Scooter in the Sticks

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

Meditation Fuel

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chocolate chip cookies and teaGazing Out a Window

My living room, before the great window.

The heat from the tea penetrates the heavy ceramic mug and into my hands. Steam floats before my face as I gaze out the window, thinking about nothing, feeling everything, and then my concentration breaks for an instant as I’m reminded of the cookies.

I can’t count the number of places I’ve sat gazing out windows with a cup of tea in my hand while allowing imagination to run wild for a time before reining it in to a focused meditation. Many scooter and motorcycle rides lead to such a place as have walks and journeys by cars and planes. As much as I want to say I have some calling to introspection, it’s the cookie that brings me back, over and over again, to a quiet place where a conversation with life is possible. The cookie – meditation fuel.

Heart of the Matter

Post-heart attack I wondered if all snacks and comfort food would by necessity vanish from life as a hard, plain diet slowly strangled me. Perusing nutritional information on packages of sweet, chocolate goodness yielded the same message – “No snacks for you!”.

And then, unexpected, appeared Chips Ahoy Chunky Chocolate Chunk Cookies. Dry, hard, crunchy cookies with fat content lower than their compatriots, a package of reasonable fat and carbohydrate matrices that I could live with – literally – by my estimation.

The cookie is a talisman, a reminder of life lived simply. My focus with the Vespa follows that path. Surely the same is possible with a snack. There’s no need to eat the entire package, half or even a quarter. The path begins at three small round morsels imbued with the sweetness of life and ends with one solitary cookie – the grail at the end of a quest where body and mind meet in recognition that where cookies are concerned – less is more.

Problems with this ritual? What if I need to meditate twice in one day? How much fuel do I need?

The Best Things in Life are Free

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The best things in life are free goes the old song. Sleep, laughter, love, friends and good memories — examples of the things money can’t buy.

Vespa GTS scooter on winding road near Hyner ViewGood Memories

Of all my rides and Vespa meanderings, the picture of the scooter on a winding road near Hyner View State Park, not far from Renovo, Pennsylvania, on my way home from a camping trip, shines in my memory.  What surprises me now is how much the planning and anticipation stayed with me — as if it were a riding event all it’s own.

I’ve been turning another event over in my head, a short trip of five and a half hundred miles, to visit my father, departed now for some years.  And like the camping trip, the mental planning and imagining has proved just as exciting.

Perhaps you find satisfaction in the same way?

Vespa GTS scooter display on the road at nightImagining the Ride

I imagine myself on the road before dawn, easing into the dark to extend the riding day to allow for choices of coincidence encountered on the road.  I know how many miles I need to travel on a direct route — 250 miles to my destination.  Miles and miles of winding, at least until I hit the flat grids of Ohio, roads.  But between here and there I’ll be presented with endless opportunities to turn left or right away from the plan.  Depending on the choices I make I could easily ride 600 miles or more before returning home.

Lying in bed with a map before falling asleep fires the nighttime imagination.

Imagination is always assaulted by the demands of reality — there are things I must do which always seem to try and generate a list.  The riding checklist.

tools used for Vespa maintenanceThe Riding Checklist

There’s a lot of things to do before departing on a trip.  The less attractive tasks spin around maintenance, something with which I have a love/hate relationship.  Oil and filter change, spark plug change, hub oil change, air filter change, tire change.  I usually look forward to change.  Hopefully I’ll get the tools out on a lovely day.

I don’t make checklists.  At least not for riding.  Ideas and needs float around in my head and I try and attend to them.  My resistance to organization in regard to riding is a conscious stand against regimentation and the robbery of fun.  Just as I enjoy being lost there is a dark pleasure in finding myself scrambling because I forgot something.  As long as it’s not my wallet I’m in good shape.

The mental checklist:

  • Choice of routes — what general path will I follow?  Are there areas I haven’t been to?
  • Time constraints — how many daylight hours will I have to ride?
  • Stops along the way — any places I want to see or visit?
  • Photography — how complicated am I going to make this.  Please God, remove video from my mind.
  • Clothes
  • Tools
  • Gear

The choice of routes consumes most of my thinking but when I actually get on the road I often follow a remarkably general, unplanned route toward my destination.  There’s a fine measure of serendipity to that sort of travel.

portrait James D. Williams, born in Wellsburg, West VirginaJames D. Williams

My father has been drawing me toward this trip.  I hear his voice from time to time, that familiar “hey boy” when I would answer the phone when he called.  Our talks were usually focused on details of a project lest the conversations lag and end.  This time he wants to talk more. In a few weeks it will be 13 years since he died.  It’s time to pay a visit to his resting place.

I’m seldom superstitious but open to the unknown — a lesson I credit my wife Kim for teaching me.  There are mysteries in life worth exploring, considering.  She’s shown me magic and the shimmering of life. But that’s something for another post.

It’s time for a trip, I’m looking forward to the event and the memories it will nurture.  Once the snow and cold are gone for a few days.

I try to remember, the best things in life are free.

