Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
A return to town this evening found me on the Vespa after dark. I realized that there is another world to explore with the camera at night. As the weather warms I’ll be heading out in the evenings for some night rides and night photography. It means dragging the tripod along and perhaps a bigger camera but I think it will be worth it.
And I love riding at night through open fields and valleys, especially now when the moon is near full.
Standing in front of the brightly colored window I felt some elation that the temperature had soared to 60F when my friend Paul Ruby and I had stopped for breakfast at the Bird House Restaurant in Montoursville, Pennsylvania. I needed to believe that winter was falling quickly behind and spring was just around the next bend.
I underdressed for the ride thinking it would be warmer sooner. And I didn’t take into account the sudden changes in temperature that can occur in the mountains. When I stopped about 30 miles from home to send a Twitter in the Sticks update my fingers were beginning to get stiff at 50F in non-electric gloves. Riding over the first ridge the temperature indicator on the Vespa hit 62F only to drop to 42F a mile later as the road descended through a narrow valley. Luckily I had the Gerbing Electric gloves under the seat.
There are lots of curves and tight turns as the road moves north through the Tiadaghton State Forest. Moisture and sporadic remnants of gravel, salt, and sand made traction dicey in places. Paul and I stopped to make a few pictures and stretch our legs (and backs). It’s hell to get old.
I went through the curve another time so Paul could make a picture of me. I’ll never have to worry about dragging anything on the ground unless it’s hanging off the scooter because I didn’t pack something correctly.
Breakfast was simple and delicious. I think I enjoy it as much as I do the riding. This time I remembered to take a picture after only one bite of toast rather than the usual empty plate picture.
Paul waxes poetically about life, art, and poetry. And eBay. He makes his living on eBay and is not pleased with some of the changes made to that system.
Every poet-adventurer needs a brass compass. Across the street from the restaurant was an Army-Navy Store with a selection of them. This was a nice one as compasses go. But who uses them anymore?
A stop along the Wyalusing Path (US 220) on our way north to Eagles Mere. Scooters and motorcycles fascinate me as sculptural objects. I suppose it’s why I can continue to photograph the Vespa. One of these days I’ll exhaust that fascination but for now I’m content doing what I’m doing.
Paul made another picture of me – the well-prepared photographer – a Canon G9 around my neck and a Leica M6 in my right hand. Those electric gloves remind me of what the kids wear in the Family Circus comics.
Eagles Mere is an old Victorian resort community dating back to the late 1800s. We stopped to look at the toboggan run that is now closed for the season. The town closes off a long street that slopes down to the lake.
When we walked down and took a look at the run I could hardly believe the scale. The track ran far out onto the lake and I couldn’t imagine how fast it would be. I would have loved this as a kid. I might even like it now.
The ride home took us through a lot of still melting mountainsides, reminders of how much more severe the weather would be here. Once we emerged into the Susquehanna River Valley the thermometer was pushing 70F as we ran towards home. The Vespa GTS 250ie purred along the 43-mile freeway segment of US 220 at 70mph. Not the most relaxing way to ride but nice to know the scooter is capable of high speed travel for sustained periods of time. It was nice to get out and put 205 miles of road underneath me.
It’s gotten cold and wet again but I’ve had a taste of warm weather and longer rides. Anything less will be frustrating.
For me riding is both simple and elegant. Each aspect of the machine and the ride constructing a satisfying experience. It’s reflected in the simple construction of the picture I made the last time I stopped at Barnes and Noble. Every element essential but nothing extra. That’s what I pursue on my scooter in the sticks. It’s not a perfect path but one that generally leads me where I want to go.
Pizza is simple. Especially one that costs $5.. Nothing fancy after a hard day at work. Strap the thing to the back of the Vespa and go. But not until the manager runs out and warns me that all the cheese will run off at that angle.
It didn’t.
A last stop for crab cakes and salad hung simply on the purse hook. That’s right, it’s called a purse hook. I’ve not used it for that yet but it has carried a lot of other stuff. If simplicity is going to go out the window it’s often because of mental triggers like purse hook, Barbie scooter, moped rider, things like that. Or it should I guess. So far I’m impervious to that sort of positive critique.
I’m writing this just after dawn. It’s 54F and crying out for a ride. The weather is changing and spring is approaching. Last night on the way home I stopped to look at the light filtering through the trees. Something is different. The sun is moving. Or my attitude is changing through solar tempering. I’m waiting for my friend Paul to arrive to we can head north. Or east. Somewhere. Anywhere. It’s just good to get out for once when I don’t have to worry about frostbite.
On Sunday morning Gordon Harkins and I shared our 3 Prints Project work at Saint’s Café. I arrived with contact sheets from two new rolls of film and three gelatin silver prints. Gordon surprised me with 24 small prints of the work he plans to include in the Blurb book we’re working on that portraits the first year of work. His photographs are quiet, complex reflections of how he sees the world. In my opinion.
My first print this week was made during a walk with my dog. As she approaches her 16th birthday the image has an uneasy feeling for me.
The photograph of the house was made in Lewistown, Pennsylvania as I waited for my youngest daughter at the train station. A woman emerged from the house with baleful looks for the camera and me. In character I sheepishly put the camera down and missed the best shot.
Kim was paging through books at Barnes and Noble. I still enjoy photographing her but I have lost speed in responding to subjects. I have trouble tripping the shutter fast enough. Often by the time I am ready the moments have passed.
Common sense, exposure to others with greater skill and experience, training, practice and enough humility to be honest about our own ability and limitations. That’s all you need to be a safe rider. Simple. Easy. All but that last part.
I don’t have any simple formula for humility or honesty when it comes to riding and safety. I suppose we each come to it in our own way, some quickly, some not so quickly. I feel fortunate to have crossed paths with several people who have steered me in the right direction – for me. Learning to ask questions related to personal skills, habits and beliefs is a good first step. A healthy measure of suspicion of riding truths and beliefs might be a good second one if you can manage it. There are a lot of sacred cows out there. Some are worth keeping but others need slaughtered. (I heard my boss utter those words in a recent meeting.)
So what am I doing kneeling on the road. That has to be safe right? Consider it an editorial illustration stressing the importance of paying close attention, which in this case is a check of the road surface. Whenever the temperature is near the freezing mark or lower I have a personal ritual of walking out in front of the house and checking for ice. Not on my hands and knees but a quick stroll and some twisting of my boots on the pavement to gauge traction. Not a perfect test or necessarily relevant to what’s over the hill but it does get my brain consciously thinking about why may lie ahead. With so many hills and dales and trees overhead conditions can change suddenly and dramatically. After a day of rain and temperatures dipping into the 20s during the night I knew ice might be a possibility. I was pleased to discover that everything must have evaporated during the night and the road surface was dry and illuminated by bright sun under a clear sky.
It’s just one thing I do to try and make my ride safe.
Sometimes I stop by the local training course used by the Pennsylvania Motorcycle Safety Program for their Basic and Advanced Rider courses. All the paint and numbers would be a hopeless jumble had I not already been through the courses.
I’m not sure if the piles of Styrofoam panels are a new obstacle on the course or just being stored there temporarily until classes start in the spring. I was able to avoid hitting the pile and spent some time navigating through the course.
I think I may register again for the Advanced Rider Training to polish my skills. I’m never sure what I may have forgotten.