Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
Rain all day. Decided while walking the dog that I wanted to ride. Left early and meandered through town via Calder Alley. The roads were unusually slick for some reason. The circumstances didn’t seem any different. Maybe there is a lot more oil in town.
Last Saturday morning I stepped outside into a gray world. Heavy clouds and remnants of a nighttime rain washed the color from the landscape leaving behind a quiet form of the world. This world requires less energy to embrace and is easier for me to process. It’s as if things have been distilled to their simplest forms and textures without all the noise and confusion that can appear in the color and shadows of postcard sunshine. The most ordinary places reveal their magic and a ride through familiar territory becomes new again. Moving along astride the Vespa in this world provides a special satisfaction.
On this morning my plan was a leisurely ride to breakfast in Bellefonte at the Café on the Park. A circuitous route would cover 20 miles and provide mostly empty roads and many opportunities to stop and look around. I’ve always felt riding was like flying. Not in a plane but if I could actually fly. The scooter exaggerates the effect because there is not much in front of your visual field to interfere with the fantasy like there is with a motorcycle. With earplugs stripping away most of the engine and wind noise it can be like a dream at times. A hyperfocus on the road that moves through an almost surreal landscape.
When I look at the Vespa through a wooded landscape I am reminded of how my wife Kim saw this first in her mind – what my riding would be like. How else could she have created my blog title, Scooter in the Sticks, without knowing?
If I have regrets on the road it is that I can’t keep riding. Pennsylvania has thousands of miles or rural roads that to me seem nothing short of spiritual pathways. For me. A place for slow and deliberate riding.
I’m often asked when I will get a motorcycle. I enjoy looking at motorcycles and find some of them enjoyable to ride. The Vespa GTS 250 strongly insists I make a choice. When I stopped beneath the underpass I was aware of the choice. Where did I want to live on the road? Did I want to slowly meander or eat up miles? The Vespa doesn’t preclude the high road but it does nudge me towards the slow one.
Just outside of Bellefonte I stopped to look at a cross at the corner of an old building. I assumed something bad happened here but could not imagine what. As I stood by the road with the camera the passing cyclists probably were wondering the same.
The Café on the Park. An unassuming place from the outside but unexpectedly elegant inside. These days I have to force myself to ride anywhere else when I am out for breakfast.
A pot of hot tea and my journal keep me occupied and involved in the ride. I have been participating in this kind of morning ritual (sans riding) since I was a teenager. One of the habits I haven’t had to give up.
Breakfast is always excellent. And I love getting fresh fruit. If I wasn’t so damn lazy I could have fresh fruit at home. But it seems overwhelming to slice things in the morning.
The ride home was different. I felt the pressure of the clock and the chores of the day. Riding onto Interstate 99 is a dramatic shift away from a slow ride. The Vespa can handle it. I can handle it. But I really wish I didn’t have to.
This post is about my friend John and the accident he was part of when his BMW motorcycle hit the side of a garbage truck one morning on the way to work. This happened a long time ago now — in October of 2007. The circumstances of the crash don’t matter.
Physically the accident was a tragedy. John suffered severe trauma to his right leg as a result of the collision and after 14 months of surgical and medical combat a life threatening infection led to an amputation. He’s now moving towards acquiring his first prosthetic leg.
A simple question comes to me from time to time as I think about John and his journey. He has remained pretty optimistic most of the time and seems to plan ahead to new adventures. It would be easy to take another path in this situation.
What would I do if I was involved in an accident?
A recent ride home from work. I’m traveling 50 mph in the right-hand lane of a four-lane road. A silver Dodge minivan is slowly passing me on the left. Ahead and to my right at a stop sign is an SUV waiting for a chance to cross both lanes and turn left to head back into town. My eyes scan the road ahead, the van to my left, the front wheels of the SUV. My head is calculating options. The SUV driver is watching the approaching traffic waiting for the precise moment to move their foot from the brake to the accelerator. I can see their face, their eyes. We are all involved in a complex dance of behavior, choices and decisions. Options fade quickly as we reach the point of no return. The moment when there are no options should anyone fail to do their part. It’s a moments like these that I think about my friend John.
I don’t think about motorcycle or scooter accidents a lot. I know they can happen and I know that risk can be managed to a great extent. Responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders in taking and managing them.
