Scooter in the Sticks

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

Alone and Open on the Road

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Thick, gray clouds and 62-degree air welcomed me to the road on Saturday morning. With a light rain jacket stowed beneath the seat and three cameras in the rear bag I left the house thinking about photographs. It didn’t take long until I was thinking about being alone.

My head fills with chatter by the end of the workweek often leading to a muddy view of things. Riding alone is one of the reliable methods of draining it away and leaving me with a clean perspective. I saw a picture recently on Jack Riepe’s Twisted Throttle blog of an Etch-A-Sketch that he suggested was a GPS unit belonging to a friend. When I saw it and remembered how elegantly those little devices could be made clean again with just a few shakes I realized a solitary ride through the countryside works the same magic for me. I’m grateful I don’t require anything more drastic.
Central Pennsylvania is blessed with secondary secondary roads. Roads that in the height of use have little traffic and allow for leisurely rides and extra attention on the landscape. Seeing the yellow lines disappear in the distance always gives me a little rush even though I know what’s out there.
The steel bridge is gated and locked and leads into land owned by the Pennsylvania Bureau of Corrections. Rockview State Penitentiary in this case. A deal is underway to transfer ownership of a huge tract of land to Penn State and the local community. Someday I hope to see this bridge open so I can explore what lies beyond.
By the time I was moving through Fisherman’s Paradise and heading towards Bellefonte I was in the flow with a clear head and thinking about breakfast. Aside from a few ducks and the occasional trout fisherman I had the place largely to myself.
I stopped at Cool Beans in Bellefonte for a bite to eat and the chance to make a few notes. While there I had the chance to eavesdrop on a man and woman, both around 40, who appeared to be meeting for the first time after some sort of Internet dating connection. I found myself wishing my hearing was sharper as I picked up fragments of their conversation. It was all about marketing and positioning as they closed a deal to meet again.

Draining the last of my double Bergamot tea it was time to head into town to buy some film and developer. I did manage to expose a roll of film in the Mamiya 7 with the panorama adapter inside and may find time to get into the darkroom again.

Another ride alone on the Vespa worked its magic.

Small Moments on the Road

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There is so much focus in the motorcycle world on long rides covering hundreds or thousands of miles, rallies drawing riders from across the country or adventures crossing continents that the small, ordinary moments on the road are overlooked or dismissed as meaningless. For many, their motorcycles or scooters don’t exist as part of their day-to-day life. For the past week and a half I have been without my Vespa as the dealer works to solve a rear brake issue. I miss riding, the road unwinding my head and revealing its secrets. I just need to listen. I stopped to make this picture just a few minutes before leaving the GTS at the shop. Traffic rushed past while I looked at the sky, watched the weather move across the valley and thought about how much I miss in the truck.

Earlier in the morning I was at the library returning books. Another mundane task transformed into a minor adventure solely because I am flying on two wheels. I shake my head in continued amazement at what I find in the most ordinary rides.

Tomorrow morning I should be able to retrieve the Vespa and perhaps find time to ride a bit over the weekend. Right now a low, thin strip of fog hugs the landscape while stars shine brightly overhead. I can feel the draw of the road as the midnight hour approaches. Perhaps it’s a good thing I don’t have the scooter tonight.

Finding Balance (Again) on the Road

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The picture of Jacob Marley’s ghost in Dicken’s A Christmas Carol dragging along a ponderous collection of chains and metal boxes always flashes in my head when a week has been abnormally intense. Riding early Saturday morning I could almost hear the clanging and crashing of metal on the highway as the ride steadily stripped away everything that was unimportant until I found myself standing along a quiet, empty road listening to the birds and knowing again what is important and what is noise.

The specific details don’t matter. Everyone gathers their own chains and weights. I’m grateful for the perspective that a ride can deliver. Yesterday morning was a fine day to ride despite the huge temperature change from 45F when I departed to 77F when I pulled back into the driveway. Forced to choose a preference I lean towards the colder air. This part of Pennsylvania has an exceptional collection of roads suitable for two-wheeled exploration. While many find thrills in a rapid consumption of miles with lots of wearing down of the sides of the tires I tend to find thrills in what I see. Stopped along the road near Spruce Creek I took a few moments to look in the water for trout. Only a few miles upstream is the exclusive Spruce Creek Rod and Gun Club, a fishing site called by some the best trout fishing in the eastern United States.
While I generally don’t push the Vespa hard on the road there are lots of places that it’s hard to resist especially considering how little traffic there is on the road. Deer are always a hazard but on this day I only saw a few wild turkeys.
I don’t even know the name of this creek. A Pennsylvania Stream Map created by Professor Howard Higbee years ago still is the definitive resource for identification. Higbee was a professor and soil scientist and worked with our office to produce the original map. It is still for sale by the College of Ag Sciences for $19.95. Click HERE for more information.
No road is too small to explore. This one, Turnpike Road, was more like a long driveway than a road. I followed it along for miles until it turned to gravel and passed through a farm and into an Ag Security Area where I decided to turn around. The road did continue on over a hill and may have eventually run on to another paved road but I just wasn’t in the trespassing mood.
Find the Vespa. As the temperature hit 77F I decided it was time to head home and fix the lawn mower. Riding – lawn mover. I know, not everyone’s first choice but for me the right one. I got that puppy running and cutting grass with near perfect mental and emotional balance. *grin*

And today I’ll being wielding a shovel and rake with something approaching rapture. All thanks to a ride on the Vespa.

