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Fog is Strong Medicine

April 4, 2012 by Scooter in the Sticks 16 Comments

Fog is strong medicine

Fog has a stimulative power capable of pulling a comatose body from fantastic dreamworlds into a real world shrouded is gaseous water and mystery. Forsaking plans and conceptions, no destination in mind, far from home in the dawn mist, I could feel the energy whispering through me, urging me on.

Into the darkness.

Fine water droplets transform the view through the visor into a translucent white luster framing the road as it winds through the forest, subduing detail not already lost to the fog. A finger drags across the outside of the visor, then inside, a vain ritual to navigate into the morning nebula. Make no mistake – fog increases risk in the riding world and demands careful consideration before choosing to explore.

Empty dirt and gravel roads in Rothrock State Forest changes scanning for vehicles to a search for sudden changes in the road surface, meandering black bears, fallen limbs, and the ever present white-tailed deer.

Bear Meadows.

This place retains the same lure today as it did when I first visited in an orange VW beetle 40 years ago. I see my dog Essa loping along the path, or remember falling through the ice on a New Year’s Day hike. Sight and vision are sharpened by memory.

Living in black and white.

Kim and I used to come here before sunrise, hours before having to be at work to sit and write and experience the world. And always when there was fog…

Free to explore.

That’s the secret power of a Vespa – far from discussions of fuel economy, hipster lifestyle or scooter culture. It has power to move me into an altered state. I’ve ridden a lot of fine motorcycles and scooters – this Vespa remains the perfect companion in my riding world.

The Vespa doesn’t say no.

It just goes without complaint or demand as if just as driven to experience as its rider. Through rain and snow, mud, ice, wind and darkness, the Vespa is up to the challenge. In videos of the Dakar and pictures of them rigged for water crossings, it is a hearty machine.

In a culture of bigger, faster, stronger a scooter isn’t a comfortable fit. After tens of thousands of miles on a Vespa I’ve come to see the difference between my choice and the choice others would make for me should I give them the chance.

Reflection.

Miles from home, standing in a stand of hemlocks listening to a small brook babble along on its way to the Chesapeake Bay, a mind is free to wander and wonder and reflect on whatever is important at that moment. This doesn’t happen standing at the water fountain down the hall from my office…

The spell is broken.

I’ve read there are no wild places in the lower 48 states. Certainly none in central Pennsylvania. Still, in the fog a mind can wander and pretend. Nothing breaks that wilderness bubble faster than the intrusion of runners into a fantasy. Serious ones no doubt – the loop they were taking has 15 miles of mountain running ahead before returning to civilization.

Down the mountain.

A steep grade on mud and loose gravel challenge the scooter’s descent and highlights the need for careful braking and the technical limitation of the Vespa’s automatic transmission. The Heidenau winter tires provide enough grip and bite to make for a reasonable ride.

Return to civilization.

Rides can’t last forever, especially ones made without boundaries measured in hours. The departure from one world to another is softened on a foggy day, each mile unfolding with it’s own secret personality.

Sharpened vision.

The Vespa bears witness to the landscape shaped and twisted by fog driven light as its small wheels turn through mud then gravel and back onto the security of pavement. There’s a pull back to the forest and another on into the day. I’m glad I can feel it.

Fully medicated.

Mentally. Emotionally, Physically. How better to start a day than a ride in the fog. A few hours investment for a valuable return – it’s strong medicine and requires no prescription. A simple choice to ride.

The Senses of Riding

January 25, 2012 by Scooter in the Sticks 11 Comments

A dog may not reflect a connection to riding to the casual observer, the connoisseur of mechanical marvel, or the unwashed masses who see riders as fools with a death wishes as they talk on their cellphones. My dog Junior, like my Vespa, bring me into the world, cause me to move forward, at this time of year through resistance and doubt only to emerge at the other end of a trip with a profound sense of satisfaction. Like a dog, eyes, ears, nose, they’re all turned on, alert and scanning the world.

The Vespa almost always comes after the dog. Biology trumps engineering.

A ride to work, on an errand, or just an unplanned and aimless trip to no where in particular is much like he morning walk — senses attuned to the world, sights to see, and that feeling of motion, flying in this instance, but motion both figuratively and literally. It’s a potent medicine.

And always there’s arrivals. A place, a sight, a location. In cold weather I relish in an almost unnatural way the heat and steam of a cup of tea as no other drink has ever provoked. And again, the senses are focused keen like a sharp knife on every sound and motion, sight and smell. All lost on the non-rider? How would I know?

