Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

The Curious Nature of Choice

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Vespa GTS250 scooter in Penns Valley

The Devil Made Me Do It

I believe in free will. I imagine living by a system of beliefs and being free to make choices that propel me along a path of my own making. There can be no doubt that I make choices. But more and more, I question the freedom in making them.

Yesterday morning the weather app on my phone suggested rain, perhaps heavy, late in the morning. After considering the evidence I made the choice to mount the Vespa scooter and head east across Penns Valley.

Just to ride, look and be alone. My choice.

The desire to ride is strong. Some might suggest an obsession. Creative colleagues describe passion and drive. I wonder if the mental and physical longing to be on the road is really an imperious engine that robs me of choice?

“The devil made me do it.”

Vespa GTS scooter along rural road

Traveling East

Spring is in full flush. Beyond the visual evidence of plants coming alive everywhere there are the heady fragrances of spring — honeysuckle and dogwood, lilacs, and the smell of fresh cut grass is everywhere as I meander along roads almost familiar after haunting them for over 40 years.

There is no better mechanicial partner for me than the Vespa.

Inevitably my mind wanders from the road toward slow, swaying waves of thought triggered my things I see and feel. There is no choice — they just arrive.

Not far from home I passed a housing development where I once made photographs of buckwheat fields and combines gathering a harvest. Now it’s a collection of “estates” with garage complexes easily twice the size of my house. And lawns of three, five and ten acres — lush, green, weedless, mown and tended with precision. Natural deserts not fit for insect or animal.

Are these places the result of freely made choices? In the land of individual freedom and self determination the answer is “yes”! But I wonder.

Vespa GTS scooter on rural road

The Road Goes on Forever

Over and over I’m brought face-to-face with visual metaphors for the unknown ahead. What is over that rise? Where will I be this afternoon? Or next year? The Vespa is my faithful pony, traveling with me into a future full of dreams and nightmares, hopes and fears, thrills and boredom, all part of a mix that makes life drip with possibility.

And choices.

But what about those sweeping lawns and homes. Are they really a result of freely made choices or have them been poisoned by culture and the human need to conform to unwritten rules and expectations? And who created them?

Choices. And choices colored by industry and marketing burrowing into our subconscious to somehow make us feel less should our lawns attract birds or our homes not reflect our power.

Riding alone — it can be a harsh taskmaster and leave me questioning what I believe. Or commit time to.

I don’t blame the scooter though. It’s an unblinking, blunt companion always reminding me to stay awake.

Vespa GTS scooter near Woodward, Pennsylvania

Love Life

There are times when I can stand in a place and feel like crying. The landscape shouts “remember when” and I feel the pain of choices made and not made. Time has swept it all away and for a moment I believe all things are new.

In church I listen to forgiveness and redemption. On some days I have faith. But on many others I long to be like other riders I talk with who seem to live without question or care, racing along consuming experience with smiles and a hedonistic pleasure I cant’ quite imagine. It’s not a choice I am free to make.

Vespa GTS scooter

Investing in the Spirit

The scooter is running remarkably well since it’s recent encounter with the Vespa technician. In a few days I’ll celebrate a year of life since my heart attack. But both of us could die tomorrow for myriad reasons.

I feel blessed, no, I feel lucky that I’ve ended up where I am in this place. It’s not a result of careful planning or choice — just dumb luck like the blind squirrel finding an acorn.

Riding along Penns Creek I saw a small herd of deer splashing across the water — a scene I’ve often hoped to photograph. But a short wait revealed no more actors for my play and I moved on.

Riding creates a tapestry of experience. But more important it opens the door for questioning them — an investment in the spirit of life.

Vespa GTS scooter

Small Scooter in a Big World

In a place where four wheel drive pick-up trucks, sport utility vehicles and powerful luxury sedans seem to be ubiquitous my choice of riding a Vespa scooter seems strangely out of place. Like the horse drawn Amish buggies common in the area. Aside from opportunity measured in available time, there is nothing that would limit me from riding across the continent on the scooter. And of course, the subconscious drivers that push riders toward big. Like those trucks and SUVs.

