Scooter in the Sticks

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

Solitary Riding

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Paul Ruby inside the Scarlet D in Mifflinburg, Pennsylvania

Nothing on two wheels surpasses the experience of riding alone. For me at least. Following or leading one or more other riders necessitates attention to the other riders, narrows choices during the ride, and makes the ride seem more mechanical to me. At its best riding is a respite from the demands and labor of the day. It is a temporary suspension of any need to respond to other people. Riding with another rider isn’t terrible; it just isn’t my first choice.

I seldom ride with anyone else. Not counting one scooter rally I can count on two fingers exactly how many other riders I have ridden with. When the ignition is turned off and we are talking, eating, or just looking around it’s great. But on the road I guess I’m just selfish. I want to stop when I feel like it just to take a longer look at something. I’ve stopped to enjoy a fragrance of wet conifer trees or trees in blossom. I stop to look at the water shimmering in the sunlight of a creek running along the road. And I feel the desire to stop to photograph every solitary tree standing alone in a field. Riding with others I feel the pressure to keep moving whether that is actually true or not. Regardless solitary riding is a time when I do what I want.

Paul Ruby and I rode yesterday and I had a great time. But I watched many photo subjects move by. We planned to ride to a farm equipment auction about 50 miles away. The temperature was 38° F when I left the house and remained in the mid forties until crossing two ridges into Big Valley. The temperature rose steadily until we got to the auction site.

Auctioning in general and farm auctions in particular are one of those timeless activities in the rural areas of Pennsylvania. This one was no different. I saw the gentleman on the right had an ABATE insignia on his shirt and could not help but wonder how confident he was. Not much at all between his head and the road.

Leaving the sale and heading north along US 522 brought us past this growth of forsythia.

It was odd for so much of it to be growing along the road with no houses in sight. It surely is a sign that the cold weather is now behind us.

After a relaxed lunch at the Scarlet D in Mifflinburg, a piece of Fudgy Wudgy cake included, we headed home. The farmers have been busy preparing fields for planting and at times the landscape looks like a desert. When I look at this picture I can almost imagine riding in the southwest.

The rest of the way home was sunny with the temperature a comfortable 74. I pulled in the driveway with another 120 miles on the odometer but no new pictures save for the snapshots I post here. Those will have to wait for a day of solitary riding.

The Simple Breakfast

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I’m certain that eating and drinking establishments are the single most popular destination for riders. It’s not like I see a lot of bikes or scooters parked at the bank or hardware store. Can’t remember the last time I saw a motorcycle at the drug store. My experience confirms the magnetic attraction to places you can sit down, unwind, and consume.

This is a good thing. One of those wonderful unexpected gifts of riding like increased awareness and appreciation of life. For me it is most often presented as the simple breakfast. Often I dine alone during an early morning ride happy and content to sit in a diner or restaurant eating and watching the world go by. Other times I share a meal with a fellow rider. This past Wednesday morning I made a peaceful early morning ride into town to have breakfast with a non-riding friend.

Arriving in town early presented the opportunity to park in front of the stylish Abercrombie and Fitch store.

I’m unsuited and unable to go into the place unwilling to purchase simple attire adorned with the A&B logo. If that’s not enough the loud music blasting from the front doors complete the job though I suppose I could keep my 32 dB earplugs in.

Just down the street in the landmark Corner Room restaurant. It’s been here a long time. Their Web site says since 1855.

I think they opened when the Farmer’s High School first opened and have remained in business in that location since. I visited my first summer as a student in 1972 and the turkey club sandwich is just as good today as it was then. But I’m waxing nostalgic now.

This morning I had breakfast with my friend Howard and his dog Charles – a fellow photographer, hiker, backpacker, canoe paddler and dog owner.

This picture was made last summer during an early morning rendezvous at a local lake. Strangely enough those trips also include a post paddling breakfast.

Our discussion over breakfast included some rider killers like backpacking, hiking, and canoeing. It’s the time of year when rivers here are full of water and the water ride is swift. A quick check of the river gauge shows the flow just about right for a weekend trip along the West Branch of the Susquehanna River, one of the state’s beautiful waterways.

