Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

Imagining a Ride to the 2011 BMW International Rally in Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania

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Last Saturday morning I was on the road early, just before sunrise.  Not early enough for my plan to ride to the Kutztown Family Diner to visit the MAC-PAC breakfasteers.  The alarm went off shortly before 4am so I would have enough time to make the 175 mile trip and get to the diner by 8, but as luck would have it I cursed the alarm and slept for another hour and a half.

Riding at dawn is satisfying on many levels not the least of which being empty roads.  The drunks are already home, in a ditch or in jail by this time and the crazy cagers aren’t up yet.  So with the road clear and some time to ride I decided to pay a visit to the Bloomsburg Fair Grounds — the site of the upcoming BMW International Rally.

I stopped in Spring Mills hoping to grab something to eat having left home without breakfast. The Fairlawn Store wasn’t open yet.  No food, no bait.

Many years ago, before the Vespa, during a time when I was more serious about riding a bicycle, I appeared at this same store on a Sunday morning to buy some snacks and something to drink.  A group of men were sitting on the front porch eying me balefully as I went into the store and made my purchases.  I thought they might have been bothered by the black Spandex riding shorts and unusual riding shoes I had on until I looked down and realized I had one of my wife’s shirts on — a beautiful black t shirt with cute pink kitties on the front.  From that time on I’ve become more careful of what I drape over my body.

Just east of Aaronsburg I came across the Amish equivalent of the abandoned car.  A back wheel fell off the wagon and it ground to a halt.  Instead of pulling the plates they just unhitched the horse and moved on.

One of the ugliest Amish wagons I’ve seen.

The road between State College and Lewisburg cuts through some beautiful farmland with great views of the countryside.  Riding is a pleasure.  This is PA Route 45 about a half mile west of Woodward, home of Camp Woodward, one of the biggest BMX, skateboarding, snowboarding and gymnastics camps in the East.  ESPN is often here to televise events like X Games.  Whatever that is.

The road promptly enters the 193 thousand acres of forest comprising the Bald Eagle State Forest.  I was beginning to feel warm when the temperature descended to 59 degrees under the trees.  This stretch of road often gives me the creeps though I’m not sure why.  It passes a place called Hairy Johns Picnic Area.  Seems Mr. Johns was accused of murdering his wife in the early 1800s — she was found hanging on a meat hook in the cellar.  I’ve not fully investigated the story but perhaps some of that energy is still floating around, enough for a sensitive Vespa rider to absorb.

It doesn’t take long before you cross into Union County and the wide valleys leading through Hartleton, Mifflinburg and on to Lewisburg.  If you come this way on Route 45 make sure you slow down in Hartleton.  They have an ambitious speed trap running that I think funds their schools, water system and sewage plant.  And an educational fund that sends all their kids to college and provides, room, board and a fast car.

I stopped for a gratuitous picture of the Vespa and a vanishing railroad track.  I can’t remember why but I think these kinds of pictures make it possible for someone to get out of bed and ride on an old motorcycle or something.

I’m always glad to help when I can.

Crossing the river at Catawissa takes you through some beautiful roads running along the creek with lush moss covered rock outcrops.  If I had time I could stay here with the camera all day.

Arriving at the 2011 BMW International Rally site in Bloomsburg was anticlimactic.  The place was dead and looked pretty ordinary in the hazy light.  But add thousands of motorcycles and it will probably have a completely different feel.

For those of you thinking of going it runs from Thursday, July 21 through Sunday, July 24.  And the ride from State College to Bloomsburg is an easy ride.  Easy pretty much from anywhere in Pennsylvania.  Or the United States.

I didn’t linger.  It was Father’s Day and I wanted to get home and see if Kim got me a new motorcycle or something.  And my daughter was going to take me out for tea and cookies.  (That sounds kind of weird.)  The scooter was running well and I headed back through some winding country roads until picking up US 11 in Danville.

An Apology to a Band of Harley Riders

I’m usually a rather quiet, sedate rider and keep to myself.  But there are times when I find myself caught up in a surge of deviling energy.  This was one of those mornings.

I was standing along the road shooting a picture of something when a group of about 15 Harley riders roared by on full dress motorcycles and a bunch of near-chopper type machines.  Each without helmets and a general collection of gloveless hands, leather and t-shirts, the common fashion statements that one associates with this riding subculture.

I got back on the scooter and headed down the road in their direction.  They weren’t traveling very fast and after a few miles I joined the group, hanging back a couple car lengths as we all headed towards Northumberland.

And then a fascinating thing happened.  The rider at the back of the pack saw me and began a series of hand gestures that were passed forward to the leader of the pack.  In moments the pack sped up to put some distance between their mighty throng and my Vespa.

The devil whispered in my ear and I rolled on the throttle.  The Harleys moved faster, 60, 65, 70, 75mph but I was still riding along as if I were a member of the group.  They probably didn’t know that another mile per hour of speed would have left me behind as I had reached the limit of the Vespa.

I have to apologize for intruding in their fantasy and possibly ruining their day.  There are days when I can be a bit assholish.  I have no business taunting anyone on the road regardless of how harmless I think it is.

