Scooter in the Sticks

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

Midnight Ride

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Leaving town this evening I felt the night calling. I love riding at night though seldom do it other than a quick errand. Books on riding technique and safety say no to the night. Still it calls. A half moon was already high in the sky and the air was just beginning to cool. But dinner and good sense sent me home.

Just before midnight Kim and I were in the garden watering plants. The moon was glowing through the bows of the fir trees and she commented on how nice it was outside. I couldn’t stand it any longer. I hadn’t put the Vespa away when I got home so it only took a moment to be on the road, the GTS’s bright, red instrument cluster warm like a fire as I began a short ride. I only needed a mile, maybe two, and I would be satisfied.

One last stop for a picture and then home, relaxed, content, awash in the magic of the night. How is it something so simple can be so luxurious?

What Goes on in Your Head?

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A friend linked to the video below on Facebook. I thought it was a riding video and I guess it sort of is. Made me wonder about what moves through my brain while moving down the road. I’m certainly not thinking about the things that concern Mordeth13.

Most of the time I am moving away from any concerns at all and just soaking in the visual experience. But everyone’s different. And maybe if I was riding through traffic like this fellow who made the video I would have different concerns too…

Rituals, Riding, and Sunday Mornings

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One ritual starts and ends each day — a walk with the dog (and often a portrait — this one another iPhone Hipstamatic shot). Depending on the quality of my mental state Junior can bring me to the brink of nirvana or the edge of a dark abyss. Mostly the former. I looked at definitions for ritual and realized I may not be using the term accurately to describe actions related to the dog, riding, or photography. I’m not sure I would ascribe religious rite to this but at times it reaches the spiritual. Much depends on my arm though the the distance of tennis ball throwing.

In the end, walking the dog is, well, walking the dog. Necessary, pleasant, often rewarding, and opens doors to ideas beyond the walk. So maybe it is a ritual.

Riding has similar qualities to the dog walk with perhaps even more opportunity for thought and reflection. Even the little rides, the commutes, the errands. I would never be writing this about driving my Ford Ranger.

Sunday mornings are part of an ongoing ritual of riding, photography, and fellowship. The Vespa and I make our way into town to meet my friend Gordon and share work and thoughts on photography. And do some collaborative defusing of our respective self-destructing thinking about our abilities as photographers. Another fine ritual.

And I feel pretty lucky that I get fine free parking in a lovely setting.

Saint’s Cafe on a Sunday morning. A good place to meet. And lots of light for pictures. As a ritual destination it is one comfortable place.

That’s the look of no prints. I’ve assumed the same posture only I’m holding a camera taking this picture as Gordon muses over procrastination and indolence. Even as I type this I’m thinking about how to jump start my darkroom time. I have four rolls of film sitting in a development tank in the darkroom. All I have to do is mix a fresh batch of D-76 film developer. Another ritual.

After returning home shortly before noon Junior and I went for another walk to visit another ritual. The annual commemoration of the 28th Division of the United States Army and their contributions to our country since their establishment by General Washington a long time ago.

I wanted to see how Junior would fare with the rumble and chaos of a helicopter landing and he was a champ. Sitting under a tree as the fierce rotor wash hit us he just sat there and squinted as this big bird set down. He was equally comfortable with the Apache gunship but was not as comfortable with one of the Strykers.

There were a few hundred soldiers on hand for the ceremony and Junior took time to share his family’s military history with the French Army in World War I. I assume you all know that Belgian Shepherds worked as messenger dogs, guard dogs, and even pulled machine guns.

Junior has no plans to enlist.

These things make a racket. And it is amazing they can fly. A pilot friend says they don’t fly. They just beat the air into submission.

Anyways, it’s time to go to work. Another ritual.











My Vespa World

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Home from Cleveland and running Saturday morning errands on the Vespa. Thinking a lot of late about what I ride and why I ride. It was nice to be on the road this morning without that noise in my head.

It was only temporary. At Saint’s Cafe where I’m sitting now I began pouring more words into my BMW F650 GS review to get the noise cranked up again. And I saw the light–I can finish writing.

Now all I need to do is sort things out and transcribe into the computer (not ACK into the iPhone).

But until then I am going to run a few more wandering errands in my little Vespa world.

— Posted from my iPhone

A Lesson from a Dog (and Scooter)

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Junior. Patiently waiting for me to take his picture with my iPhone. Later, at home, I process the image further in the same device with PhotoForge. It reflects the soft and blurred vision experienced shortly after leaving bed, before breakfast, before shower, before really being ready to be in the world.

Patience is his lesson for me. An insistence that I examine my own measure of it. Something I find less of than I would have guessed. I’ve read a dog appears in your life when there is something for you to learn. I’m convinced it’s true. His simple requirements demand little more than my time but his lessons are tough. He forces me to make choices and they bring me face to face with my lack of patience. The lessons are not dissimilar from those taught by the Vespa.

New Year’s Day 2010. Morning. A quiet ride through the snowy countryside not far from home. Roads mostly clear with only patches of slippery surfaces. Unexpected slick spots require patience. To make choices. The road makes demands in the same manor Junior does. Can you accept this now?

I’m long past the simple lessons of patience while riding — those experiences with drivers on autopilot who raise my risk, of bullying horns at a traffic light when I hesitate a moment too long before moving. But alone, left to my own plans and schemes, there lies the challenge today. The Vespa instructs me and so does Junior.

I feel fortunate for two such demanding teachers.