Scooter in the Sticks

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

The Doe

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She raced into the right side of my peripheral vision, entering the plume of light cast by the headlight on a dark road, body churning, straining alongside the scooter. Breathing halted with a fierce intake of air, the animal moved closer as I realized my right hand had already begun throttling back, slowing the Vespa on the wet road.

It was a long day at work, one of those days when the mind leaps from one task to another, switching gears, changing realities so often that you just end feeling numb, stupid, living in a mental fog over which there seems no control. The desire to get on the scooter at 9pm was strong.

Rain fell in big, lazy drops, streaking the blackness ahead with white streaks in the beam of light. New heated gloves felt hot, a stark contrast from the cold wet air rushing under my helmet. Gingerly applying pressure to the rear brake,  the doe lunged left in front of me, her eyes wide as she fought to gain speed. For just an instant everything seemed like it moved in a slow motion performance.

I’ve been here before, riding at night in the rain ready to meet the deer of which the bright yellow signs give warning. A hundred times I’ve convinced myself that I’d be ready to manage the moment.

The Vespa slowed without sliding, the machine straight, tires rolling as the rear hooves lingered in the air then disappeared into the blackness. Breath quickly fogged the inside of the visor as I considered chance, luck, and fortune against experience and skill. A mile down the road I believed in magic and the sudden appearances of ghosts and other visitors, the knowledge quickening my excitement to be riding. Riding on my mind was clear, sharp and a strange feeling of satisfaction remained, as if I was tested and passed. Or perhaps it was nothing more than understanding that there is no test – just life.

Institutional Risk

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I saw this video for Central Institute in Australia this morning. Recruiting students is serious business at educational institutions and the approach and manner in which this is done varies wildly. Central commissioned two former students to make a video that would speak to potential students. Time magazine calls it “perhaps the best technical school recruiting video ever.”.

It’s definitely different than anything I’ve seen in the recruiting world and I can’t imagine the conversations with school officials that must have transpired to get it approved. Vomit, curse words, beer and death are topics not usually associated with schools trying to attract new students.

Risk. Is it part of success?

Vespa on a Sunny Day

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The sun finally came out and if it weren’t for the wind I could almost believe it was spring.  I’m tired of winter and riding has become a chore in itself of late.  So it was nice to wander around on the scooter, collect some mud under the fenders and just live under a blue sky while it lasts.  Still some snow and ice around in the shadows or on the mountains but nothing to worry about on the road save for the distracted drivers, whitetail deer, and copious amounts of gravel collected at every intersection or other place requiring turns.
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I took the day off and caught myself thinking it was Saturday a few times since it’s rare to be out in the middle of the day on the Vespa otherwise.  In a few more weeks it will be time to shed the winter tires and get back to the warm weather set up.  Won’t be long until I’ll see green in place of all the orange and brown.

Sky clouded up in the middle of the afternoon dropping me back into that gray, twilight world I’ve become accustomed to.  A last swing through town to pick up some chocolate at the Boalsburg Chocolate Company.  A fitting end to a relaxed day.

Planned to take Junior to the park to play ball but he was zonked out from an earlier outing.  I think the smart choice would be to recline on the couch and do nothing.  It is a vacation day after all.

Maybe tomorrow will be more productive.

Winter Riding Miscalculation

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Fourteen degrees and windy this morning when Junior and I made our way up the street to play ball.  It was one of those mornings when even a dog pauses to consider the weather. I carefully inspected the street surface trying to differentiate how much loose dry snow on top of bare pavement was blowing around versus more tricky ice and adhering snow.

While Junior periodically chased the ball and then hunkered down in the snow I collected pertinent data and made a few riding calculations.

1.  It’s cold.

2.  It’s really cold.

3.  It’s damn cold.

4.  The road is bad.

After careful consideration of all the facts I decided to drive the minivan into town for my 3 Prints Project meeting.

Or, 1+2+3+4=Honda Minivan.

As soon as I got on the main road I realized I had made a miscalculation. The roads weren’t bad.  Almost dry in fact.  Though it still was cold.  I was glad I miscalculated.

When I looked at this picture I thought Gordon appeared to be hesitant to face the music inside Saint’s Cafe.  He showed up with digital prints.  I showed up with no prints.  I can’t be sure if I even want to make anymore prints.  We’ve been discussing a show but it all just makes me tired.  And I still have to fix the mixing valve in the darkroom.

Another Sunday morning sans riding.  I’m hoping for warmer weather.  I’ve grown weary of the winter struggle.  At least for today.

Pushing Asphalt, Pushing Steel

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A morning ride several weeks ago — pushing, pushing through air, through space, pushing, gritting, standing, riding through the chill air, spine straight, neck extended, seeking, reaching, grasping for the day.  Now, then, tomorrow.  The Vespa pushes the asphalt, slicing through space towards a destination.

At 65mph at 35F the air feels cold.  The Vespa provides little protection without a windshield or hand guards.  With heated gloves at home I am having the naked riding experience.  Armored against the cold as best I can it’s always waiting, restlessly searching for an opening to make me uncomfortable.

Below an overpass on Interstate 99, boots scratching at frozen gravel, eyes scanning the lines of steel and concrete overhead, making a picture and postponing for a few moments having blood drained from my arm.  That’s my first destination — blood tests at the hospital.

Face raised towards the sun I stood for a long moment on a gravel lane leading from Mount Nittany Medical Center towards Beaver Stadium. An elastic bandage on my squeezed my left arm, holding in place a small square of gauze protecting a hole where a phlebotomist pushed a fine steel needle into a vein.  Thick, dark red liquid filled one glass vial then another as I provided evidence for my doctor to manage my psoriatic arthritis, monitor the chemicals in my body used to counter an aggressive immune system that’s declared war on the body it’s supposed to protect.

I feel like I’m in the middle.

People gather at the statue of Joe Paterno leaving cards and flowers and other tokens of recognition. His legacy is still unfolding, his grand experiment unique and probably never to be repeated.

Anywhere.

Another stop at the library bearing the Paterno name.  Not sure if any other large university had a coach who built a library.  After picking up a book more errands lay ahead.  The Vespa has proven itself over and over as a near perfect vehicle for my eclectic journeys.

Steam rises in small, turbulent swirls as I stare at the Starbucks on the table.  Watching, looking, remembering lazy summer days laying on a grassy field as white, cotton candy clouds passed overhead.  Alone with a cup of tea, a few moments to pause and think and just enjoy the moment.

Towards home, detoured once, twice, three times to extend the ride, expand the sights, and drink in the world.  Even the short trips like these, filled with duty and task, can be exquisite.  Fun.  Free.

For me at least.

One last stop at the Boalsburg Chocolate Company for a few confections to enjoy later with another cup of tea and then across the street to Bella di Vita, a small shop selling soap and other conveyances of fragrances. There’s always something there that Kim will love — this time a new Eau de toilette by Cote Bastides.
Seems an appropriate way to end a ride on an Italian Vespa.  I guess I won’t ever graduate to a Harley…

Scooter in the Sticks

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

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