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.

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.