Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.
I fell in love with a Vespa scooter the first time I rode one. And now, after some neglect and a wandering eye, I’m falling in love all over again.
It continues to amaze me how my mind and body are transported into a different state of being by this silver scooter. Standing along the road, breathing the moist fragrant spring air, and feeling startingly present in the moment, I know what a gift it is to be able to ride.
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View From AboveYou never know what you might find — evidence of something.
Or more.
Searching for answers to simple questions haunts my imagination. Looking out over the valley I call home I wonder how I’ve come to this moment in my life where I’ve stood on this overlook countless times and never really asked, “Why am I still here?”.
In a world in perpetual transition, with people moving rapidly from place to place, changing jobs, friends and families. I’ve worked for the same employer for 42 years.
I feel as if I’ve become an anachronism living here for so long. Sitting in a cafe during the middle of the afternoon, alone with these thoughts as I write, it comes to me. I’m searching for treasure. Not gold or silver, but rather moments in time where I recognize something that makes me smile, or wonder at the beauty, or just suddenly feel the flame of life leap up from my chest and utter to myself, “Holy shit!”.
I’m sure that’s how it was as I stood looking out over the valley on that cool, beautiful morning.
Winding through the mountains and forests of central Pennsylvania has moved from coincidence to obsession. A thrill persists in the aloneness found in these places with space to think and dream about nothing and everything. Riding the Vespa has opened the doors to a search I was struggling toward for a long time before I started riding.
The scooter has a simple elegance in it’s design and utility as a vehicle to transport a rider physically, and more remarkably, spiritually.
This little machine is a fine companion.
Look Up Once in AwhileNot everything important is on the road ahead. Or even to the left or right. I try and take time to look up from time to time. On clear days the blue sky is dazzling; so different from the night sky dripping with stars. As a kid I would strain at night to see to the edge of the universe. Now I understand the meaning of eternity.
And then off I go ducking the scooter left and right through tight curves and imagine a barn swallow gliding over fields and pastures.
Amiable VagabondKim compared me to one of our dogs this evening — Iggy Pup. He was an American Foxhound who was always searching for treasure — rabbits, deer, food, and myriad attractions only a dog can appreciate. He had little interest in people save for those who fed him and kept his nose to the ground.
I’m like Iggy when I ride. People don’t account for much of my interest. Stopped at the summit of Jacks Mountain I forced myself to walk across the road to say hello to three riders. Two were on large scooters, a Yamaha Majesty and a Suzuki Burgman. The third was riding a Harley Davidson of some kind. Big one. After some brief discussion of the fine weather, where we were riding to and from, and some general chatter about being safe I was drained. Like Iggy I was more interested in the rabbit I hadn’t found yet.
They were all surprised to learn how fast the Vespa scooter could move.
Everyone always is.
Through the MountainsPennsylvania has mountains. Not by Colorado or Alaska standards. But for someone from Illinois or Nebraska, we have mountains. The roads are good and the views open to a wider world. And trees everywhere provide a sense of wilderness that you don’t get motoring along through the agricultural valleys.
In the Scooter’s Dreams the Road Goes on ForeverThe road will end. And I believe there is more afterwards. The night sky tells me that as does the immeasurable complexity I see all around me. I’ve ridden by this sign before but this was the first time I stopped to make a photograph. Not so much to share here but as an acknowledgement of faith — fealty to an intuitive understanding I’ve long avoided.
Searching for treasure perhaps.
On the Road to Shade Gap, PennsylvaniaRiding south along US522 pushed me into a more rustic area of Pennsylvania, one full of legend and mystery for me. In 1966 America was held spellbound by the kidnapping of 17-year-old Peggy Ann Bradnick which led to the largest manhunt in U.S history at the time. “The mountain man got Peggy Ann!”, the cry of her younger brother as William Hollenbaugh dragged her off into the dense woods as she and her siblings were walking home from the school bus stop. Walter Cronkite provided nightly updates on the search which lasted a week.
I sense bad energy here. I’ve heard stories of serpent handling churches and the Klan. None of it may be true, but it’s in my head.
History.
Covered BridgesFor as many of these sorts of bridges that are indicated on maps I’ve encountered very few. I’m not doing something right. Don’t want to turn into a bridge chaser but may make some more deliberate efforts to explore these throwbacks to a simpler time.
Visual MonotonyThe trek from Shade Gap to Mifflintown was nearly 40 miles of nothing — farm after farm after farm. The boredom felt during this stretch of the ride could have been the result of an aching shoulder or a growling stomach. The road just stretched on and on…
Stopped to pick up a sandwich for lunch to eat along the road in the shade. Poison ivy kept me dining upright but it was still a fine way to take a meal on the road. Two vehicles passed by during the 45 minutes I was here, a road wandering along the Juniata River headed toward Lewistown, Pennsylvania.
With a couple hours of riding ahead before arriving home I was happy to have the chance to explore a bit more along the road.
