Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
I’ve been riding more than writing lately but wanted to take a moment to send this reminder of the little reasons that make a ride on the weekend something special. Those clouds reminded me of the ones I used to lay in the grass and watch pass overhead imagining all sorts of fantastic tales.
Forty years later I still feel the urge to look up.
Every ride to and from work opens the door to a little adventure.
I’m fortunate my direct commute to my office is just 6 miles. And now when I arrive there are often two other Vespa scooters, sometimes three others plus a Yamaha Vino. But I digress…
Several variations in route can easily extend the commute to 10 or 15 minutes and even then it is not much of a hardship in time or miles. I chalk it up as a fringe benefit of living in the sticks.
But even in this situation complacency can set in and the rider becomes routine. With that thought in mind last week I made an abrupt turn away from by planned route to see what the unknown would bring.
It brought my first water crossing.
The Vespa GTS isn’t in many people’s mind (anyone’s actually?) an off-road vehicle and I will be the first to stand up and testify to it’s less that comfortable feel on loose surfaces like gravel, sand, or just loose dirt. But that doesn’t mean it won’t navigate those surfaces, it just means going a lot slower than I remember being able to travel on a dirt bike.
I turned off the road onto a farm lane I had seen before but hadn’t really paid much attention to where it went. There are a lot of them around and many have various passive or active warnings to stay away. This one was just a gravel and dirt lane disappearing through a line of trees in the distance.
When I arrived at the small pool of water and stream passing in front of me I decided to get off the scooter and look before dropping the GTS into water deeper than it might want to handle. Didn’t want to be sucking water into the drive belt case. The water was about 6 inches deep but the bottom appeared to be muddy. I crossed on the right side of the picture in about 4 inches of water with a solid bottom. Nothing for a dirt bike but a first for the GTS.
In celebration I speeded away along the tree line and field but almost tanked as the ruts in the road deepened and the scooter started to lurch around. I stood up on the floorboards and let off the throttle a bit until things were a bit more comfortable.
The road sort of transformed into two tracks in high weeds. Pushing on up a hill through denser grass I passed a big groundhog hole that easily would have swallowed the front tire of the Vespa causing who knows what. That’s when I figured I met my limit on this particular road and turned around to head for home.
This last picture was taken a few mornings ago while scouting for pictures for work on the way to work. I wandered through a sheep farm and then across a bridge into a field of even higher grass that a tractor recently traveled through to cut hay. The grass was up to the bars and I started thinking groundhogs again.
Little variations in route wake me up. They freshen the ride. And they don’t cost much. I keep thinking about riders who navigate urban landscapes and wonder what the comparable variations might be. With more roads I am certain there are alternatives, if even for a few miles. I suppose it is a matter of willingness to accept there may be alternatives, time, and patience.
Thank Kim for these pictures being made. Once again she notifies me at 5 AM that there’s fog in the sticks.
This morning the fog is varied and patchy. I’ve been becoming so attuned to the landscape and making photographs that the ride is becoming almost invisible. If you have a desire to slow down then a may help. The route I travel this morning would normally run between 35 and 55 MPH. I’m moving at 15 to 35MPH and stopping a lot. It takes over an hour to cover the first 15 miles.
But how can I pass scenes like this tree lined, fog shrouded passageway?
When I do stop I pull both earplugs out so I am aware of any traffic appearing out of nowhere. Amazingly I saw only one vehicle in the first hour. Does everyone realize what they’re missing at this time of day?
Farther along, about 25 miles from home I cruise through a gap in Bald Eagle Mountain that almost looks alpine.
As I start to look around with the camera I realize I could spend a lot of time here but my stomach is growling loud enough to send me on my way. A few quick pictures and I am on my way to breakfast.
The Cool Beans Cafe in Bellefonte is one of several possible breakfast stops. With town still largely asleep I can park right out front and have my choice of locations that I decide will be one of the small tables out front.
After a bit of waffling over what to have I decide to go simple — a bagel and a cup of hot chocolate. I was surprised at the artistry involved especially with the hot chocolate. It was almost a meal in itself.
