I rode away from my house this morning for no particular reason with no particular destination in mind. It was sunny and the 20 degree Fahrenheit temperature was bracing. The Vespa moved easily up the hill and before long I was riding along Brush Valley Road. Something felt different, I was riding more fluidly and the scooter, the road and I seemed perfectly in tune. It’s a lovely feeling.

I stopped to make this photograph and just take in the world. It was nice to just be out in it. No cars or trucks, just me. As I rode towards town I started seeing other vehicles and began to notice how many people were talking on cell phones. I had read Dan Bateman’s post on Musings of an Intrepid Commuter about this subject and it got me thinking. Before I go on I need to confess that I talk on the phone while driving. And I’ll also admit that I believe that I can handle it. After all, I’m different than everyone else, I’m a better driver, I’m careful, blah, blah, blah. I know this is a rationalization to feel better about talking on the phone knowing how dangerous it is.

I thought about this while riding into town. I stopped at a traffic light and watched five cars pass in front of me. Four were on the phone. I saw more pass while I parked the scooter at the library. I saw people walking down the sidewalk talking on the phone and one person answered a particularly loud and annoying cellphone in the library. I’ve been chewing on this all day. What is going on with cellphones? How did we ever live without them?

I carry a phone with me while I ride but never think of using it while riding. When I “need” to use it I pull over. Works fine. But for some reason the idea of pulling over while driving is especially repugnant. There is a genetically coded imperative that whispers in my head to never let anything interfere with the forward motion of the cage.

Examining the “need” to use a cell phone reveals much of the root of this issue. Their isn’t much need. When I think of the times I talk on the phone while driving it is either because someone has called me, or I’m in too big a hurry to stop to call, or I’m bored. Let’s say the first two are important—the EMT is calling to find out a family member’s blood type and the second is because I’m rushing to pick someone up and I’m late and I want them to know I am on the way. Justifiable uses but not real frequent. If that was all cell phones were ever being used for there really wouldn’t be much of an issue. But that last one – boredom – that’s where the cell phone really shines.

I think boredom masks fear. Fear of being alone. People can’t stand to hear the voice in their head and they’ll go to great lengths to avoid it. The cell phone is just one of the many devices that can be deployed to make sure we don’t have to face ourselves. While riding I am never bored. Another benefit of two-wheeled adventure, even if merely commuting.

I’ve made a decision to not use the cell phone while driving. I want to afford others the same courtesy I expect from them when I am riding.

The Vespa is running fine and there is nothing of note to say about it. I have ridden it to work a couple times this past week and the only area of concern occurred on St. Patrick’s Day. Upon riding into town I saw a long line of college students at 7AM lined up to get into “The Phryst”, a local watering hole that deals in green beer. The line was long, almost a block long. I immediately muttered an “oh shit” at the thought of leaving the Vespa parked along the street on this day that guaranteed a larger than usual number of drunks. I imagined the Vespa lying on its side covered in green puke.

I figured that if we could stand up to some snow and ice we could manage a few hundred green beer drinkers. The Vespa waited patiently all day and was in fine condition for the ride home.

Now on to “Chucklehead”.

In a previous life (30 years ago) I was a serious table tennis player. That’s ping-pong for those of you not fully informed on the nature of the 40mm ball…. A few weeks ago my college roommate from the early 1970’s, Joe Tarantino, called and asked if I wanted to play in the Pennsylvania Team Championships. I told him the last time I played was in 1976 at the National Team Championships at Cobo Hall in Detroit. “It’s just for fun” was all I needed to agree. The Vespa has been wondering where I’ve been the past two days—I was cheating on it, playing table tennis, an obsession from my past.

Obsession is not an overstatement. I nearly flunked out of college because the 30 hours a week of practice sort of gets in the way of any academic activity. Add travel to tournaments and the general exhaustion that goes along with playing so much — you get the picture.