My choice to ride the Vespa is made with my own boatload of subconscious laws and rules.

I wasn’t exactly sure where I was when I made this picture looking south toward Ravens Knob. Wasn’t lost, just couldn’t pinpoint myself on a mental map. I make a choice to travel without a GPS device or even a map. What little adventure is left in the East is largely destroyed by the digital caretaking of a Garman or similar device.

For me, it feels good to seem lost and confused. A choice.

Vespa GTS scooter in the rain

Into Every Life…

Rain. I knew it was coming yet I made a choice to ride telling myself that I would be home before it arrived.

Arrived in Millheim for breakfast at the Inglebean Coffee House and found the place delightfully empty. A continuation of the solitude of the road. As breakfast arrived so did friends, effectively dashing time with my journal.

I made a choice to have a conversation.  It is after all, the polite thing to do.  But I left wondering still about the nature of choice.  Mostly I was wishing I could put it all out of my head.

And then the rain came presenting opportunities for making choices — waiting out the passing rain showers, or donning my Rev’IT rain suit that I’ve been carrying around for two years without using.

I kept riding and put on the suit.

Maybe the important thing about choice is to make them to keep moving forward.

 

Talking with God

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Portrait of Steve Williams at Waterfront Tavern in Lewistown, PennsylvaniaReflection at the Waterfront Tavern — Lewistown, Pennsylvania

There are things to learn looking in the mirror, or at a photograph.  Especially when we’re the subject. I’ve always felt some mystery or lesson lurked just below the surface, just out of reach but close enough to sense that there’s more there than meets the eye.  My friend Paul Ruby made this picture while I stared out the window toward the Juniata River as we arrived for breakfast after 94 miles on the road. Looking at it now I can see I was somewhere else, lost in thought in a manner that riding can produce and can leave me drained.

Long before I parked the Vespa outside I had been having a conversation; one I call talking with God.

Ducati motorcycle and Vespa GTS scooter along route 45 in PennsylvaniaOn the Road

Like so many rides they begin with the shimmering joy of being on the road.  Morning, sunshine, cool air and a road rolling out ahead, I feel a sit up straight and ear to ear grin excitement of being alive in the world — a world that seems to belong to me and no one else.  In this solitude, even when riding with someone else, I find myself making observations of the landscape sweeping by, puzzling over imagined route choices ahead, and entertaining questions that during most other times remain unasked.

Just beyond the curve at the end of the road in this picture a friend lost his leg in a motorcycle crash some years ago.  I’ve often asked if something like that will happen to me.  What would I do?  How would I react?  And before long I’m open to a host of existential questions — those concerns of human existence.  Riding provides space to ask “Why?”.  Questioning ourselves, our existence, that’s nothing new.  Human history is filled with examples of questioning in art and literature.  It’s one thing to read about the experience of others coming to terms with existence.  Another matter when you’re doing it yourself.

Regardless of your personal beliefs, avenues of spirituality or any other process of questioning or enlightenment, I suspect many riders find themselves coming face to face with themselves on the road and asking questions that don’t always have easy or comfortable answers.

I call it talking to God.

Vespa scooter and Ducati motorcycle along a winding roadWinding Roads in Pennsylvania

Pennsylvania has an incredible diversity of roads through myriad landscapes and geography.  It’s estimated that there are a quarter million miles of roads in Pennsylvania ranking it 11th in the nation. I don’t suspect I’ll travel them all.

Paul and I stopped to admire a small stream gently tumbling through a gap along Bearpen Hollow as we rode down over Stone Mountain and into Belleville, Pennsylvania.

Just 12 miles to the east is a faster route, one with four lanes of controlled access that allows for speed and efficiency.  Speed and efficiency.  For me, something I choose to escape from rather than embrace.  I have few thoughts save for how to deal with the boredom of riding on the super slab.