It pays to be conscious early some days.
Almost a week has passed since I started this post. Sometimes it takes awhile to arrest the thoughts on paper.
The following was written on the morning of May 28, 2007.
Cool Morning. Fog. At Whipple Dam State Park, birdsong and the sound of water pouring over the spillway fills the air. Aside from an old man chasing geese off the beach on the other side of the lake I have the place to myself.
The road to the park winds over Tussey Mountain, through the woods and along Standing Stone Creek. The first hint of sunlight pushes through the fog causing some of the trees to glow.
I’ve been reading “A Sense of the World” by Jason Roberts. It’s the story of James Holman, British Royal Navy officer, Knight of Windsor, and adventurer. What makes his story unique is that he undertook a circumnavigation of the world by land and sea in the early 1800’s after becoming blind and fighting debilitating pain. Whenever I find myself concerned with the minor extremes I face while riding I will recall Holman’s winter trip across Siberia in a horse drawn sledge.
A breakfast of cheese and Melba toast, nuts, raisins, and a fresh orange seems a perfect counter to the familiar hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs I usually eat on a ride. A bullfrog croaks agreement just a few yards away. A family of geese visit hoping for a handout. I politely decline not wanting to reinforce bad behavior — theirs or mine.
The man chasing geese arrives on my side of the lake to continue his geese chasing and other activities to ready the park for the day. We talk for a while and he tells me he has recently retired from park service at age 86. Looking at him I would have guessed 75 tops. His secret is a daily glass of vinegar.
The conversation turns briefly to Memorial Day and he tells me his son was a Marine and died in 1968. We both are quiet for a while.
I feel grateful. Not just to have the opportunity to sit here but for the life and opportunity I have. On Memorial Day I need to remember is comes with a cost.
End of Entry.
A cost. That’s where I stopped writing. I kept thinking about the cost for the rest of the week.
Later that day I walked through the Pennsylvania Military Museum grounds and looked at the monuments signifying places like Antietam, Gettysburg, Meuse-Argonne, Normandy, and Ardennes-Alsace. Names carved in granite, row after row, memories of lives lost far from home, reminders of the solemn cost of my own gratitude.
I’m not sure what I think of the celebrations wrapped around Memorial Day. In town we have carnivals, car shows, craft festivals, music and food. Perhaps a fitting memorial is the existence of celebrations.
Pie contest on Main Street.
Old firetruck at Car Show
Another Memorial Day has passed but the reminders linger.
At 5:30 AM Kim asked me if it was foggy outside. Fog is almost always a sure bet to get me out of bed but today she had to ask twice. By 6:00 AM I was on the road in a damp 60° F fog. Riding was slower than normal due to the almost immediate fogging of my visor when it was down and my glasses when it was up. I forgot to pack the handkerchiefs I normal bring just for this reason. I watched closely for vehicles that might run up behind me but there wasn’t any traffic at this time of the morning. There was an seemingly endless supply of subjects and landscapes calling to my camera. Here are a few of the images I made during the ride.
Almost everything that is ordinary in clear weather takes on new life in the fog. I’ve passed this dirt lane many times without giving it a second look. Today it led somewhere special.
Farther up the lane was this island of trees. If I figure out who owns this property I might ask permission to explore more closely.
Every crossroad, fence, and field looked great. I am still amazed that everyone is still asleep during the best time of the day. I saw the first vehicle while making this picture. That was 40 minutes after I left the house.
On the way up through Blackhawk Gap I stopped to photograph a few Vespa admirers. You can see one just above and to the left of the scooter.
Rural, Brown Swiss heifers and Vespa admirers.
A stop in Bellefonte to sit in the park and eat the breakfast I packed.
One of the statues in front of the Bellefonte courthouse. I sat on the bench in the background to eat and watch Bellefonte wake up. It was still pretty much asleep when I left.
On the way home as the sun just begins to burn through the fog. We have a lot of fantastic roads for leisurely riding here and they just go on and on north into New York, south into Maryland and West Virginia, east into New Jersey and west into Ohio.