But it means not riding. Tough choices.

Winding Around to Nowhere Special

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Other than a couple direct commutes I wasn’t able to do much riding last week. The weather prognosticators were wringing their hands in excitement with the most recent storm on the way with predictions of up to a foot of sudden snow. The prediction kept shifting through the weekend and by Sunday morning I had enough and got on the Vespa to go for a ride. When I left home it was 39° F, raining, gray, and the forecasters threat of snow seemed unlikely at the current temperature. My desire to ride outweighed any concern of snow.

I had no plan or idea of where I would go and if anything influenced me it was the weather. I rode towards the darkest area of the valley where I could see the sky closest to the ground. As I rode along a local creek I got the idea into my head that I should experiment with the GTS riding across water.

Navigating down a little farm lane that crosses the creek I stopped to consider this line of thinking. I decided this type of action was not suited to the Vespa and better left for adventurers with big knobby tires and high mounted engines.

Not to be completely dissuaded I tried my hand at riding through some soft turf and mud. Those little scooter tires worked hard to keep me moving but I quickly tired of that exercise.

I was more interested in the landscape than I was in any riding challenges. I find myself transfixed by the way that the soft light renders the fields into muted colors with ink drawings. Or something like that.

The rain continued to fall lightly as I rode farther down the valley but not enough to force me to pull out the seat or bag rain covers. The topography in Penns Valley rolls softly between the ridges and there are ample opportunities to watch the sky change.

I kept riding and watching and stopping to make pictures. My goal for them as uncertain as my destination.

There seems to be no end to the roads and scenes I have available.

That thinking is probably influenced by the weather and the way it can transform a place. Shooting this picture over the handlebars of the scooter I was reminded for some reason of Ted Simon’s book Jupiter’s Travels. I’ve never read it and thought I would ride into town to see if the library had it.


Getting to the library gave my hands a welcome break from the damp cold and a chance to come back to life a bit before riding home. It wasn’t the best weather to ride by any conventional riding wisdom but it was a great ride in practice. I’m sitting here now trying to decide if I should ride to work. It’s 36° right now with patchy rain. The weather experts are calling for highs around 40 and periods of snow. Go figure. I’m thinking the roads will remain wet. They are also calling for wind with gusts to 50 MPH. That has me a little more concerned mostly because I am worried the Vespa might blow over in the parking lot. I could park in the garage though.

Hell with it. I’m going to ride.

Photo Hunters

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Today marks the first time I am participating in Photo Hunters. What this means is once a week I have to post one of my photos either new or old that represents a predetermined idea. I thought the challenge of having to produce something specific outside of what I would normally do with the camera would be good practice. Practice as a verb. This week is HOBBY. I made the picture on a misty morning of the front end of my canoe gliding along the quiet water as Bald Eagle Creek was about to become Foster Joesph Sayers Lake.

When I first thought about the idea of hobby I was thinking riding or photography. I had to look at the dictionary definition to make sure I understood the word. I often think I know what’s what but in practice I don’t. I thought I was a good rider when I started riding again and when I explored that idea in the MSF Basic RiderCourse it turned out I was wrong.

The definition of HOBBY says a pursuit outside one’s regular occupation engaged in for relaxation.

Canoeing meets the criteria of the definition especially since it doesn’t require any kind of frequency because I don’t canoe every day. Or even every month. Riding and photography don’t actually meet the definition. I do them so much that they are a regular part of my life. They are my occupation or as George Leonard would describe in his book Mastery they are a practice. Practice as a noun and not a verb. Practice being a journey or path.

And I don’t engage in photography or riding for relaxation. Sure, there are plenty of times it does relax me but there are times when I have to push or struggle. I engage riding and photography because they are an important part of the journey.

Photography Project Update

Lone sign along rural road in Sinking Valley

I’ve continued to make photographs aside from the pictures of the Vespa you seen on Scooter in the Sticks. I haul the Mamiya 7 along and photograph the landscape as I ride or as I walk or drive. Here are the most recent results.