And continue searching for treasure.
I have a personal riding mantra — don’t rush, go slow, be present. It’s in my head during the ride and reaches into the rest of my life.
Do you have a mantra?
Don’t Rush — Vespa on Wet RoadsAfter a long work week, I was looking forward to a ride on the Vespa. Waking to rain on Saturday morning was a disappointment. In part, because I wanted to do some work in the garden and around the house. But mostly because I couldn’t ride.
Or so my brain was telling me.
When I have the chance to sit still and think, I can often see the tricks my mind plays. Like fueling assumptions about weather and riding.
On the road, my riding mantra calls on me to slow down and step away from the more frenetic pace that’s so easy to drown in. Not rushing is important in making clear decisions. And when the roads are wet.
Riding along the silver threads of pavement winding through the central Pennsylvania forests is always a pleasure. Especially when I’m not in a rush.
Go Slow — See MoreIt’s hard to go slower than stop. Bringing the scooter to a halt along the road gave me an opportunity to witness the lush growth all around. Especially the fiddleheads unfurling in the rain. Can’t remember ever seeing one through the windshield of the car. Or even on the scooter unless I stop to look around. A friend and experienced photographer once told me you don’t see anything unless you’re traveling less than 35mph. I’m not that good and have adjusted the speed to 25mph or less.
Except for limited access highways the maximum speed limit on Pennsylvania roads is 55mph. And most small secondary roads, the ones I love to prowl, the limit is even lower. Learning to ride slowly is an art. I know few riders who have mastered it.
Everyone seems to be in a hurry.
Riding InventoryAlone on the road, traveling at a pace that allows a bit of time to digest the surroundings and entertain thoughts, often leads me to think about who I am as a rider. Slow going, loner, keeping to the little roads and consuming time rather than miles. At least for now.
Don’t rush, go slow, be present. That works. So does the scooter.
The places I ride, like this road in Rothrock State Forest, afford a slow and ambling pace. Saw a black bear loping along the road once.
Primeval RidingIn my first age of riding the Vespa was fun. Still is. But over time it has become much more. Anyone who’s advanced past the occasional rider stage knows how addictive it can be. And it’s not just about movement or speed. There’s a blossoming of the senses that lay dormant in most other vehicles or places.
I ask myself if I would pick my way across a stream if I didn’t have a camera. Just to look around? Would I stop at all? Yes, maybe, I don’t know. What I do know is that I see things while riding. And I see more when I’m going slow.
Be PresentAs a kid I wandered and explored the woods nearly every chance I could. Now, 55 years later, I still am. A big old kid. One signal that I’m not a kid is the increasing difficulty I have climbing up the bank along the road. As a kid I would never worry about twisting my ankle or breaking a leg.
It’s hell to get old.
But it’s good to still have the desire to explore and be present in the world. And my life. As best I can.
Smell the RosesOr Dame’s Rocket in this case. Hesperis matronalis for the botanists who read Scooter in the Sticks. It’s blooming everywhere here now and drapes the already beautiful roadways with white and purple flowers.
Can’t say I’ve ever seen another scooter or motorcycle along the road with the rider stealing a sniff of any of nature’s fragrant gifts.
Have you ever stopped to smell the roses or am I turning into an old eccentric rider?
The Cookie MantraAmong the vices I feel comfortable writing about are cookies. Small round rewards for the good ride, the ride where for a few minutes at least I’ve dwelled attentively in the world. Tea, cookies and a few scribbled notes in a journal provide a non-moving way to connect with life.
Perhaps it has it’s own mantra — don’t rush, go slow, be present. Otherwise I’d make short work of those cookies…
Embracing the SensesMany neurologists believe there are 21 senses, not just the five we learn in school – touch, taste, vision, hearing and smell. Riding a scooter or motorcycle embraces the five and I expect a great many on the longer list. On a beautiful summer day riding along US Route 6 fires the nerves and ignites the brain. Riding is the spice of life, the additive to a day that makes life a feast.
SpicelessThoughts of spices for many raise ideas of food and culinary adventure. In the kitchen this evening I thought about the spice that has the most influence on my life and a way to reduce it to a photograph. I come up empty with spices unless, perhaps, I should have filled the red spoon with salt.
Instead I moved past food and on to the Vespa. Riding is the spice of life. In this life at least.
Motorcycle or ScooterMakes little difference what you ride — any machine adds spice to existence. Looking through my photos I came across this one of a BMW F800 GS motorcycle made during a ride some years ago. I still remember the route through the forested hills south of home and the open stretches of highway to the west — that motorcycle spiriting me away physically and emotionally in an experience that lives today.
That’s spice. That’s what riding is about for me.
A few days ago I read something about arriving at the end of life and not regretting that I didn’t go to one more meeting at work. I understand what that means. At the last breath I imagine I’ll be thinking of spices — one last embrace of my wife, a smile from my kids, a look from the dogs.
And one more ride.