Back to my question. What would I do if I were in a bad accident? I’ve talked to others who have given up riding after a near miss let alone a collision. Would I do that? There really is no way to tell for sure what I would do but I have to say John’s experience has been instructional in a way I would not have thought back when it first began.
John Rides Again
John was not a recreational rider. Riding was part of his life and who he is. He wrestled with the question himself and yesterday boarded a plane for Florida to pick up a motorcycle and ride it back to Pennsylvania. That’s quite a ride for the first ride after an accident, minus one leg, and no prosthetic leg yet. I talked with John last week and he told me that all the amputee support groups and counselors advise he continue on with his life like nothing happened.
His decision did not sit well with everyone. His minister said in a letter that John shared that his decision to ride again amounted to nothing more than a big “fuck you” to everyone who cared about him through these past months. I asked John what his wife thought about a new motorcycle (she is an MSF instructor) and he told me that she said he would be one with the bike by the time he got home. John took that as an affirmative response.
In case you are wondering what motorcycle he is going to get and how he is going to manage it sans right leg it is a 1983 BMW R100 RS with a sidecar. A big ugly side car. But as John said to me one big enough to hold his wheelchair.
He had a friend make him something that will allow him to operate the foot brake with what’s left of his leg. Looks like something a BMW rider would think of.
On Tuesday morning he is planning to begin his trip north with trips to Deals Gap and along the Blue Ridge Parkway. I would not be surprised if he changes his plans and makes the first ride another Iron Butt Ride. He’s done two now I think. Those BMW riders are, what’s the word, CRAZY, yeah, that’s it.
But again, the question: Would I ride again after a serious accident? I would like to think I would. I think riding occupies a place in my life that is important in a manner that probably only other riders might understand. I don’t dwell on this but I have been thinking of it lately. I don’t believe that accidents are inevitable or even likely. I believe a lot of risk can be managed to make riding safer.
Anyways, I wanted to share what I thought was a courageous decision on John’s part amidst a bad situation. But he seems to have found his rhythm again.
Join me in wishing him good luck and safe riding.
I picked up my Vespa GTS 250ie from Kissell Motorsports last Tuesday — the rear brake needed to be bled. Now when I pull the brake lever you know something is happening. For any of you not familiar with riding keep in mind that the FRONT BRAKE is the one with 80 percent of the possible stopping power. But the rear brake does add additional stopping power and there are times that you need to finesse special situations with that rear brake. Gravel, snow, ice, and some other slippery surfaces come to mind.
Another Sunday morning meeting with my friend Gordon at Saints Cafe in State College to review the work from the previous week. It’s nice to get together and talk with another photographer over a hot drink and a bagel.
I’m posting prints from the previous two weeks because I didn’t get around to it last week. Not finding enough time to print beyond quick work prints and that’s frustrating. For anyone who has worked seriously with gelatin silver materials you know how challenging it can be to achieve the nuanced values that make a print sing. Hopefully I will find a few extra hours this week to explore a bit further.
This week also found me returning to chemicals manufactured by Eastman Kodak — Dektol for prints and D-76 for film. I’ve used those for over 35 years. Some things just don’t need any improvement I guess.
So here are the pictures:
I’ve started walking in the morning before work and the camera comes along. It’s quite dark at 6am but long exposures make it possible to create an image.
Another morning, a bit later as the sun crests the horizon.
Essa is a regular model in my photographs. She is not comfortable with the camera. She probably doesn’t know what I am doing but she is wary of the camera.
As I often do with people I make photographs from behind. There is a lot of expression taking place from this angle.
Another stolen moment. Kim taking notes on something she’s found in an architectural book.
Essa on a Saturday morning walk. At nearly 16 she keeps on going.
One of the advantages of hanging out with other photographers is they often make pictures of you. I know a lot of people don’t like to look at themselves or feel it’s vain, but I am fascinated at how I change. I could get lost in a self-portrait process if I let myself. Changes in body shape, receding hair, graying hair, creases and wrinkles. I have watched myself turn into my father in pictures. I see the natural process at work. The photograph below was taken by Gordon Harkins after one of our meetings at Saints.
That’s me, the old guy. And not a Vespa in sight.