No ride begins, Vespa or otherwise, until Junior has his pound of flesh — some sort of walk, ball tossing/throwing/shoulder-destroying session.  He’s passionate about life and expects no less from me.

Was an odd morning as weather moved quickly through the valley providing an assorted palette of color and light in which to exist.  And ride.

Mt. Nittany, the familiar iconic ridge know to Penn Staters around the world, sits in the middle of Happy Valley and along one of my often used routes to town or campus.  I’ve been looking at a variation of this view for over 40 years now.  Where has the time gone?

State College, Pennsylvania is quiet on Sunday morning with the streets noticeably empty.  Riding, prowling the well worn byways in the area remain a satisfying action for me, mind wandering, eyes drinking in the color and texture of this little world.  I’ve always wandered like this with a camera.  The Vespa merely expanded my range.

During the week these motorcycle spaces are often full of the day riders, those individuals who venture out during the warm hours, the busy times.  On Sunday morning only the churchgoers, feral cats, and sober riders inhabit the world.  Or so it seems.

 Home again, home again, jiggity-jig.  Only I didn’t buy a fat pig.  Just a fine, uneventful, meditative series of moments on the Vespa.  Hard to explain to some why this ritual is important.  Popular myth presents riding as either a dangerous act or outlaw activity.  Or worse.  But on another Vespa morning I just don’t care..

Often questioned or criticized by motorcycle riders for venturing out on the highway on what some consider less than adequate power.  After considering all the alternatives I decided on a classical Roman approach to bridge the gap — a Vespa chariot rig akin to those breathtaking scenes I remember from Ben-Hur as a kid.

This picture was made by my friend Gordon Harkins just before I picked up the reins to ride a few more miles at breakneck speed through Moshannon State Forest.

A more conventional portrait of Gordon and I along the road.  He has about 300 miles or so on his spanking new Vespa GTS 300 Super.  I’ll be posting soon on what it took for him to become a Vespa rider especially since he looks more at home on the set of Sons of Anarchy than anything I can imagine for a scooter…

An email alert from Scootin’ Old Skool, a blog by author Orin O’Neill, titled Happy Equinox got me wondering about the way I feel this time of year.  On the ride home this evening I could feel winter in the distance, the shortened days triggering some circadian rhythm imprinted in my brain from a thousand generations of really needing to get things in order before the sun favored brothers in the southern hemisphere.

The clouds over Mt. Nittany, the iconic geographic feature that separates Penns Valley from Nittany Valley and Penn State University.  Standing along the road I could feel the cool air creep into my joints, move into my lungs and trigger a biological reaction that left me feeling wary and alone.

Or so I convinced myself.  Migratory birds sense it.  So do squirrels and chipmunks and other animals scurrying to prepare for winter.  Why not me?

Riding creates an intimate relationship with the weather in the fall.  Changes in light, temperature, and wind direction require nimble and ongoing adjustments in a manner not generally needed in warm weather.  Fog is more common this time of year and soon the leaves will transform the landscape into a palette of warm color.  I wonder if the visual stimulation triggers another ancient series of chemical events in my brain leaving me with prehistoric feelings no longer requiring a survival action.

Perhaps it accounts for the unsettled feelings, a mere endocrine response to some genetic programming that kept ancestors alive when mammoths roamed here.

Fall brings big skies.  Dramatic skies.  Natural reminders of things to come.

I’ve already donned more serious riding gear and I can feel myself steel against the elements on cold mornings.  I’m ready.  A flush of life sweeps through my body as I look towards the heavens.  It’s a fine time to ride…

Anytime people gather together around a mutual interest you’re bound to learn things.  At the last Piston and Pints gathering two weeks ago I learned some things about chains, wax, cleaning and lubrication efficiency.  All things I might add that have little application to a Vespa.

Another Ducati appears though it’s owner shied at the idea of a picture with someone standing on the saddle.  I’m certain concern over the well being of the model was foremost in his mind.

Despite rain earlier in the afternoon and an ongoing threat of more there were still a respectable number of motorcycles and riders in attendance.  As the days grow shorter and the temperatures begin to did below 60 at the end of the day some discussion ensued about how long Piston and Pints will persist into the fall.

This BMW comes equipped with a natural gas furnace and bearskin rugs to allow riding far into the cold season.  All modern BMW motorcycles come with automatic outriggers for fall protection when riding in snow and ice.  They aren’t often talked about in BMW circles because the technology was lifted directly from the Honda Goldwing.

Ken Hull’s moto-hang barn is centrally located just off the Diamond in Boalsburg.  On some evenings there are a half dozen or more bikers down the street at Duffy’s Tavern, their Harleys parked out front of the colonial inn.  I keep hoping they don’t find out about Piston and Pints and feel a need to ride over and kick our asses.

I think that’s what bikers do.

Ken’s 80s vintage Honda Reflex in a sea of machinery.  I thought the Honda Reflex was a scooter.

ALERT:  Dave Dix finally made it to Piston and Pints on his BMW.  He’s nearly invisible on all other two-wheeled forms of transport.  He’s showed up on so many non-BMW machines that I figured I would see him on this night on a Segway.

John lost in thought as he considers alternative routes to climb about his tall Yamaha XT1200 Z Super Tenere Regal Deluxe.  Seems he left the ladder at home.

John brought his son along to “help the old man” onto the motorcycle.  John’s son holds the honors for youngest rider ever to attend a Piston and Pints event at age 16 (I think).  I thought I overheard Ken Hull saying that award comes with a $250 gift certificate for Aerostich and a three year supply of donuts.

He’s riding a Suzuki DRZ650 (maybe, I’m terrible with this stuff.  I wrote it down but who knows where I put the index cards).

The real learning took place late in the evening as riders piled on with their own magic recipes for keeping chains clean and lubricated.  Some even described techniques involving sable brushes and salamander oil.

It’s an eclectic bunch and Piston and Pints.

ATTENTION — SCHEDULE CHANGE: Because of heavy rain forecast for tonight the date and time  has been changed to Thursday, September 20 from 5 to 8pm.

For directions check this link to Google Maps.