Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
HOW TO RIDE BITCH from Alex Vivian on Vimeo.
Every male riding a motorcycle needs to study this video. If you are going to ask your wife, girlfriend or anyone for that matter to ride on the back of your motorcycle or scooter you should first explore the experience yourself. This video will show you how.
Maybe it’s a good rule of thumb to experience yourself anything you would ask another to do whether it’s riding bitch or anything else. Think about the things you would have to try…
Riding through the agricultural valleys east of State College, Pennsylvania, Penns Valley and Sugar Valley to be precise, places you squarely amidst thriving Amish communities. On Sunday mornings evidence of their horse drawn buggies are everywhere.
As I rode along some quiet roads I thought about the times people having asked me why I’m not photographing the Amish.
There’s certainly an abundance of landscapes to help paint a romanticized portrait of the Amish. There are a handful of local photographers who have built careers out of such work. A few have befriended a number of Amish families to gain unfettered access to homes and people to produce some magical images of an idealized rural life. Bill Coleman is a notable example of a photographer who spent his life with the Amish.
Others are like predators, skulking along roads awaiting their prey with telephoto lenses, stealing pictures and souls from people who likely just want to be left alone. I’ve often wondered how we English would feel if we were being photographed in the same way as we picnic at a park or our kids play along a creek.
I don’t photograph the Amish — much.
On Sunday morning I was stopped along a road near Smulton, Pennsylvania to make a portrait of a lovely Verbascum plant. As I finished and turned to walk back to the Vespa I saw two Amish couples and their children, all dressed in their Sunday clothes, walking on the road toward me as they heading for meeting. All eyes were on me as I walked toward them with my camera in hand. I’m sure I was not the first Englishman they’ve encountered with a camera.
I raised the seat on the scooter, placed the camera away, and started the scooter. As I rode past they all smiled and waved as I said, “Beautiful day.”
While I know I have the right to photograph these strangers on a public road, I’ve never felt comfortable photographing the Amish, or anyone for that matter that doesn’t give their permission. At least not in a setting like this. I have photographed the Amish — for assignments at work where they were a part of a story and agreed to be photographed, or the occasional buggy passing by my Vespa.
Some miles down the road I could tell from the number of buggies and people walking along the road that a meeting place was near. A small group of children walked along, barefoot, on the edge of the road and I couldn’t help but think how simple yet difficult their lives must be. Having to deal with me and a camera just doesn’t seem fair somehow.
For me, the Amish are best left as images in my mind. So you’ll probably not see many pictures of them unless someone takes the Vespa for a spin.
During a ride this morning I noticed the odometer on my 2006 Vespa GTS 250ie scooter rolled over to 28000 miles. Considering I seldom take long rides I was pleased with the miles I’ve gathered on the scooter. It also reminded me of the relative durability of the machine and I’ve seen reports on the ModernVespa.com forum of riders far ahead of me with 50K, 75K miles and higher.
Considering the abuse I’ve dished out through years of salty winter riding and many miles of dirt and gravel the Vespa has performed like a champ. I’ve gone through a lot of tires and oil changes, a fuel pump, a couple batteries, drive belts, brake pads, and that’s about it. Mostly wear items.
Since I bought the scooter I’ve ridden a lot of different machines from BMWs to Ducatis to URALs to Truimphs. And after all these miles on a lot of different machines and I still love the Vespa. For me, it’s the perfect ride.
Here’s hoping there’s another 28ooo miles in the scooter and in my old body!
Robert Pirsig, author of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, wrote the line I’ve borrowed as the title for this essay, “Sometimes it’s a little better to travel than to arrive”.
Sometimes, the saddest moment in a ride is when it’s over. That’s not a complaint about home or family, just a recognition of the sublime joy of spinning around the act itself — moving through the landscape on two wheels. It does matter why or where you’re riding, just being on the road, soaring and flying in body, mind and spirit can be pure, cosmic satisfaction.
I found myself in that place as I wandered along the winding roads of central Pennsylvania.
There’s much to see while riding, some of it subtle and easy to miss. I’ve ridden past this dry stone wall many times but never paused to look closely or consider what it actually meant — someone, by hand, built this large, long dry stone wall. I’ve built a few dry stone walls but nothing of the scope of this one. It approaches 8 feet in height and runs along a rural stretch of road about half a mile. It’s obviously not maintained and the property seems abandoned. I suppose the state could have built it for some reason — it’s not far from the Rockview State Penitentiary where they would have had lots of free labor to use at some point in the past, but it doesn’t seem to connect clearly with that facility. A small historical mystery found during a ride to no where.
Other decaying roadside artifacts, this one man-made, are everywhere though more and more they are just disappearing. When I was a kid Mail Pouch signs on barns where everywhere. Now I can’t recall another one than this one near Axemann, Pennsylvania.
Winding roads are in abundance around here and provide a fine diverse riding experience. Lot’s of gravel sprinkled around so it does demand caution lest a rider entertain disaster from attempting to carve lines around tight curves.
For me, these stretches of winding, wandering roadways through the hills and dales where I live never cease to thrill.
The roads on a Sunday morning are remarkably quiet. I probably passed more squirrels and groundhogs than I did cars.
Fuzzygalore.com recently published a story about riding just a ways north of here and how empty the roads were — Road Tripping in Pennsylvania — Wandering to Breakfast in Wellsboro. Some nice photos made along a beautiful part of the state. And her SEO is better with much better post titles than I use!
Last year my Vespa GTS died right here, at least for about 30 minutes. The engine would crank, start and immediately die. After the engine cooled it would start right up, a problem I later determined was a failing fuel pump. I missed the idyllic scene of winding road and cattle on the hillside then. Enjoyed it this time.
There are a lot of switchback curves in the mountains here — 180 degree turns that challenge a rider to whatever degree they wish to be challenged. I made this image with the panorama feature of my iPhone. If you’re interested in seeing the larger version lick on the image. The gravel just off the berm was incredibly soft — had I hit it at anymore than a crawl I would have gone down.
Despite that, it was good to wander, and it was definitely better to travel than to arrive!
Every so often it’s good to have a reminder of what’s important, what needs done, what the coming days will bring. Work, family, friends — it’s different for all of us.
I’ve watched this video at least a dozen times and with each viewing I take away something different about myself and what it means to live, or more precisely, not live. It’s easy to get swept up in what Thoreau termed quiet desperation. The precise quote, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.”, may leave you wondering if you’re most men, or women.
Watching the men in the video ride reminds me of how riding, or any other activity you feel passionate about, can help release the song inside.
So take a few minutes to watch the video and ask yourself, “Is my song still inside?”.