Sam Steiner, the tournament director and old friend, estimated my player rating at 1600. At my best my rating was 1810. This puts me in the intermediate level of play, a mere humble shadow of the professional players. Think of it as the difference between Lance Armstrong and a really good local rider. As it turns out Sam was overly generous in his assessment. I was thinking I would fall nearer 1200 and the two days of play was witness to that. I did manage to win a few games and even one match. And more importantly I didn’t hurt myself. I’m writing now in the glow of two Extra Strength Tylenols. Remember, I’m talking table tennis, not ping-pong. You can get carbon fiber rackets now.

Now, I promise, on to Chucklehead.

Thirty-four teams were gathered with play underway on 20 Stiga Expert tables. I was playing the first match (and only match) I would win during the entire tournament this morning when a loud cry echoed through the gymnasium – “You Chucklehead!!!”. John Rameriz of the South Park Table Tennis Club of Pittsburgh deserves credit for the comment. It was a cry of some performance frustration and immediately transported me back in time to other tournaments and other yells. I remembered in an instant all the good times I had so long ago. And that brings me to the point of this blog entry. Finding a balance in life.

The desire to ride parallels the desire I felt to play. And a little spark is glowing again. Hmmm, how could I manage riding and playing? Maybe I can ride to tournaments, off to New York and Maryland and Indiana and Minnesota by Vespa. And I know if I start playing again I’ll want to play well which means practice. And my brain is off to the races, chewing on the problem. Riding, work, family, chores, photography, garden, school – can I add table tennis to that mix? How much am I entitled to?

For now I’m just going to let it go, let God show me the path. I have the coming week off from work and I plan to do a little riding, a little napping, and little hanging out with Kim. And I’m sure I won’t be able to avoid the desire to think about table tennis.

I’m such a chucklehead.

A friend brought me this brochure from a Rome scooter and motorcycle rental place. The image on the cover made me think about how people have reacted to my scooter and the ideas they have about people who ride them. Reactions range from those people who think it is a neat little toy to scoot around town to near revulsion by others (men) who appear to be deeply threatened by the very existence of such a machine. Perhaps they believe a scooter fundamentally defiles the idea of machine as an example of man’s dominance over the world.

The other thought that comes to mind is there is a difference between riders and owners. I draw a parallel in my experience with photography. There are many people who own and talk about cameras but seldom, if ever, make photographs. They find immense satisfaction in deep consideration of every tool and toy related to cameras and photography. And often they have a deep, deep belief in a particular camera and no other will do or compare. This same pattern exists with many scooter and motorcycle owners—Vespa, Lambretta, Harley, BMW, etc…..

And then there are riders. There are people who own cameras so that they can take pictures. They may spend lots of money and buy fine equipment but they have it as a means to an end. They use it. The camera is not only a sunny day instrument. It can get wet and marred and scratched by use. The lens won’t quit performing due to specks and spots or cleaning marks. The same thing happens with riders. The ride is the goal and the machine is the vehicle to experience it. Use brings wear and tarnishes the possibility of maintaining a pristine state. Miles add up. A scooter or bike shows its age.

I’m not saying that one path is better than the other, they’re just different. But I am always a bit surprised at the dismissive attitudes people can generate against something they don’t (can’t, won’t) believe or accept. I smile or don’t say anything anymore when someone tells me what I need or should have in a camera, scooter, home, job, clothes, investment, food, whatever…. I know what I like. All this from little brochure from Italy. And this is the kind of stuff I write when I’m not riding. Haven’t been on the scooter since Saturday. Will ride tomorrow morning.

The weather warmed considerably and with clear skies and 45 degree temperatures I decided to take a longer than usual trip on the Vespa. I almost always head north or west on my rides but for some reason this time I was drawn south. Today was the first time I had my new Tourmaster Over Pants on. It was nice to finally have some windproof-armored pants with pockets! And I’ll say right now that I love these pants.

