Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650

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…

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…