Scooter in the Sticks

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

Evening Errands

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Tiresome, tedious errands by car are transformed into exquisite little adventures on the Vespa. Riding in the waning autumn light, taking in the fragrance of falling leaves, feeling the sudden chill in the air just after the sun goes down make each errand moment a pleasure.

I had to go to the ATM for cash, to the video store to return a movie, and then on to the bookstore. The six-mile direct route gave way to a 12-mile ramble executed at near bicycle speeds. Well, maybe Lance Armstrong speeds. Riding this way makes me a tourist in my own neighborhood.

By the time I got to Barnes and Noble to pick up a Sunday New York Times crossword puzzles book for Kim meant I could linger a bit at the dessert case of the café. I’m usually powerless in this area but managed to leave without any sugar purchases. The regret was so great though that I had to stop at a local coffee shop for a coconut chocolate chip scone.

The days continue to shorten and soon the after work errands won’t be possible in the same manner. Fading light will become darkness. Add much colder air and the trip palette is completely different. Not bad. Just different.

UPDATE ON TRAUMA 13

Talked with my friend John last night. He’s doing better and expects to be transferred from the hospital to a rehab facility later this week to begin the healing process for his leg. He says he plans to ride again but will have to wait and see what his leg will allow. We talked a bit about the accident but I post more at another time.

SCOOTERLESS

Left my Vespa GTS 250ie in the capable and caring hands of Kisselmotorsports in State College, Pennsylvania today for its 6000-mile service. For the past month or so I have been scribbling notes for a 6000-mile review. Stay tuned for that.

I have a few days off ahead and hopefully the Vespa will be back so I can take advantage of a few more fall days for riding.

Riding and Posing

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You always think it’s the other guy who’s posing. The one with full racing leathers, wildly colored helmet on a superbike. Or the doo-ragged, gloveless, helmetless, bluejeaned cruiser. It’s easy to judge, dismiss, and point out triumphs of corporate marketing over good sense. Especially when it’s in someone else. Especially from the higher levels of the judgment seat. A glimpse in the mirror though can be troubling. For me at least.

I’ve passed the large granite eagle at a small monument company dozens of times before finally stopping to make a picture – wondering who would actually put this thing over their grave. It’s six feet tall and pretty sinister as it gazes down over the world. While maneuvering around with the camera a Harley rumbles up to the traffic light. He sits stoically looking straight ahead as if nothing in the world concerns him. The rider has on black cowboy boots, jeans, short black leather jacket, no gloves, no helmet, and a pair of cool black sunglasses. Normally I would not have given it a thought but on this morning it was 41 degrees F. Call me a sissy scooter rider but that’s cold when you’re riding.

While I’m thinking about Gerbing electric gloves this gentleman is gloveless. Behind him is a similarly clad female though she does have on a half helmet. She is shivering and struggling to merge her body into his in an attempt to stay warm and out of the wind. Her bare hands clutched around his chest must be cold. She is stylish though. I bet she talks to him later about a windshield. As I climbed up to a higher level of the judgment seat they rumbled off down the road.

The eagle and the gloveless rider started the wheels turning and as so often happens things end up pointing towards me. Looking down at my Vespa I wondered what sort of insensible posing I might be up to. I do try to sit up straight while riding. Wait, that’s posture.

When I first started riding I chose the brightest colored armored jacket in the shop when I bought the Vespa. I didn’t care what it looked like other than bright and armored. Pure function. There are more visible jackets available. HI-Viz with lots of reflective stripes. I still buy yellow and black jackets though. I think I have a style that’s competing with function. I may have assumed another posture.

And then there is riding. Things can get blurry between riding for riding’s sake and riding for blogging’s sake. There’s an audience watching now. Perhaps the best thing for me to do now is climb down from the lofty seat and pay attention to myself. There’s no need to judge other people’s choices. My own backyard might need some weeding.

The More I Ride, The More I Stop

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It was 48 degrees outside when I left. The stark light of fall in the morning was brilliant. I didn’t want to ride a long time. Wanted to get home to work in the garden. Go to the grocery store. Take care of the dog. Hang out with Kim. Read a book.

Still, I wanted to ride a bit so I headed down Brush Valley Road towards Centre Hall. As usual I don’t get far before my eyes are overwhelmed and I need to stop and make a picture. I don’t use that word need lightly. I’m like a dog. Since I first picked up a camera at around 9 years old I have been compelled to point it at the world. I’m used to it now but there still are times when I wish I could turn it off.

Kim loves the light this time of year. I think it radiates differently. It glows and the light appears refracted from a billion fall particles. Whatever it is it makes the Vespa stop a lot.

When I started writing this post I told myself it would be short. Whatever happened to my one picture posts? Those were a lot easier. With more pictures in the camera I feel as if I am hiding something by not sharing them. Even the insignificant ones.

Riding along sinking creek the sun would disappear as the hills crowded the road in shadow making the color and light even more intense when I would break into the open.

I try not to but I pity those who don’t ride. I saw a few bicyclists go by at one point and their heads were down as they pumped away on those low slung bars of their road bikes. I could not help but think they were missing the roses.

At Spring Mills I stop for a bottle of water at one of the vanishing old time country stores.