A State of Mind

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On the way home from work I was doing a bit of musing as I wandered around a farm field with my camera and was thinking about how I often come to be in places like this.

Dan Bateman, author of Musings of an Intrepid Commuter, recently wrote about the state of mind that riding can put you in – one decidedly different than that sitting behind the wheel of an automobile. I revisited the two paragraphs below a number of times. What Dan wrote soundly struck a chord and neatly sums up the magic of riding for me.

There’s something about riding a motorcycle that puts us into a different state of mind than cagers. Sometimes that’s bad. We’re more likely to find ways to get into trouble, you know! On the other hand, or maybe just the other side of the same hand, I find myself so much more open to the world around me. I see more, feel more, and thus experience more, than when in a car. I find myself so much more willing to wander off the beaten path. The age old question. What’s down there? Let’s go find out. I’m not so likely to bother with it in a car or my truck. On a bike, in vivid contrast, I’m ready for adventure at a moment’s notice.

I think most people who ride experience the same thing. Using a bike for regular transportation amplifies the effect. I spend a lot of time on a bike. So I also spend a lot of time in an open and inquisitive state of mind. It’s become a regular trait of mine. Riding is a Zen-like journey. There’s so much personal growth that comes as a result of, but not directly tied to, riding. Thus my journey Monday evening.

Musings of an Intrepid Commuter, April 9, 2009

Riding strips away a lot of the noise that builds through the day and can open the door to adventure. I’m not talking about the big, heroic rides across continents, but rather movement through a regular day, through the daily rituals of life. When I push the Vespa back onto its center stand it is almost always to look around. At nothing and everything. I feel the same way I did when I was a kid and everything seemed new and treasure is everywhere. I’m fortunate that I can ride regularly and enter this state of mind.

Dan talks about how a motorcycle makes him more willing to wander off the beaten path. I have to agree. I seldom wheel my Ford Ranger off the beaten path. The enclosed comfort in a modern vehicle makes those turns ponderous and difficult. Or more often just unimportant. I don’t often feel like a kid in my truck. I know it can be done because I used to prowl the Central Pennsylvania landscape in a truck with my view camera in tow. I would move slowly, just as I do on the scooter, and travel down every unmarked path searching for photographic treasure. But it was never easy and I always had to push past the slothful comfort of padded seats and stereophonic music. The Vespa appears in these pictures without any need to push.
Riding to work the next morning was a repeat of the previous evening. Another path, another opportunity to breathe in the world. They aren’t dramatic rides but they are opportunities to be present, something that is more difficult to achieve amidst the noise of daily living. 
I’ve been here before but each time I stop it’s the first time I’ve been here.

A View into a Gray World

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Last Saturday morning I stepped outside into a gray world. Heavy clouds and remnants of a nighttime rain washed the color from the landscape leaving behind a quiet form of the world. This world requires less energy to embrace and is easier for me to process. It’s as if things have been distilled to their simplest forms and textures without all the noise and confusion that can appear in the color and shadows of postcard sunshine. The most ordinary places reveal their magic and a ride through familiar territory becomes new again. Moving along astride the Vespa in this world provides a special satisfaction.

On this morning my plan was a leisurely ride to breakfast in Bellefonte at the Café on the Park. A circuitous route would cover 20 miles and provide mostly empty roads and many opportunities to stop and look around. I’ve always felt riding was like flying. Not in a plane but if I could actually fly. The scooter exaggerates the effect because there is not much in front of your visual field to interfere with the fantasy like there is with a motorcycle. With earplugs stripping away most of the engine and wind noise it can be like a dream at times. A hyperfocus on the road that moves through an almost surreal landscape.

When I look at the Vespa through a wooded landscape I am reminded of how my wife Kim saw this first in her mind – what my riding would be like. How else could she have created my blog title, Scooter in the Sticks, without knowing?

If I have regrets on the road it is that I can’t keep riding. Pennsylvania has thousands of miles or rural roads that to me seem nothing short of spiritual pathways. For me. A place for slow and deliberate riding.

I’m often asked when I will get a motorcycle. I enjoy looking at motorcycles and find some of them enjoyable to ride. The Vespa GTS 250 strongly insists I make a choice. When I stopped beneath the underpass I was aware of the choice. Where did I want to live on the road? Did I want to slowly meander or eat up miles? The Vespa doesn’t preclude the high road but it does nudge me towards the slow one.

Just outside of Bellefonte I stopped to look at a cross at the corner of an old building. I assumed something bad happened here but could not imagine what. As I stood by the road with the camera the passing cyclists probably were wondering the same.

The Café on the Park. An unassuming place from the outside but unexpectedly elegant inside. These days I have to force myself to ride anywhere else when I am out for breakfast.

A pot of hot tea and my journal keep me occupied and involved in the ride. I have been participating in this kind of morning ritual (sans riding) since I was a teenager. One of the habits I haven’t had to give up.

Breakfast is always excellent. And I love getting fresh fruit. If I wasn’t so damn lazy I could have fresh fruit at home. But it seems overwhelming to slice things in the morning.

The ride home was different. I felt the pressure of the clock and the chores of the day. Riding onto Interstate 99 is a dramatic shift away from a slow ride. The Vespa can handle it. I can handle it. But I really wish I didn’t have to.