Vespa scooter in Amish CountryAmish Country

Rich agricultural scenes and thriving Amish communities make Big Valley almost seem like something from another time.  I don’t bother the Amish with my camera but I can say I never tire of seeing horse drawn wagons and buggies trotting along the farm lanes and paved roads.  I’ve wondered many questions about a life I’ll never know.

Vespa at scenic overlook in central PennsylvaniaView of the World

The view from the summit of Jacks Mountain is always breathtaking.  I look out over the expansive space and feel the tiny space I occupy in the world.  The sense of anonymity also creates a bit of freedom in my head to address the fear and regret that inevitably shows itself during a ride when you talk to God.

I’ve spoken to riders who claim to never question themselves, past, present or future, but instead travel through life sure and certain what the road ahead will bring.

That’s not me.

Ducati and Vespa along RT 103 in PennsylvaniaDucati and Vespa

With four times the horsepower and little additional weight Paul’s Ducati Hypermotard seems a fine riding partner for the Vespa GTS 250 I ride.  I’m often asked about the scooter’s ability to “keep up” and from first hand experience it will keep up with any motorcycle traveling the legal speed limits.  Anything else is, well, not important.  To me at least.

What was to be a quick route to breakfast turned into a long route to lunch.  Parked here on the east shore of the Juniata River not far from Mount Union there was still 31 miles to Lewistown along lovely winding roads.

The weather was perfect for riding.  And the ride was perfect for talking with God.  I asked a lot of questions and released a lot of baggage.

What more could I ask from a ride?

Church Riders

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Keith Diehl and his red Vespa GTS scooterSunday Ride

I don’t expect to see another scooter or motorcycle at church but it was nice to see another Vespa GTS this morning.  Keith is filling in for the regular organist this week and rode his bright red Vespa GTS 300 to Boalsburg.  With the sky blue and temperature rising it the bright red scoot was like a spring flower.

Church riders.  Perhaps there are more.

The thermometer should approach 60F this afternoon — with a breeze it should help dry out the muddy yard and keep the dogs relatively clean.  Wish I could take advantage of the break in the weather and take a long lazy ride but duty and responsibility beckon.

I should be caught up in about two years.

Making a Life vs. Making a Living

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Vespa GTS 250 scooter in a field under a blue sky with cloudsMaking a Life

I need to be reminded sometimes that work, my professional life, is not the same thing as my LIFE.  Learning to differentiate making a life vs. making a living is a lesson that, for me, came late.  While I’ve always considered myself fortunate that I’ve always loved the work I do and the challenges it presented.  Riding the Vespa added a point of view from which I could see the difference between the energy invested in making a living and what I did making a life.

Family and friends — they’re components of a life that are like treasure.

blogger's view across a computer screenLife Within Reach

Just a few feet away my wife writes a text message to her sister about our dog Lily becoming a woman — her first heat.  Life is always spinning and calling, sometimes at a distance and others right in front of me.  When work is added to the mix it can grow more complicated.

outdoor photo shootOnce a Photographer, Always a Photographer

When asked what I do for a living I almost automatically think first — photographer.  That answer is fueled by a desire for something easy to understand and long years of use.  But the reality is I’m not a professional photographer anymore.  Just an enthusiastic amateur.

This picture was made a couple years ago on assignment — an environmental portrait of three students who were building a portable food production system out of old truck bodies. I can always gauge whether a photo shoot was successful if I can get the art director to buy in enough to hold a reflector.

magazine spreads on an office wallMagazine editor

Until the end of December I was also the editor of Penn State Ag Science magazine — a twice a year publication of the College of Agricultural Sciences at Penn State.  It was one of the more enjoyable aspects of my professional life affording me exceptional access to a wide range of people and projects and creating what I would offer regard as being a professional tourist.

I pasted the spreads of the first issue I edited on the wall of my office at the insistence of the art director.  As each new spread arrived from design I stuck it on the wall.  As he suggested, I was able to recognize a rhythm from page to page (or lack of one) and begin to see how content work together across the entire issue.  I’m fortunate to have always been able to work with people who knew more than I do.  Makes learning fast and fun.