I headed out PA Route 45 towards Pine Grove Mills and headed up the mountain. The scooter could maintain 45 MPH up the grade but I had to wave on a few cares that wanted to go faster even though I was at the speed limit. Traffic was almost non-existent as I rode down the other side towards the turnoff at Stone Valley and route 305. This road was a typical rural secondary road, high crown and rough asphalt surface. No holes or anything but just rough. I moved along the road at 45PMH and that seemed fast—so many blind turns and crests that I figured at this speed I would have time to see my life flash in front of me should some feed truck be in the wrong lane. I rode pretty defensively. I saw another cyclist in my rear view mirror moving pretty fast and he went right by me with a wave. A BMW 1200 GS. As I came over the next rise I could see him going over the next and realized he was really going fast. My first thought was that I am a pretty lame rider to not be going faster. The scooter could easily go faster but then I thought what faith that guy has that nothing or no one is going to get in his way. At that speed it didn’t seem like you could do anything. It is what scares me about any thoughts I have of bigger stronger two-wheeled vehicles. I will go faster because I can and not because I should. Those of you motorcycle riders feel free to weigh in if I am just being a wussy here.

The road allowed me to leisurely ride to Petersburg and then on to Alexandria. The sun was warm and I was completely comfortable save my fingertips. The temperature was in the 50s by now but after about 50 minutes of riding I could tell they were tingling a bit. Not enough to be concerned about but present. I decided to take bacon and eggs at the Crumb Diner in Huntingdon. It’s one of those classic old metal diners where you can have breakfast for 3 bucks. My fingertips were white and it took a good 15 minutes for them to come back to life. I am sure it is related to the old frostbite injuries.

After breakfast I stopped across the street at a Sheetz store to get gas. Several other riders were there with Harleys and Sport bikes and they gave the Vespa the smiling sneers that I often get. One of them inquired on the fuel economy and the other asked if it was legal to ride that little thing on the road. I smiled and said 68 miles-per-gallon and reassured the other that both it and I were fully licensed. They were sort of shocked when I told them I had ridden down from Boalsburg on a sixty-mile path. They were just riding around town. I let them know you could ride it anywhere as long as you weren’t in a hurry.

The ride home was as enjoyable as the ride down and the scooter performed perfectly. The photo was made on the way home just outside of McLevy’s Fort. There is an old family cemetery at the top of the hill where the trees are.

Its been a hectic week at work. Projects are underway and require my input or attention and a new really large and complicated one has just launched that could easily eat up half of my time. The balancing act can be draining and leaves me feeling anxious, unsettled and tired by the end of the day.

I park my Vespa in the free motorcycle parking area about a mile from my office. I could park closer but the walk to the office and back to the scooter has enough therapeutic value that I continue with this arrangement. It’s a good 15-minute walk across campus before the scooter roars (purrs) to life. Today the campus was deserted during my walk giving an added and welcome level of solitude. The walk makes the ride home stronger. Instead of departing a zombie for the first few miles the physical activity resets my brain and when I turn the throttle I am focused and ready.

As I was pulling on my helmet and gloves I noticed the reflections of passing cars in the finish of the scooter. I am still enamored by the Vespa and it consistently finds its way into photographs for no other reason than I like the way the damn thing looks. I imagine it in adventures and rides and just smile. For some reason today I sat down on the sidewalk with the digital camera and made some images. Something seems odd about a 51+-year-old man sitting on the sidewalk in a yellow and black riding jacket taking pictures of a Vespa. That’s what I come to at this stage of my life. I guess it’s ok.

I liked the way the scooter is juxtaposed against the FedEx truck. Reminds me that I can stand up on the road with these big boxes. The ride home was relaxed and the world was magical in a way I only recognize from the car when the light is unusual or dramatic. I made the image at the top of the page on Monday evening while riding. It was grey and the sun was going down through a cloudy sky. A small glow of sunlight filtered through the clouds for an instant and I stopped to make a photo. I am sure I would have missed it in a cage.