They eventually slowed and turned into a parking lot of a breakfast establishment as I went by.  Talking later with a Harley riding friend I suggested they were either talking about what a jerk that scooter rider was OR how fast that Vespa could go.

He assured me that it was the former.

Across the Susquehanna River and on towards home. Once the sun gets higher the temperature hovers near 80.  For a moment a swim sounds like a good idea.

After a short break to look around the riverbank and make a few pictures I plot a route home including one more break for gas and a bite to eat.  While sitting on the sidewalk in the shade of a trash can at the Sheetz in Mifflinburg a BMW R1200 GS rides up.  I talk with the rider and he’s planning to attend the rally in July.  I ask if he’s going to ride in the big GS event, ride over those log piles and through the water.  He looks and me and smiles, looks over at the Vespa, grins, and tells me, “It’s a new motorcycle.”

We didn’t say anything else, both nodding and doing that thing guys are so good at — leaving a conversation with incomplete information.  He headed east and I west towards a nap.

Five miles from home I stop to make a picture of the round barn near Centre Hall, one of the few left anywhere.  I heard a Harley coming towards me and wondered if I could fit it into the frame as it went by.  By dumb luck everything fit.  It’s a challenge to do considering the shutter lag on a point and shoot camera.

Home, a nap, tea and cookies, and lounging around like a lazy bum with Kim’s complete approval.  Ah if Father’s Day couldn’t come twice a week every week.  Junior on the other hand was not pleased that I left early without his usual four mile walk.  He was at me every moment trying to get some action.  Or at least a portrait for his website.  So he and I strolled out to the garden and I made this picture.

While he was nosing around for chipmunks I raced into the house and leaped onto the couch with him hot on my tail.  If he could talk I’m sure he would have said something like, “You’re one lazy bastard.”

And that’s a good thing.

A Pleasant Evening Ride

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Harley greeted me for the second time in two weeks when I rode up to a party yesterday evening.  I appreciate a dog who remembers who you are.

 

I rode to the Happy Valley Vineyard and Winery for a farewell party for the College of Ag Sciences associate dean for undergraduate education, Marcos Fernandez.  Vineyards are fine landscapes for people to gather.  And the Vespa looks good with the vines.

Heading home as the sun goes down I can’t pass up the chance to make another photograph.   I can’t say for sure but I probably would not stop a car to make the picture or appreciate the moment.  Riding brings a person closer to the world.  You feel it, smell it, become part of it.  A treasured part of rider.

One last stop before heading to the grocery store across town.  One last glimpse to the sky and clouds, the light changing colors over a swift sunset, a last quiet moment before joining the flow of traffic through the places of commerce.

A pleasant evening ride.  A pleasant way to unwind the day.

The Pragmatic Rider

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On the way home the other night after signing the buyer agreement for a 2003 Honda Odyssey minivan.  I hear they are great for going to bingo and hauling free government cheese.  I’ll get back to everyone on that.  I am certain that a van won’t hamper my riding and probably not my ability to get from point A to point B in any way either.  But more intelligent people than I have suggested otherwise so I need to test their theories.
The weather has been chilly the past week.  One morning had me riding just below 50 degrees and today at 60.  I enjoy the brisk air.  And it makes for some big, clear skies.  I pretend I’m crossing Montana instead of riding home to make pasta.

Rain today but the thought of adding a minivan to the fleet helped me endure the moisture.  The Vespa and the FIT make a nicely colored duo.

Rain forecast for the morning.  Being a pragmatic rider I can sensibly and realistically manage my way to work.  And now that the vehicle stuff is almost done (pick up the Odyssey tomorrow afternoon) I will be able to focus again on finishing some new blog posts.  

Sunday Morning Ride: Roll 521

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I meet Gordon almost every Sunday morning at Saint’s Café to review our respective photographic lives for the week, to cajole or shame each other into further work, and to keep alive the dream of a creative life we heard rumored in graduate school. The 3 Prints Project (two rolls of film and three prints every week) began almost three years ago and has continued ever since with a few detours into digital and plenty of excuses for showing up without work.

On Friday I got an iPad2. Minutes after turning it on a strong desire to shoot film washed over me. The iPad may have been the digital straw that broke my analog back.

To be fair I like he iPad and acquired it to evaluate, test and monitor the release of the magazine I edit as an iPad edition. The measure of digital continues to grow in my life.

Friday afternoon the Leica is hanging around my neck, an extra roll of film in my pocket, and the world is revolving at a bit slower pace. Such seems to be the effect of shooting film.

Roll 521. I have to thank Matt Alofs of the 1PT4 photography blog for the idea of numbering by rolls. I have a mess of negatives and I have gone through many schemes of keeping track of them. Following his Flickr site I saw that he assigns roll numbers to sets of pictures. While I have no idea the meaning behind his numbers I thought it was a marvelously simple way for me to have a system that I could track.

The number 521 comes from the month and day I started using it. After that everything will just be sequential. I’m working on 522 now.