Not long after becoming editor I was also made Associate Director for Public Relations and Marketing.  A position I held until the end of December 2015.

Steve Williams portraitEnter ATLAS

This morning a colleague made this picture for me.  There are large posters in our conference room of some of the products produced for the college — magazines, advertisements, posters — things that reflect the public relations and marketing activities of our unit.  Products I had the good luck to be part of.  Looking at the magazine cover I recall two goals I set for myself — be a representative for our readers, not the college.  And always surprise people with the depth and breadth of agricultural sciences.  It’s not always what you think it is.

For the past couple years I’ve been doing two jobs.  The PR and marketing tasks, and overseeing development of a new, non-credit online course development team for Penn State Extension.  And that bit of business grew from an idea of a colleague that has become what we call the ATLAS Project.  At the end of December I shed the role of editor, photographer, and leader of the PR and Marketing team to become the Assistant Director for Digital Education.

Expanding Access and Reach to Information

ATLAS is a complex project conceptually and technically.  The video helps explain the scope.

ATLAS reaches across a wide range of people and processes to do one basic thing — expand the access and reach of the educational resources and opportunities of Penn State Extension.  Traditionally, extension engaged people in face-to-face interactions — in workshops, during farm and home visits, and a range of other personal connections with customers. But as expectations grew by the legislature and others that model wouldn’t be enough.  The online experience had to be added to the mix.

Think of ATLAS as an umbrella under which lives CRM (a massive new database for customer relationship management), digital strategy (a customer focused web experience including marketing automation and e-commerce), and product strategy (the educational product line by which we’ll connect with customers — face-to-face or online).  That’s where I come in.

My new position, aside from a role in the overall development of ATLAS, is focused on online course production.  My team consists of twelve people working hard to transition educational opportunities that exist as face-to-face courses and workshops to an online experience.  There are 26 courses in active production, about as many on deck, and almost 130 total identified for production.  Later this summer when ATLAS is scheduled to launch our goal is to have 50 or 60 courses complete and in our edX learning management platform.

Makes my head itch thinking about the work left to be done.  Like a ride on the Vespa in winter weather, it’s an exciting challenge.  I’m lucky to have the opportunity to participate in something like this and be able to say, “That’s my job”.

And that’s the challenge to — balancing making a life vs. making a living.

It’s a full time job…

Desert Solitaire

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A copy of Edward Abbey's Desert SolitaireA Favorite Book

Scrutinizing the books in my library I came across Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey, a collection of personal accounts of life as a park ranger for three summers in southeastern Utah. The essays were the first in which I recognized the pursuit of solitude and aloneness, a theme I’ve explored since.

The Deadman at Grandview Point, one of the essays in the collection, has remained with me since I first read it and has fueled many daydreams and thoughts about life.

Abbey also wrote The Monkey Wrench Gang, his most famous novel which told the story of activists sabotaging environmentally damaging activities.  Today those activities would be regarded as terrorism in some quarters.

Edward Abbey on book jacket of Desert SolitaireA Man on Foot

Abbey was a wanderer, hiker, backpacker among the many other things he did with his life.  His writings appeared for me at a time when I was restless and helped quiet the discord in my head.  I still remember on of the lines from this book:

“A man on foot, on horseback or on a bicycle will see more, feel more, enjoy more in one mile than the motorized tourists can in a hundred miles.”
― Edward Abbey, Desert Solitaire

I’ve walked a lot of miles and can attest to the truth of that statement EXCEPT I include the Vespa scooter along with foot, horse and bike.

inscription on Desert Solitaire bookBook Inscription

Almost 26 years ago I wrote, “To remember my growing disgust with civilization” inside my copy of Desert Solitaire.  I don’t remember now what caused me to write those words and without some research regarding the politics of the time or a retrieval of a journal from that time I won’t know for sure. It’s a strange reminder though of who I was and what I was thinking.  Different than I feel today.

My father would say I have a case of the old mellows.  I gave him a copy of this book.  He didn’t like it.  It’s not for everyone.