Scooter in the Sticks

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

Kick Starting the 3 Prints Project

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Some of you might have wondered what has happened with the 3 Prints Project. Due to circumstances beyond my control, my dog has been eating my prints, there was a storm, no a flood, a tornado, locusts, it’s not my fault that I haven’t been shooting any film.

Well, I have shot some but have not ventured into the darkroom. Summer is a busy time for me and I just haven’t had time. And once I step away from the routine I am one difficult boy to get back in gear. But Gordon and I have continued to meet almost every Sunday morning and I am ready to start up again. So perhaps this time next week there will be more real live silver prints. None of this digital nonsense…

It is nice to take the scooter out on a sunny morning for a short ride. This one to the Pump Station is really short since it is less than a mile from my house. But after photo talk, bagel, juice, tea and a scone I had plans for a short ride before tackling some garden work.

No Vespa pictures on the ride. As lovely as things were the sunshine leaves me cold photographically sometimes. I did marvel at this lone tree though. I have a lot of lone tree pictures.

This evening I had to ride into town and parked in this lovely Motorcycle Only space. Not usually my first choice of parking in town but always nice to have. And on a Sunday afternoon there are few machines to crowd me.
All that’s left to do this evening is drop my Ford Ranger off for the Pennsylvania Safety Inspection. The last time my truck visited the mechanic it cost me $2800 dollars. I expect to get off cheap this time!

Evening Rapture

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It’s not always about the Vespa and riding…

An evening in the garden with Kim. Both of us with small digital cameras sketching the surroundings. We can both get lost in the image making process. It’s interesting how differently we see the same place.

This season has been exceptional for plants. The temperatures have remained mild and there has been plenty of moisture for growth. Our garden quickly becomes a jungle of plant growth if neglect it long.

Bluebells have appeared likely seeded from birds that visit. As the light fades the flowers glow.

Last night we visited the People’s Choice Festival in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania. After all the artists and crafts people closed up shop for the night we remained to shoot more pictures. Kim has been experimenting with a new Panasonic Lumix camera. Her photographic approach is less constricted than my own. She isn’t concerned about all the “rules” that I learned over the years that can choke away creative exploration. She had a show recently of collage and photography and sold more photographs there that I have in my entire career. I can learn a lot from her.

The Vespa did enter the picture late in the evening when we decided some ice cream was required. A ride in cool night air under a full moon. And a return home with Moose Tracks and Peanut Butter Cup.

Evening rapture…

What Price Freedom?

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Independence Day.

I’m on the road going nowhere for no reason other than my own enjoyment. Despite the fuel sipping economy of the Vespa I know in the long run this probably isn’t a sustainable model. Someday it might not make sense to burn gasoline for recreation. Maybe.

On Independence Day I wondered if riding was an expression of freedom or merely a distraction from the real meaning. Military themes and observances are common here. A monument in remembrance of one of the first unit organized in the Continental Army. Maybe this has something to do with the meaning of Independence Day.

Tanks and other implements of war stand as silent reminders to the price paid for the landscape in which we can express our independence.  The price is hard to comprehend.

Markers stand among the gravestones in the older cemeteries indicating those citizens who served or fell in wars and conflicts throughout American history. When I think of July 4th I often imagine the battles so many endured or died in to gain and protect our independence. At times I feel I am not living up to my responsibility to protect it. It seems like there is a responsibility that comes with independence off the battlefield that makes demands everyday. It’s probably more than imagining I can do whatever I want.

Probably.

Riding stirs my thoughts and I wrestle with the meaning of Independence Day. As I write this I believe the meaning is clear. Freedom is change, or rather the courage to change. That was true in 1776 and remains so today. The world changes. Independence might be more a flow than a point. Maybe it mirrors what I like about riding — the journey is the important part and not the destination.

Here’s to all of you and best wishes for your own celebrations of Independence Day and hopes that it stays with you every day.

Deconstructing the Harley Image

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My friend Paul doesn’t always live up to my expectations of a Harley rider. There is no black leather or biker look – at least in my own image of what that is. There are times when he does live up to it though. At 7:45am on Saturday while I was getting the Vespa ready to ride into town to meet Paul I watched a rumbling Road King pass by the house, it’s rider in a black T-shirt, shaved head, no helmet, jeans, and black leather engineer boots. I’m standing in the driveway pulling on overpants and a windbreaker underneath my armored jacket being the sissy. The temperature was 67 degrees. Cold for me on a bike. Or scooter. But that was a Harley rider. Paul is like that too. He under-dresses in my opinion at times. Just not in a manner that fits my image of a Harley-Davidson rider. We stopped on the way out of town so he could add another layer. A red windbreaker. I found out yesterday that the jacket belonged to a woman he is dating. Just happened to be in the sidebag.