There are the grand sights and the small ones. When riding to work or on little journies from one task to the next a person takes things as they come. Standing at a coffee shop counter I spy the tulips across the room in the window. I’m certain, had I arrived in the van, my mind would be elsewhere and I’d never have seen them.

Thank you ride.

Evening Patrol by Vespa

September 21, 2011 by Scooter in the Sticks 19 Comments

One evening ride, one quiet trip, no different than the ones before. The road moves by, my eyes absorb the the passing landscape as light slowly fades and leads to moonlight glimmer. At least that’s how I think about it now as I write, a reminder of riding and the quiet transformation that occurs on the road.

Standing before Mount Nittany, a hill in the valley where I live, after so many years the experience has grown sublime. In all weathers and times I find myself here.

All is not necessarily quiet in the physical world. Behind me the din of traffic gnaws and chews at the mental hush that the Vespa can bestow.

Bright orange earplugs can’t diminish the thunder of a passing truck and it’s easily to lose myself to the noise. Still, with a bit of practice, the thoughts inside my helmeted head can remain quiet and relaxed, the wandering pace of the ride bringing order to the mental chaos of the day.

A gift of riding.

A hundred times I’ve stood beside a road as the day fades, no house or car on person in sight, and here I confront the moment and a life unfolding. Beyond enjoyment, past relaxation, these evening rides move towards a kind of active meditation. For a moment I think about a loud motorcycle I’ve ridden and the impossibility of entering this place.

There is no plan or route or destination. Just the movement of the Vespa over the road, the track it follows over well paved road with little to interrupt a slow change in outlook and attitude during the evening patrol.

As day surrenders to night I know why I ride — beyond fun and enjoyment, adventure or challenge, the deflation of noise and jagged energy made possible by this scooter brings me back, over and over again, to the road and ride. A few miles, a handful of minutes, it doesn’t take long to find my way.

At least on some days it’s why i’m on the evening patrol…

A Brief Guide to Life

September 4, 2010 by Scooter in the Sticks 12 Comments

Sitting in Café Lemont on their first day of business, — writing, eavesdropping on conversations, and enjoying a bacon, zucchini and bacon frittata with my Earl Grey tea. Life is moving slowly and slowing down is part of my plan.

I subscribe to Zen Habits, a blog promoting simplicity, something I’ve been chasing for decades and I am happy to report it remains as elusive now as it did when I was writing in my journals back in 1972. I’m still in the hunt.

A recent post on Zen Habits titled a brief guide to life distilled the chase into a short list, one I have looked at a lot lately. I’m reminded again how the simple things seem to be the hardest for me.

Café Lemont is a nice place. Quiet, relaxed, no music. Yet. The sort of environment where I can think. Rare in a noisy world. You meet people in places like this. Karen and Richard (apologies for my decaying memory if it’s really Robert). Karen follows Scooter in the Sticks and recognized the yellow and black jacket. Richard is a Vespa rider, or was until his scooter had an unfortunate meeting with a deer just down the road. A road where I’ve come close to meeting deer on several occasions.

MEMO TO SELF: Slow down on that road.

We talked about the accident, about scooters, and Karen’s desire to possess one of the new Espresso/Bronze-colored Vespa LX150ie scooters.

I’m glad the list doesn’t say “less riding”. It does say less driving so I’m ok on that point. I know how to rationalize.

A Vespa suits my personal strategic initiative of going slowly and keeping things simple. And it yields dividends of solitude, play, and smiles. In a car I probably wouldn’t notice the blue, portable toilets and probably never would stop to make a picture. I’d just miss the odd juxtaposition of form and color. Does it matter? For me noticing little details, stopping, and making pictures charges my internal batteries. It lets me chew on the moment. And it only costs a few minutes time on the way home from work. The scooter has managed to help me pry open one door on the way towards simplicity.

At the café I talk with a Distinguished Professor at Penn State who I’ve known for over 35 years. I see an entomologist I photographed a few weeks ago while he managed honey bee hives situated on a green roof on campus. And I overheard stories of avalanches and helicopter rides home from school from a mathematician and teacher who grew up in Alaska.

A fine morning.

Almost home I stop to admire the sky and the light at the end of the day. Another picture. And I think about the list. There is more work ahead.

I take a deep breath and smile.

Rituals, Riding, and Sunday Mornings

May 17, 2010 by Scooter in the Sticks 7 Comments

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.