Matt has an amazing volume of black and white work that I have no idea how he finds time to produce. He documents the things he sees in life including ongoing portraits Kate (wife, partner, girlfriend, significant other?) in a manner that most partners would find withering. To shoot so much film is pretty amazing.  If I find out he is not scanning negatives I’ll be really depressed.

Gordon arrived with digital prints of images made with his camera phone and a couple others made with a digital SLR during his drive to work. I’d arrived with a single print and contact sheet from the one roll of film I managed to shoot.

We’ve sustained a level of output over the years generating a steady stream of personal work, questioning process and intent, criticizing, supporting and tending the fragile flame of creative expression amidst the daily grind of earning a living.

 
Morning. Mount Nittany in the fog. My camera has pointed this way many times. Photographing the same subject over and over reveals something about the subject and the photographer. For me, this is home.

The iPhone and Camera+ app continues to impress me. This shot was made using the Clarity effect.

Last night I developed a single roll of black and white film. A familiar ritual repeated thousands of times over the last 20 years in this particular darkroom. The iPhone is always handy and this time makes a recording of the path less traveled in photography.

Looking at the contact sheet I realize I see the world differently with the Leica. Different than I do using a digital camera. Not better or worse, just different.

The ride into town was quiet with almost no traffic on US 322. Sporadic fog continually changed the landscape allowing me to ride from magical place to illusion and beyond.

I have a great capacity to be sloppy, something that does not incur many benefits in a darkroom. Rushed to make this proof print of Junior so I would have something to show at Saint’s Café. Flat, lifeless, drab. No digital effects to save me, mask the deficiencies of the image. And strangely, I am enjoying the process.

Again.

My printing skills and general late night sloth betray the magic a silver print can possess. Maybe next time I’ll work harder.

 On towards town and a brief stop to exchange stories with a small herd of Penn State quarter horses.

On through the fields, fog beginning to lift and reveal a gray day with threats of rain. The Vespa is indifferent and moves on and on and on.

After Gordon and I exhausted comments and ideas we parted company and I headed home on a slightly longer route. Climbing to the top of a hill along the road I was offered the opportunity to photograph these two motorcycles speeding in the opposite direction. Everything looks insignificant from this altitude. A reminder of how careful I need to be on the road.

At Café Lemont, a spur of the moment stop for tea and a Neiman Marcus cookie (love these things), I pull up next to a 2002 BMW R1200 GS. If the Vespa is ready to riding in and around town the BMW looks ready to ride in and around North America. Inside the owner pretty much confirms that assessment.

His name is Mark and he tells me he’s getting ready to ride to Nova Scotia and then on to Labrador. I ask if he’s ridden in Alaska (he has) and he tells me that he and his wife have ridden in Europe a couple times through Edelweiss Tours.

I mask any jealously and envy.

We talk for awhile, shake hands and go our separate ways. On the way home I think about what it might be like to ride for weeks on end or travel to some exotic location. Rounding a bend covered with gravel my attention returns to the road and I grow satisfied with the adventures I create within a 200-mile radius of State College. It’s what I can manage now with work and family. And I love the riding.

Not far from home I pass a barn with a horse gazing out the window. I went past and continued on for several hundred yards before I couldn’t get the image out of my head and made a quick U-turn to make a picture. Would never have done it on that big BMW K1600 GTL. Just saying.

And I’m still working on those reviews.

For now I’m just glad to get out and ride a little, make a few pictures, and spend some more time in the darkroom.

Vespa in the Rain

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Sunday morning in a slow rain, meandering over familiar roads on my way to meet a friend in town.  I’ve stopped in this same place many times to gaze towards Mount Nittany, watch the landscape swallow up the road in an easy turn.  Twisting my boots into the pavement checking the traction, evaluating how much oil and scum was washed off through the night, gauge how far I could push the Vespa while riding though I never push very far.  Still, it’s comforting to know what to expect.

Made this image with the iPhone camera using the Camera+ app.  Processed the image in the HDR mode.  I continue to be pleasantly surprised at the technical and creative range of these devices.  Feel bad now that I dropped in on the pavement.  No damage save for another scuff mark.  Saw a student in town last week busily texting on an iPhone with a shattered front.  Didn’t seem to slow them down.

The rain slowed to a mist as I threaded my way through the alleys and streets of State College, my destination arriving too soon, the ride ending before I was ready.  Humes Alley is a favorite backdrop, old brick, hand lettered signs.  About as close as I come to an urban environment on any regular basis.

Prime parking for Saint’s Cafe — just twenty yards to the front door and never any charge.  At least not until the Borough decides to give me a ticket.  Or tow the scooter away.  So far Kelly Alley is my first parking choice.

Rainy days are for laying in bed or on the couch, reading a book, watching television, or indulging in some other sort of horizontal enterprise.  On the way home while making this picture I decided to pursue the bed despite how much I love the light on this kind of day. 

One last picture before home.  The monochrome nature of things in the rain almost prods me on to ride farther. 

Almost.  But there are naps to take and other things to do. 

That’s how to make good use of a rainy Sunday.