We planned to ride from State College to Belleville for breakfast via the scenic route over Pine Grove Mountain. Paul was on his new Harley Crossbones that he bought on eBay. That’s not how a person should come to Harley is it? Shouldn’t there be some sort of ritual involving beer and blood or something? I guess I am remembering the brother of my best friend growing up back in the 1960s outside of Pittsburgh. He dropped out of high school, got himself a girlfriend to impregnate, kept a chopper in his dingy apartment, got arrested for trying to buy morphine (again) at a local pharmacy with a fake prescription and generally involved himself in a slow but steady decline. He’s in a nursing home now at age 60 after some acquaintances pitched him down some stairs for some breach in etiquette. Perhaps my vision of the Harley has been perverted. Maybe I have attitude. I still like some of them though. The lingering effects of Then Came Bronson perhaps.
Saturday morning was lovely with temperatures hovering just under 70 degrees. We stopped a few times to make pictures but I generally am not motivated photographically when the sun is out and the skies are blue. Paul took charge since he was in the lead. Whenever he pulled over to shoot something I pulled out the camera and snapped a shot. Like the one above just outside McAlevey’s Fort.
The lake at Greenwood Furnace State Park reflects the serenity of the day. The road was as peaceful as that picture looks disturbed only by the rumble of my Vespa and Paul’s Harley.
We stopped at the Belleville Livestock Auction facility to see if the little diner there was open for breakfast. It wasn’t but I had the opportunity to photograph Paul in a heroic pose more in keeping with part of my Harley vision. Something better aligned with the Marlboro image too.
But then he goes and wrecks it by saying; “Take my picture with straw on my head.” I oblige but what the hell is that all about? Isn’t he afraid his Crossbones will be repossessed?
On to Dairyland in Reedsville for breakfast. I make the obligatory photo of my Vespa in front of the big cow. I feel like a tourist. Everyone is watching me. I imagine them thinking “how cool is that fellow…”
Breakfast is good. The standard scrambled eggs, home fries and toast for me. I passed on the bacon for some stupid reason I regret now. But it was fine. While dining a fellow who saw our cameras stopped to suggest we might want to photograph an Amish barn raising about 5 miles down the valley. I’m thinking he’s setting us up; it’s a trap where our machines will be appropriated. Another Amish criminal sting operation. That’s where my head is.
Paul doesn’t take his Harley ownership lightly. He keeps the machine sparkling and he displays the requisite number of skulls on his clothing. But something still feels off to me.
Sure enough there actually was a barn raising. From the safe distance of the road I make a few pictures. Paul on the other hand rides his Harley down the farm lane and right up to the barn to talk with the Amish workers. He’s fearless that way. I suppose that’s why he’s on a Harley and I’m on a Vespa.
While he learns about post and beam construction I talk with the milk cans. Actually I thought this sort of operation was illegal now in Pennsylvania. In days gone by the bulk milk trucks would pick these things up and take them to the milk plant. But as I understand things the milk has to remain refrigerated from farm to plant. Maybe these are just for decoration.

It was a fine morning ride. Sixty miles or so for breakfast and a barn raising. A good day and a good ride with a friend. Even if he doesn’t fit my vision of a Harley rider.

First Ride on a Vespa

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Essa went for her first ride on the Vespa yesterday afternoon. Kim called to tell me the ashes were ready to be picked up at the vet’s office and wondered if I might be able to swing by on my way home. Before going on with this story I need to say something about Centre Animal Hospital. They have been a blessing during the past week and have provided outstanding care for Essa for as long as we have been going there. When Dr. Deb Smart performed emergency surgery at 3am on a Sunday morning about 6 years ago to deal with a gastric tortion volvolus she gave us six additional years with our dog. And she was with Essa at the end. We could not have asked for anything more from a veterinarian or a clinic.

Essa’s ashes were delivered in a small wooden box with flowers carved in the lid and a small brass plaque etched with “Essa”. The box was inside a plain brown paper bag with a heart drawn on the side along with a paw print made from one of Essa’s paws. Seeing that drew a sad smile. As I carefully place the bag in the rear bag on the Vespa I said out loud, “You’re going for a ride pretty girl.” I’ve said the same thing countless times as she climbing into a car or truck but she never had the pleasure of a ride on the scooter. As I traveled home by a loping route through the valley I imagined how excited she would have been in a sidecar, Doggles in place, taking in the air and smells from a complex world.

We stopped along Spring Creek at a place Essa liked to swim. It’s been a long time since she was in the water due to weakening legs. But I could see her leaping into the stream and paddling around forever if I didn’t make her leave.
I realized as I made my way home that the dog traveled these routes with me before. In the truck searching for rocks for the garden, in the car on an outing to make photographs. This was her world as well as mine. And now it was hers for good.

Kim and I aren’t sure what we’ll do with the ashes. We’ll probably spread them in the places she loved. For now she’ll sit alongside her departed companion Iggy Pup until they make their last walk together.

Scooter in the Sticks

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

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