I’ve been commuting to work this past week a bit. The weather has not been the best and a few days I drove because I just didn’t feel up to riding. I could have pushed but when I sense my body resisting I feel it’s best to pass.

This picture was taken on one of the mornings it was raining. The Vespa GTS 250ie has a built in waterproof seat cover that’s stored under the seat. It’s a little slippery to sit on but it keeps the seat in good shape. The MotoFizz bag on back also has I nice waterproof cover too.

More snow is called for today even though it is sunny with clear blue skies right now. I could be out riding but first I need to go to the grocery store for one of those big shopping trips.

The Empty Road

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I wrote this upon arrival at Barnes and Noble.

An uneventful short ride brought me to Barnes and Noble. No excitement or interest as I told myself I have prowled these roads before. I’ve convinced myself they are empty and dead. Nothing left to see.

Sitting in the café I think of a blog post title: The Empty Road. It’s misleading. Conjures thoughts of open highways with nameless destinations. The cliché freedom of the road. Someday I hope to sample that place.

The empty road I’m thinking about is in my head. A road without interest or attraction that goes nowhere. Thrill and satisfaction drained away leaving behind a barely animated body on the seat of the Vespa. Other than that it’s a great ride.

I’ve thought a lot about riding risk related to physical conditions. Perhaps a few words about mental risk are in order. I’m pretty sure I pass drivers (and riders) who are preoccupied with something – work, money problems, problems at home, something. Or maybe they’re just tired, angry, or bored. Whatever the problem its hard to be focused on the road. And absolutely nothing has to be wrong to still be disconnected from the ride. It just happens.

Like now. I’d like to be home lying on the couch with Kim. Relaxing. Not doing a damn thing. Maybe I shouldn’t ride today. Just go home.

The Vespa is a reliable developer of enthusiasm. I wandered through town and country to arrive here and could feel the pulse of energy flash on and off. It never ignited the steady burn of intense reward. Maybe it’s the blustery 30° F temperature bothering me after 75° just a few days ago. Or the mental dismissal of familiar roads. Or maybe I just need to recognize it was a busy week and I just don’t want to do anything.

A cup of tea and a cookie hasn’t fixed me. An asiago cheese pretzel follows and the sun comes out. I see it shining on the Vespa in the parking lot. Snow is flying farther down the valley. I can feel the engine trying to turn over in my head. The tea has assumed room temperature and a flicker of desire is winning out over the desire to finish the pretzel. It’s time to go, just don’t know where.

End of notebook entry.

That’s where my head was when I closed the notebook at Barnes and Noble. I wasn’t sure where to go and sat for a while until I decided to ride home though not by a direct route. Past Rockview State Penitentiary and up Centre Hall Mountain. Stopped on the way up to look around in the woods.

At the top of the mountain I stopped to admire the view from where the Mount Nittany Inn used to sit. A fine restaurant that had the misfortune of burning down twice. It has sat like it is for several years now.

At the bottom of the mountain is George’s Frosty Cup – a local soft ice cream joint where I figured I could have one more snack before going home. The wind was blowing hard and jostling the scooter around until I entered town and the relative protection of the houses along the street. I hadn’t been this way since last summer and was surprised to see George’s transformed in Doans Bones Barbeque.

This required investigation and a sampling of their pulled pork sandwich server with homemade potato chips. I’ll be back again.

An interesting aside. A picture of this place appeared in the New York Times a few weeks ago as part of an article on photographer Henry Wessel. Mr. Wessel made his picture in the late 1960’s when the place was called Fye’s.

Rather than ride directly home I plotted another circuitous route home through some rural roads I had forgotten about. Dark clouds and flying snow had me choose a straight line home before I found myself riding with snow on the road or my hands numb enough to have to stop. One last picture of the landscape and then onto the main highway for a 60 MPH run home in a nice crosswind.

Kim was on the phone when I came in and I heard her tell whomever she was talking to that I had a big smile on my face. I guess the Vespa still works.