This was an upscale one. It had two wood stoves. Feeling good and the scooter running well I decided to brave the only road I have ever had dog experiences on. It’s been over a year since the last time I rode here but sure enough the three little beasts were still there, still looking forward to a good chase. My LX150 handily dismissed them. The GTS did just as well.

Heading home I saw an Amish buggy coming down a side road. I never shoot Amish pictures. Except this day.

The fellow driving the buggy actually stopped to comment on the scooter. I commented on his horse which was all lathered with sweat. He said the horse always gets wound up when they go to the store. He loves to go for a ride. I understood. I asked if I could shoot a picture when he went by and he said go right ahead. I was in the wrong position but I tripped the shutter anyways. I wondered which was cheaper to operate.

I put the Vespa in the garage and started to sweep leaves off the driveway. A mediative practice rivaled only by washing dishes. Some days I am not sure which is more relaxing—the ride or the chores. Either way it was good to be home.

The Slow Ride

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Turning off PA route 45 into an empty field marked the moment of surrender—a transition to something slow and without expectation. It was a sudden and unexpected release of plans to ride far and explore new roads and landscapes. Rolling off the throttle, the speed drops to a pace where I have time to see what’s around me. I’ve chosen the slow ride.

Motorcycle (and scooters) offer a seductive experience of speed and power. Flying along there is a feeling of command and control that doesn’t often appear anywhere else for a lot of people. At least for me.

Riding slow, 20 – 35 MPH, requires effort and commitment. The noise and pace of living tries to push me to go faster, do more, pack as much experience and cover as many miles as possible in the time available. Anything less and I’m shortchanging myself. From that frame of reference the slow ride is something for the meek and feint of heart, those not courageous enough to ride the beast. The slow ride is for scooters.

Standing in the field looking towards the sun soon to crest the ridge I could feel all my plans drift away. I had nowhere to go, no place to be, and nothing to prove. As much as is possible I was free.

At slow speeds I see lots of things to photograph. I stop often, make U-turns, pull over, park the scooter and look around. It doesn’t matter how few miles I travel.

It was 68° F with clear skies when I left just before sunrise. After stopping for cash at an ATM I rode south with no destination in mind save for breakfast somewhere. I turned the Vespa off the road when I saw sunlight begin to lick across a field.

Watching the sun rise reminded me how alive I feel seeing the dawn. It’s the same everywhere for me, mountain, ocean, desert, or city.

On across the valley towards the Scotia Barrens. The temperature had risen to 72° F, fine for a long sleeve shirt and mesh riding jacket.

The Barrens is an odd place though and the unique soils found their radiates heat back into space at night causing unusually low temperatures in the morning, sometimes as much as 30° lower than the surrounding area.

As I entered the woods the sunlight gave way to a light fog and I saw the temperature drop 25° by the time I pulled over to put on another layer of clothes.

Once away from the Barrens it didn’t take long for the fog to vanish and the temperature to reach 68° F. By this time I decided to head back towards town for a cup of tea and blueberry muffin for breakfast to chase away any lingering chill.

Before breakfast I had to stop at a local fruit stand for a Red Delicious and a Honeycrisp apple. This is the time of year where a place like Way’s Fruit Farm shines.

Sitting at a table next to the window in a local Starbucks I began to write this post. That was on September 22. I’m not good but I am slow…

I didn’t go anywhere or do anything but the rushing man’s definition of accomplishment. I wasn’t in a hurry and didn’t need to be anywhere. If I had any cares I must have left them behind somewhere. A slow ride will do that to you.

Small Detour During the Ride to Work

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One thing that’s sure to extend the time it takes to get to work is fog. Not because traffic slows (it doesn’t) but because I choose longer routes and stop more often to take pictures. And the longer trips means I have to get up earlier and that’s only possible if I pay attention the night before to the weather forecast.

Friday morning I was up early to compare the dawn to the forecast. Outside the bedroom window I saw our spruce trees shrouded in fog. It was denser than I thought which meant I couldn’t stop along the shoulderless roads like I could on clear day for fear that someone would run me, the Vespa, or both down as they rushed to work.

I pulled over along the main route into town from the north to clean my visor and take a picture. If I stayed on this road I would be at work in a few minutes. Time for a detour.

The area has many small and winding secondary roads that are ideal for the non-rushed rider. Even more intriguing are the farm lanes that disappear off into fields and woods. Most see little traffic save for those times of year when farm machinery move on them. The one I took is an exception and sees heavy use in the fall when Penn State football fans use it to access some of the sprawling parking areas that surround Beaver Stadium.

Portable lights used when the games are at night dot the landscape and in the fog look more like something out of the X-Files than related to football. I’ve been on this road many times before in rain, snow, and fog and each time it looks different.

After photographing the small group of trees it was time to ride to work. The fog was so wet that the visor stayed up and my glasses dripped with water. About a half mile from my office the fog ended abruptly as the Vespa and I rode into bright sun under a clear blue sky.

As much as possible I try to the rides to and from work from being a boring commute. As short as it is I know that I can make it a miserable chore. Riding makes the commute better than it was driving and much of the success I have is a direct result of the landscape in which I live. I suspect the right frame of mind is even more important.