Scooter in the Sticks

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

Dog of My Dreams

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Two Belgian SheepdogsHeart Thieves and Robbers

I have two Belgian Sheepdogs; Junior (left), Sandevel’s Get Out of Town Now, and Lily, Kennaree’s Lily the Hammer. Each has a large, expansive role in my consciousness and commands measures of love and attention most people only dream about.

So it is with the power of the canine.

Only one is the dog of my dreams.

Belgian Sheepdog outside on a winter dayJunior Comes to Town

Junior was 13 months old when he was spirited away from his canine mother and siblings to join our clan. The memories of that day, the look in his eyes, when I put him on a leash and walked him out the door to travel 600 miles to a new life. On a good day I tell myself he has a great life. On other days I feel like a kidnapper.

It’s a dog’s life.

Belgian Sheepdog covered in snowPart of the Family

Junior bonded to me immediately and can make me feel more important and special than I have right to feel. Thick as thieves, we wander life together. In winter, summer, spring and fall, man and dog together, part of the family, part of the world.

Junior loves the snow.  I used to.

Male and female Belgian SheepdogsTouching Roots

Nine months ago Lily the Hammer came to visit. Permanently. I’m not sure Junior realizes the connection to his roots. Lily is his niece, daughter of his sister Chloe, granddaughter of McKenna and Bing – Junior’s mother and father. Dogs work on you, slowly, consistently, inching their way into your life and then your heart, setting you up for catastrophic pain and anguish. The price of admission to the world of dogs

Each time I pay I swear the price is too dear. But in the cold, hard light of day – worth ever penny to have the dog of my dreams.

Belgian Sheepdog portraitHandsome Man

Junior has a special presence.  He knows things.  He sees things.  It’s the kind of stuff every dog owner says about their dog.

In this case, it’s true.

Really.  Junior is the dog of my dreams.

And Lily plays the same role in Kim’s dreams…

Stupid, Weird or Silly

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Man lying on the roadPlodding Along

My friend Paul stretching his back during a ride some years ago…

This is my day today.

Life can plod along, quietly stacking one day among the next in a relentless engine of eternity. Like an airline pilot describing the job as long periods of boredom interrupted by occasional moments of terror, so life seems today – the boring part.

Aside for a few minutes while shaving this morning I didn’t see anything stupid, weird or silly. Haven’t heard a joke, didn’t see anything slide along on the morning ice, the dogs didn’t do anything cute.

What does it mean?

man and dog at cafeExistential Boredom

I’m not living on the bleeding edge of life. No UFOs, lottery ticket winnings or coincidental run ins with Vespa riding celebrities (there are some). Just the drudgery fueled by too many long, cold sunshine free days. Sitting in a waiting room the headline under a magnificently chaotic graphic announces, “Multiple Tornadoes Hit Gulf Coast”.

That would be weird.

Choices have dwindled to a struggle to not pierce my eardrums to avoid the agonizing drone of a programmed music assault from the overhead speakers or closing my eyes and trying to sleep in a chair without drooling or falling on the floor.

That would be stupid.

Watching people exit from the medical cavern behind a smokey glass door the first thing they do is reach into their bags and pockets for their smartphones to record, announce or schedule another moment in medical paradise. I try to be grateful for having the opportunity to be here, to have a little plastic card giving me admittance to a privileged world of medical magic and chicanery. I consider announcing to the bored throngs how wonderful it is to be here.

That would be silly.

portrait of steve williams with portrait of steve williamsEpic Failure

In a world of consumption and personal goals and achievements I have failed, utterly, to live the good life. Instead I pound the keyboard and surrender my mind and soul to Calmly Writer. I’m on the boring train, traveling to Boredomtown, wishing something would happen but content to accept the comfortable embrace of absolutely nothing of interest happening – just a patient wait for stupid, weird or silly to come my way.

That would be life.

How Long Can I Ride?

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Steve Williams photography and printsLooking Closely

Sixty-one years old and one heart attack under my belt. It fuels some interesting thinking. Ten years ago when I was still invincible (and my riding jacket was still bright yellow) I was already drawn toward thoughts of mortality as I photographed my life, the people in it, and some of the icons of finality. I’ve always been curious about what’s over the next hill.  Seems appropriate that curiosity would endure thoughts about longevity — how long can I ride?

I’m not sure if a person reaches a certain point where they begin doing longevity math but the equations aren’t simple and the factors considered aren’t consistent.  My grandfather had a heart attack in the 1950s when he was my age and then lived healthy and at home another 33 years.  My mother died just a few years older than I am now from a rare disease. And my father from lung cancer at 76 though he was a heavy smoker most of his life, worked in a coal mine before moving on to a mill that worked with molten steel — something that generates a lot of great stuff to breathe.

Mental measuring of longevity is, at best, a fool’s errand and merely another way to rob the present with fears of the future.  Still, it occupies my thoughts from time to time.

What may be more important is the waking dreams of life down the road.

How do I see myself in ten years?

Vespa GTS scooter on a forest roadOld Man and a Vespa

It slowly comes into focus, an image of an old man on a scooter, moving smoothly along a forest road, his hands gives a slight squeeze to the hand grips and a smile grows on his face.  In the distance a granddaughter waves, wondering what treat the old man brought this time.

When I ride I can feel the flight of spirit and I squeeze the grips to hold onto the world. At 61, I hope I can stay close to that feeling for a long time and my body stays nimble enough to manage the scooter and my mind sharp enough to stay safe. And be able to hang out with my granddaughter long enough to warn her about boys and to not let anyone stand in the way of her dreams.

That would be a good ride.

Belgian Sheepdog portait in the snow at sunriseLike a Good Dog

How long can I ride? Only God knows. But like a good dog I’ll keep getting up every morning and make the most of what life has to offer.  Like Junior, who hopes he’ll get to chase some tennis balls and go for a walk, I’m going to hope I can keep riding. I’ll ride until I can’t.

