages shared the first stayed with me — you’re alive!

Regardless of what has happened or will happen, being alive is better than the alternative.  And it’s a precious gift far too easy to take for granted.  Being on the road gives me the space to think about all the moments that should be seen with gratitude rather than those that haven’t happened.

Or weather that’s not warm and cozy.

Vespa GTS on a narrow gravel forest road

I’m alive.  I’ve survived a serious heart attack and the accumulation of age on my body.  I can’t do the things I once was able and some dreams are in the rear view mirror.  But still there is mystery and adventure ahead because I don’t know what’s around the bend.

Riding on these narrow little forest roads is fun because I never know what I’ll see — a flock of wild turkeys or a bear, or a glistening sliver of water tracing through a cathedral of hemlock trees. There’s no place I would rather be.

An infant reaching toward the camera

The road took me to my granddaughter Emma and I like to think her reaching toward the camera is really her way of saying, “Grandpa, give me the keys to the Vespa.”

By the time Emma is old enough to ride I’ll be 76 years old.  It’s possible I’ll still be around but there’s no predicting what will happen.  I’ve still not wrapped my head around the natural cycle of life with my daughter and granddaughter.  I understand it but at some level it remains impossible that the world has spun round so many times.

Vespa GTS scooter near Meyer farm.

A scene on the way home, one of the many winding rural roads that the scooter can soar along like a bird.

I’ve always felt it important to feel passion for something.  It doesn’t really matter what, just something that keeps the mind and body in motion and not surrender to the television or easy chair collecting regrets like so many extra old socks.

The Vespa, my Vespa scooter, is like bacon to my dogs.  I want it.  I almost drool thinking about it.  At 1:16am it seems entirely reasonable to go for a ride into the night just to be on the road. I have no right to have such desire.  I have no idea if other riders feel this way.  But I know it’s a good thing and keeps the fire of being alive bright regardless of the seasons of the soul I may find myself amidst.

My god, what a great day it’s been…

Alone on the Road

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Vespa GTS on a rural roadRiding alone has curative powers for my irritated mind.  Destination or route don’t seem to matter as much as being alone with my thoughts.  Being alone isn’t as much a desire as it is a need.  Without recurring doses of time alone I get:

  • irritable
  • grumpy
  • disagreeable
  • out of sorts
  • quick-tempered
  • cranky

Basically a pain in the ass.

At some level I probably recognized this personal quality and adjusted my interests and time to satisfy the need to be alone.  Walking, hiking, wandering with a camera and now riding.  A few miles on the scooter and the world begins to make sense.  Or at least my restless thinking begins to calm down.

This morning it was cold when I left the house with the temperature at 41F.  Destinations rolled through my head as I pushed the Vespa out of the garage but none fired enough neurons to form a plan.  A plan isn’t really necessary when being alone is the goal.

Vespa GTS 250 along Spring CreekMost of the leaves are down now and we could see snow at any time.  The days continue to shorten and already I’ve gone to work and returned home in the dark.  This morning I took a short ride just to soak up some sunshine and embrace the day.  I’ve been by this place many times but I’ve still not really seen it.  When asked if I bore of riding the same paths I always think of the photographer, Josef Sudek, who during the Nazi occupation of Prague spent years photographing in his little studio and window and made a remarkably complex and rich collection of photographs.

There’s much more to see on the roads I travel.

large pumpkin statue made of round hay balesI never saw this hay bale pilgrim all ready for Thanksgiving.  Someone spent some time and effort putting it together including the use of hydraulics considering the weight of a round bale of hay.

Lots to see on the road.

Vespa GTS 250 scooter in a field under a blue sky with cloudsA perfect morning.  Looking at the scooter in such an idyllic setting it’s hard for me to understand why anyone would oppose someone learning to ride.  Even when considering more traffic intensive places the question persists.

I’ve heard a resistant spouse or lover raise the danger question fearing the almost certain death that accompanies riding.  It may present as “we have children” or “I had a friend who rode…”.  I understand the concern and I’ll be the first to admit that riding is more dangerous than driving a car.  But there are other points to consider.

Who is taking the greater risk?  A distracted driver, frustrated and in a hurry to beat traffic or a rider focused on the road, relaxed and happy?

And who is a better partner, parent or lover?  The angry driver who comes home wound tight or the rider who arrives home with a measure of serenity mixed with pleasure?

Vespa along rural roadI like to think riding has made me a better person.  I certainly feel lighter and happier after a ride, even a short one through ordinary places, alone on the road, alone with my thoughts.

bagel and tea at the Pump Station CafeAt the end of the ride I stopped at the Pump Station Cafe to make a few notes and read a few more pages from Thomas Merton’s Thoughts In Solitude.

Like Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values, it takes some work to understand and for some the Christian perspective can be a problem.  Even though Merton was a Trappist monk, his writing kept his religion personal and never felt as if he were preaching.  The first book I read by Merton was The Seven Storey Mountain, a fascinating story of Merton’s withdrawal from the world and into a monastic order of silence.

It’s safe to read — I wouldn’t fear abandoning your worldly possessions to become a monk.  And besides, if you have a scooter or motorcycle, you don’t really need a monastery.