Scooter in the Sticks

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

Attitude Adjustment: Riding at the End of the Week

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I needed to be out in the world, riding, or making photographs, I’m not sure which.  The mist cum rain shrouded the mountains in a dark gloom.  Seven miles from home, the gray ribbon of limestone and mud flows through stands of White Pine and hemlock, oak and ash trees creating a sensual canvas of sight and smell that I can’t resist.  Triggering those senses serves to reset a mind and body drawn thin from a week of work.

My first visit to this part of Rothrock State Forest came over 40 years ago when I drove a Volkswagen Beetle along the roads I continue to prowl on the Vespa.  Thinking about the vehicles I have owned during my life I see a trend of spartan power and performance right up to the Honda Fit sitting in the driveway now.

The rain was light, just enough moisture to keep the camera wet and continually wiping the helmet visor with my glove.  When I traverse these kinds of roads, especially when wet, I find myself wishing I had more aggressive tires.  Too early for the Heidenau winter tires and too late to change out the summer ones.  Even so, I can safely manage the scooter from 25 to 40mph depending on the amount of loose gravel, washboard sections, mud or crown height.  Riding a scooter on wet gravel roads is a different piece of business from riding a motorcycle.

I suppose it’s part of the mental attraction to a ride serving now purpose beyond hitting the reset switch in my brain and perhaps tease the lizard brain.

Central Pennsylvania is a beautiful place in the fall.  Riding through the woods I expected to see a black bear or two loping along the road or crossing in front of me.  I’ve seen it before on foot or in the car.

But nothing this evening, just a few deer and the odd squirrel.  It’s cold enough now I don’t worry about rattlesnakes as I tromp through the weeds and brush.  The deer tick is the only evil worth paying attention to at the moment.

The Vespa can go just about anywhere a motorcycle can.  Perhaps not as fast or with the same mechanical prowess, but it is a capable little machine.  At least until you encounter water.

I expected to see pools of water but hoped to avoid any flooded areas which I did.  But the low air intake on the scooter makes it a poor candidate for any sort of foolishness involving water or deep mud encounters.  Doesn’t take much liquid or debris being sucked into the engine to cut a ride short.

Possibly permanently.

I make sure to avoid water where possible and to absolutely know how deep a murky flow is before attempting any riding heroics.

My hope for drama in the sky with fog in the valley were dashed as I looked east towards Detweiler Natural Area and the Seven Mountains beyond.  Not even an eagle soaring overhead or a screech owl to serenade me before turning towards home.

As the day began to fade my eyes adjusted for darting deer and the black bear I still hoped to see. I’m amazed at how well a ride continues to demonstrate a unique power to transform my attitude and outlook on life.

Sitting at home now thinking of other rides and what the next will bring.  Until then a cup of tea and thoughts of dinner will transform the world again…

Aging and Riding a Vespa

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Vespa GTS scooter along winding country roadLong and Winding Road

Autumn is for the mind and spirit, the senses taking in the changing of the world.  At no point during the year do I feel so exhilarated and sad at once.  Falling leaves a sharp reminder of the impermanence of life yet the sparkling thrill of feeling alive amidst the sudden sea of color and fragrance makes this time a gift.  Standing at the edge of the road I felt oddly parallel to the world around me, my body in sync with the autumn as I paused at the beginning of a ride to visit a rheumatologist at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.

Vespa GTS scooter rigged for campingStaying on the Road

 Still not sure why I chose to make this trip on the Vespa.  By car on the freeway I can drone along at 75mph for four hours to make my appointment.  The empty stretches of road are a moving meditation for the eye and the soul.  Even though this trip would take 7 hours, an accurate estimate based on an assessment of the route and my propensity to stop to look, listen and make a picture.  Or two.

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Searching for Autumn

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Autumn is about to burst forth, leaves beginning to escape their captive positions in the trees.  First a few yellow and orange leaves on the road, a few more in the trees, and suddenly, as if a fuse was lit and a fiery palette of red, orange and yellow sweeps through the forest, across the mountains and then vanishes.

I took the Vespa for a ride in the mountains hoping to feel the change.  Like a kid on Christmas morning the anticipation builds, still after all these years, for natures pageant of color.

There is no doubt this season touches an uneasy place in me, a reflection of the cycle of life that seems more real each year.  I am a leaf still clinging to the tree.  Or so I think as the Vespa climbs through Rothrock Forest, a place so familiar and charged with memories of over 40 years of travel here, on foot, in cars, on skis, bicycles and now the Vespa.  At one point I asked to have my ashes spread near here when I die, on Little Flat, a vantage point that surveys the place I call home.

Autumn was still in the distance for now.  Days away then, almost here now.  Riding the Vespa along forest roads is always satisfying but especially now.  Running back down the mountain towards duty and responsibility I wished I could search longer.

Later in the day, while on a walk with Junior, I found more evidence of fall.  The bright sun erased any lingering uneasy feelings from the morning.  And soon the Vespa and I will plunge headlong into autumn and emerge into winter.

Perhaps autumn is merely practice, preparation for the real test ahead.

Always something to think about on a ride.

A Perfectly Ordinary Ride

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Every route into town is familiar, intimate.  Mental notes on every jarring pothole and road seam, trees dropping walnuts and osage oranges, hiding places for police cars and intersections known for drivers running stops signs and traffic lights.  If you ride long enough.

Ride even longer and the characters along the road come to life as well.  Like this Belgian draft horse at Oak Hall Farm.  Trotting over each time I stop to take a picture — a bit unnerving to have 2000 pounds of horse giving you the once over with only a few strands of wire between us. If we were properly introduced and the owner approved I would offer a slice of the Honeycrisp apple stowed in my topcase.  Few words exchanged between us aside from a soft, “Hey bud, why the long face?”.

A moment more to consider the fog, make a few more images, and then off towards town and Saint’s Cafe. A perfectly ordinary ride until I take a moment to look a little closer and say hello to a horse.

Fog offers one of the few reliable environments to experiences something too strange to believe.  Like seeing spirits or ghosts, aliens or Big Foot.  If there is magic in the world it will surely involve fog.

Imagination forges doorways in perception that allow imagination to burn forth and transform a perfectly ordinary ride into something special.

Off in the distance, at the foot of Mount Nittany, I can almost see a mountain lion cross the road and disappear into the forest.  Some believe they still prowl the Pennsylvania forests.  If they do then surely their existence will be confirmed on a foggy day.

Photographically speaking fog strips away much of the tonal and color experiences of life leaving behind form, shape, composition and the hint of something more beyond perception.  I’ve ridden past these gravel piles a hundred times, maybe a thousand.  And each time I stop and look I imagine something new, like a kid laying in the grass on a summer day looking at clouds and seeing giants.

The new front rack looks good in this dream on a perfectly ordinary ride.

Can’t help but think of scenes from The Walking Dead.  Empty roads disappearing into the unknown. The story would be different in the sunshine, a different perfectly ordinary ride.

Sunday morning at Saint’s Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania — a destination for, by now, hundreds of perfectly ordinary rides to meet my friend Gordon, talk about photography, teaching and the work and world we construct.

The morning started with a whisper today, the world spinning up slowly giving me time to take it in.  As it was on the Vespa during a perfectly ordinary ride.

 Finished watching “Long Way Down” and thought about my own experience in light of that film.  Adventure lies close and circumstance dictates the rides I make.  That’s ok.

I don’t believe I’ve yet scratched the surface in terms of seeing and experiencing the world just outside my door. And that’s why a perfectly ordinary ride is still so rich.

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…