That’s the view from 61.  I’ll check back in ten years and see how things are working out.

What’s your view of the road ahead?

Dream Within a Dream

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Cloud covered landscape in central Pennsylvania with solitary tree

At that moment today when the sun pierced the heavy gray sky and the world dazzled for a moment, I thought I might be in a dream.  And after daydreaming of life as the winner of a mega-lottery prize then surely it’s a dream within a dream.

Riding has always sparked my imagination and I attempt no restraint or restriction and let it run wild through whatever conception it might create.  I’ve been young and old, rich and poor, surrounded by wealth as a king or traveling through life as an amiable vagabond.  Or perhaps just the good husband and father I try to be.

On this day I’m pleased my body and spirit has adjusted to the cold and finds 39F a comfortable condition for a ride on the Vespa scooter.

Vespa GTS scooter with heavy vines along a road

Dreams allow for an escape from the chaos of existence.  For a moment things can proceed smoothly and easily and there’s time to actually appreciate the power chaos has igniting action.  Kim read to me earlier this even of artists and creators finding inspiration amidst chaos and disorganization and how they often strive to create it.

I’m still wondering…

vine wrapped tree in winter

There’s a quiet mystery and beauty in the chaos created by wandering vines.  If those lines are a reflection of my thoughts on a crazy day then perhaps I need step back more often to appreciate rather than resist where my mind is taking me.  Step back, watch, be bored, and see what happens.

Like a researcher of life.

Vespa GTS at a convenience store

After adding one gallon of premium gasoline to the Vespa I had to go inside to invest four dollars in the Powerball drawing.  I had a pretty good idea of how I would divide the winnings through family and friends, what foundations I would create and how I would quietly announce my retirement.

All part of a dream within a dream.

Vespa GTS scooter on Calder Alley in State College, Pennsylvania

Daydreams fade when more people and vehicles draw near.  The realities of scooting to Gemelli’s Bakery for bread or the pharmacy to face sticker shock are not fodder for dreams — rather a reminder of what world I inhabit.

Despite the bubble dissolving the Vespa remains a quiet servant of pleasure and discovery.  It’s hard to describe, especially to non-riders, how a little, two-wheeled machine can perform magic.

And not the kind of magic involving juggling or guessing ages and weights…

Vespa GTS scooter on a country road

The chill, the dampness, the gloomy sky conspire to create a physical challenge to surmount — the framework for a Vespa mini-adventure.  After 30 thousand miles with the scooter I’m still smiling, still exploring, still appreciating the secrets a ride reveals, especially when I find myself in a dream within a dream.

Perpetual Journey

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“I tramp a perpetual journey.”
― Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

cup of tea at Saint's CafeIf I’m on a perpetual journey there’s always a cup of tea along the way.  My life is paved with simple pleasures.  As the road winds through field and forest the sounds, sights and smells spark joy and make the journey tolerable in foul weather and thrilling in good.  It’s true for riding a Vespa and in a metaphoric application to life in general.

Journeying into the new year has brought me through a new professional landscape as I puzzle through new work and responsibilities.  The trip has forced the Vespa scooter into a quiet nursing of electric on the little black wire to a Battery Tender Junior 12V Battery Charger.  No riding this week as part of the perpetual journey.

But all is not lost…

View through the window at Saint's Cafe in State College, PennsylvaniaA familiar path to Saint’s Cafe has reopened a photographic door to a fallow creative field, one in which I’ve labored to plant with a renewed interest in photography beyond producing images for Scooter in the Sticks.  It’s been a long time since I’ve exhibited a project, or anything for that matter, and I’ve begun contemplating an exhibit of words and images involving life on a Vespa — a version of this blog which would live in a physical space.

Planning and building an exhibit is no small task considering the time involved to conceptualize a collective message, envision a visual experience and invest in the printing and presentation necessary for installation of a body of work.  On the blog it’s simple and inexpensive.  Not so much in the physical world.  And aside from framing, one of the biggest challenges is the printmaking process.

Paul Ruby at Saint's Cafe in State College, PennsylvaniaA journey can be made easier with a companion.  As I begin exploring a photographic project my friend, photographer and rider Paul Ruby has provided support and inspiration to keep moving when the road becomes steep and rocky.  Watching his ongoing photographic work along with others has led me to purchase an Epson SureColor P800 Inkjet Printer — a magnificent printer that produces amazing inkjet prints of archival quality that are worthy of hanging on a wall for others to see.  With the capacity to use 17 inch wide rolls of paper I’ll be able to make some large prints.  I’ve resisted this road for a long time and now that I’m on it I can kick myself for avoiding it for so long.

Blame my fascination for the fumes of a chemical darkroom.

Steve Williams with a Vespa photograph at Saint's Cafe in State College, PennsylvaniaJourneys start with a single step.  So it is with the Epson printer — some online training to avoid bad habits and get my head around a process that will allow me to transition an idea of a photograph onto photographic paper.  I’ve been exploring a workflow process using small prints to confirm the limitations of the digital files and hone the craft of the printer — me.

Making images to post online is seductively easy.  Not so with ink on paper where you lack the dazzling electrons blasting from a screen.  Reflective images on paper are more challenging and require forethought on everything from size to type of illumination.  I’ve stored that expertise in a box somewhere in my head and am still sorting through the mess to find it.  And almost every print until now that I’ve exhibited in public has been black and white.

Color is a different beast.

That’s where my recent journeys have taken me.  I confess to an aching desire to ride along with rejection of single digit temperature rides as my body screams “no way!”.  The days ahead promise some rain and moderating temperatures so perhaps the Vespa will wake to the road.

I can’t go long without a ride.