Scooter in the Sticks

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

Learning to Ride, Choosing to Eat — The Unionville Cafe

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My youngest daughter recently acquired her motorcycle license and the rights and privileges attendant to it — like having to invest in the global petrochemical cartel. Her Yamaha Vino sips fuel but the tank eventually wants more.

On the bright side, Aleta is experiencing the freedom a scooter can offer.  And the food.

Aleta joined Paul Ruby and I on a Saturday morning ritual — riding and eating.  Part of the lesson is becoming comfortable on the road whether by yourself, with a big motorcycle, or with other riders.  In this case Paul and I were probably the biggest challenge for her.

For a beginning rider one can’t ask for more than what’s available here.  Light traffic, reasonable road surfaces, and plenty of twists and turns to practice what you learn in and MSF course.

I suspect Aleta will attain character status on Scooter in the Sticks if she continues to ride.  I’ll have to think about a name.  Flash doesn’t seem quite right.  Neither does Twisty.  I suppose Aleta will suffice for now.

Upon arrival in Unionville, Pennsylvania — a 20 mile jaunt from home; just enough time to feel like you had a ride, eat, and get home to take on a day of chores.  Pretty good deal in my mind.

Paul and I have eaten breakfast here a few times but it was the first for Aleta.  Once she gets the hang of things I expect she’ll be choosing the routes and eateries.  There are a lot of vegetarian cookbooks in her house.

Fearful about the future of my bacon and eggs lifestyle…

I’ll Go Honey!

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I refuse to believe I’m the only rider who secretly leaps at the chance to go for a ride while feigning resignation and sacrifice in taking on an errand to a grateful spouse.  This can’t be a deception.

This evening my ears pricked at the sound, “We’re almost out of coconut water”.

Sure, no concerned, loving, caring husband would ever, under any circumstance, allow their wife to run out of an essential element of a full life.  From that noble and lofty place I stepped forward and proclaimed, “I’ll go honey!’

A few minutes later I was chasing the sun to the horizon dashing along the freeway towards Trader Joe’s.

Mathematicians have proven the shortest distance between two point is a straight line.  Seems obvious that they weren’t riders.  If they were the idea of the shortest distance wouldn’t have occurred to them.

Only 9 miles as the crow flies lay between my couch and the coconut water at TJs.  Through careful planning and deep thought I could easily triple the distance.  I refer to the conversion effect as Steve’s Third Rule of Enlightened Riding.  Included in the rule is the postulation that level of physical, emotional and spiritual well being is directly proportional to distance traveled.

I’m too tired to write the equation.

Any little dirt track leading into the distance merits investigation.  This stretch of pseudo-road reminded me of a question another Vespa rider asked me last week — is it ok to ride a Vespa on dirt and gravel?  The rider was concerned with comments related to the location of the air intake and fear that a rider could take in a lot of dirt and possibly damage the engine.

All I could offer in response is that I have ridden a lot of miles on dirt and gravel.  Hundreds of miles.  Perhaps thousands.  And no problems so far…

The weather at this time of year, and this evening in particular, is exceptional.  The temperature dipping to 60F and below in the evening under clear skies and falling sun create a magnificent palette of color and tone in which to ride which makes it a little easier to deal with the heavy burdens of running errands.

More small tracks through the woods.  This one ended at a locked gate.  Fortunately the Vespa is agile and thin enough to pass through a human sized opening and continue or towards Trader Joe’s.  The mushy forest soils that make up this part made me think again of how nice it would be to try out some knobby tires and the Vespa.

Mission almost accomplished.  Groceries fill the topcase, the underseat area, are hanging from the incredibly masculine purse hook, and my newly installed front rack is loaded as well.  The Vespa and I are beasts of burden, plodding relentlessly to fill need and bring sustenance to those we love.
Give me a reason to ride…

Wonderment and the Small Riding Ritual

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Quiet, serene, the perfect space for Earl Grey tea and a toasted bagel — Saint’s Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania.  What began five years ago as a time to inspire photography and examine contact sheets and prints has become, for me at least, part of a solemn riding ritual.  
This morning, the day after the Nittany Lions defeated Kent State at Beaver Stadium, I thought the place would be packed.  Instead I found a welcome emptiness to reflect on the day and pen a few notes in my journal.

The familiar route under heavy skies sublime, all cares and worries washed free leaving imagination and wonder as the Vespa rolled along.  Objects and places strange, new, and the ride I’ve made hundreds of times

Looking at the looming road sign brought a smile as it faced off with the scooter.  A quote sang in my head…

“Wonder is the heaviest element on the periodic table. Even a tiny fleck of it stops time.” 
― Diane Ackerman

How lucky the rider who finds a piece of wonderment along the road.

This morning, Mount Nittany, the quiet hill watching over Penn State, Lemont, Boalsburg, Oak Hall, Linden Hall, State College and Houserville — it possesses magic which I never tire of witnessing.

Home.

The first leg of the ritual ride ends across from Schlow Library.  Ample free motorcycle parking on a Sunday morning.  In fact I have never failed to find a space here, or at least I can’t remember a time.

And off to Saint’s Cafe on foot, a few hundred steps, not quite a walking meditation, but just enough time to recognize a troubling thought or happy memory.

Ah, the small rituals that make life sweet…

The Torture of 25 Miles Per Hour

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The hand painted sign appeals to drivers and riders alike to slow down.  Traveling slowly may be the most difficult riding skill of all.

I pass this way frequently and admit how inviting the winding road can be to push the Vespa to soar through the curves like a bird in flight.  The bigger challenge is to resist that urge, make a choice to travel at a speed almost foreign to mind and senses.  It can be painful at times, like struggling for air, being restrained from what’s good and natural in the world.

The romance of power and speed mixed with self importance and rationalization propels vehicles at speeds far beyond posted limits.  Rush, rush, and rush some more.  And grumble about the idiots who post roads far below their potential interrupting needs to get to a destination.  Traveling slowly isn’t an option.  Or so it seems.

Riding at 25 mph can be torture and almost unbearable.  I’ve seen drivers so agitated that they can’t go faster that I imagine their heads exploding as I seem them wildly gesticulating and mouthing words of encouragement to those impeding their progress.

There are real benefits to slowing down. Reducing speed in almost every roadway environment provides extra time to evaluate hazards, choices and make decisions. All easily put aside for another day when the highest and best skill is often reflected against speed.

Whenever I talk to riders of big machines the almost universal response when asked about what part of riding makes them nervous the most common response is slow speed maneuvering.  If the bike is going down that’s where it’s likely going to happen.

There is something peaceful about going slow.  It’s not always possible where heavy traffic forces the pace but I see riders and drivers race over roads like these where speed is a choice.

Going fast can be fun.  So can going slow.  And the latter is far more difficult because it requires commitment and willpower — even on a Vespa.

Speaking of slowing down on the road….

This morning I was traveling with the traffic flow when I saw a Ring-necked pheasant clip the top of an oncoming car’s windshield and tumble onto the road in the middle of an intersection.  The traffic light was red and I knew I had a few seconds to create a barrier in front of the bird.  It was alive but stunned, likely dispatched by a passing car in next few moments.  Leaving the Vespa on the center stand I motioned for traffic to stop as I approached the bird.  For a moment everything stopped.

The bird came to life and raced towards a cornfield on the other side of the road before I could reach it, narrowly missing an oncoming minivan moving slowly through the intersection.  I’ve seen this sudden change before as traffic halts to let a family of ducks cross the road.  Or a dog.  YouTube has a series of video clips from Russian highways of drivers stopping to rescue dogs, help elderly people cross busy roads, or pick up dangerous debris that might cause disaster.  Little gifts of slowing down.

A few smiles and beeps of horns acknowledging the event and we were all on our way again.  And I was glad I slowed down…

Radar, Riding and the Tasmanian Devil

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Radar.  The kind that forecasts weather instead of nabbing speeders along the freeway.  After a long day and a comment by Kim that the light “was interesting” I was watching a radar animation on my iPhone estimating my chances of dodging rain and lightning.  A few moments later I was on the Vespa chasing the fading sun.

There’s a method to this madness beyond seeing the sunset, making a few photos, or riding the Vespa.  It’s connected to the Tasmanian Devil — the one always chasing Bugs Bunny in the old Warner Brothers Looney Tunes cartoons.  To most people I appear calm, even tempered, and a few times I’ve hear”zen like” whatever that means. Inside it’s often a different picture with my thoughts, imagination, joys, sorrows, frustrations and more swirl like the cartoon devil, spinning madly with snarls and growls.

So it often is after a long day of burning mental energy the right medicine is to burn some more in sharply focused manner.  If I was built differently meditation would work but I can’t bring myself (yet) to sit still.  Riding coupled with chasing an image is perfect.  The riding forces me to stay focused to remain safe and the visual puzzle related to finding a picture flavors the experience into a creative craving.  Or so it seems as I write this now.

I was 15 minutes too slow getting on the road.  The sun was gone and the dregs of light just weren’t right.  Still, the ride served it’s purpose and the devil went to sleep.  The rain from an hour earlier pushed much of the heat away and left the world moist, thick with possibilities, but remained elusive.  The Vespa rolled over pavement and gravel searching, seeking, looking for the answer to the photographic puzzle in my head.

Never found the answer.  And that’s ok because, as has been said so many times in so many places, it’s the journey that matters.  And on this journey I was able to acquire two Hershey bars for a plan to be hatched later in the evening.

And now the devil and my dog Junior are asleep.  A few small chores will transform the day into night and my mind into a quiet stream.  A stream familiar because of a scooter and camera.

I feel like riding some more but that would just be selfish…