Riding Daydreams

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Vespa GTS scooter on a winding roadMeandering Roads

It’s startling at times to realize how slow I can ride on the scooter.  As speeds of 15 or 20 miles per hour you see things — like the “S” curve that reminded me of the Scooter in the Sticks logo.  It’s this kind of trail that I’m drawn to; little meandering paths through forests and fields where, like an archeologist, I might see evidence of hidden stories.  And it’s on these rides that the riding daydreams come.

Vespa GTS parked at an abandoned railroad grade of the Lewisburg and Tyrone RailroadLewisburg and Tyrone Railroad

It was a chilly ride yesterday morning as the temperature climbed toward the freezing mark.  The road was bone dry but still demands respect and attention where there’s a possibility, however remote, of ice.  As I ride I find myself daydreaming about what a place might have looked like in the past — what would a native American crossing this area see, did a Tyrannosaurus walk this way 68 million years ago.  Or what would I find 68 million years in the future.

That’s the sort of daydreams I have when I’m riding. Quiet, in the background, and kept in a space that doesn’t rob critical attention from the road.

Not exactly dinosaur material but still a look to the past is this abandon railroad grade that was once part of the Lewisburg and Tyrone Railroad.  It’s grown over now after being abandoned in the 1960s but you can still make out the line just to the left of center of the photo.  I worked with an art director for a long time, Jim McClure, who was on the State College, Pennsylvania Borough Council when the railroad company was going to abandon most of the lines in Centre County.  Jim was excited because the borough had the opportunity to take ownership of those lines and stations.  He had a vision of a commuter line or walking and biking trails.

Unfortunately he was decades ahead of his time because the council saw no value in such an idea.

Vespa GTS scooter and iceFrozen Landscape

Evidence of the cold was still present, here in the form of icicles hanging from a rock outcrop, reminders to watch the throttle despite the road giving every indication of being ice free.

Daydreaming in the cold isn’t easy if you’re cold.  I’m pleased to report all my gear is doing a bang up job keeping me toasty.  The First Gear Kilimanjaro jacket has been fantastically warm, a new pair of insulated riding pants the same, and the Tucano Urbano hand grip muffs along with the KOSO heated grips have kept my hands hot at the freezing mark.

So I’m engaging a lot of riding daydreams even in the frozen landscape.

Vespa GTS scooter on rural roadThrough the Countryside

There are times when I feel I have the whole world to myself.  Riding alone takes you to those places and provides an opportunity to let go of a lot of the baggage that makes living tedious if you let it.  Standing in this plain, ordinary rural landscape, I imagine myself the master of my universe.  At least for a moment.  It’s as if a daydream becomes tangible for a one short moment.

Vespa GTS scooter on a farm roadVespa GTS 250ie — Utility Vehicle

I can kid myself that the scooter can go anywhere.  Anyone who’s ridden one knows that’s not true.  They’re more capable that you might expect but they will frustrate an experienced rider in lots of situations.  With a morning glow still in the air I was already wandering and watching, daydreaming of nothing and everything, imaging a journey across the wilderness.   One with a coffee shop just miles away.

It’s a fine way to ride.

American Bison on a pastureRemnants of Destruction

Not all daydreams are pleasant.  I was surprised to see a small herd of American Bison quietly grazing in a pasture just a short ride from my home.  The story of the bison still makes my blood boil and reminds me why we sometimes need a government to protect us from ourselves.

Look at this timeline. I could cry.

For more information check out the Library of Congress’s The Extermination of the American Bison article.

Vespa GTS scooter on a forest roadRiding Daydreams

Thoughts and images flow easily when the ride is easy and uncluttered by concerns of traffic.  The myriad forest roads in central Pennsylvania support a simple ride and can absorb almost any conflict — the enchanted forest that haunts the pages of children’s stories and I carry along now.

Metal sculpture at the Pleasant Gap American LegionMetal Men

A man constructed of an automobile transmission, exhaust pipes and brake parts stands guard outside the American Legion Post 867.  There’s no indication of the significance or artist but it is firmly attached to the pavement.  This fellow is here for the long haul.

Vespa with the Honda GROMBoxes of Hondas

Toward the end of the ride, before turning toward home to brave the Super Bowl shoppers at the grocery story, I came across a stash of Honda motorcycles neatly stacked in their boxes.  There were about a dozen motorcycles being stored outside along a small road.  No indication of who they belonged to or where they were headed.

An example of the relative safety of things in central Pennsylvania.  And when you feel safe, maybe there are a few more riding daydreams…

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?

Focus on the Journey

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Vespa GTS scooter and Mt. Nittany in PennsylvaniaDestination or Journey?

During my ride to work I was thinking about destinations, places I might like to visit on the Vespa.  Aside from coffee shops and quiet places to write in my journal, I was coming up empty.  There are no dreams of riding to the top of Pike’s Peak, Daytona Beach, the Tail of the Dragon or any of the other places that riders like to visit.

Perhaps it’s because I like to ride but hate arriving.

This morning was chilly with the temperature at 38F when I departed.  The remaining snow and ice was almost gone leaving anything not paved or heavily graveled a soft, muddy mess.  Strolling around for a few minutes while photographing the Vespa scooter with Mount Nittany I sensed a little of why I am not destination focused.  I love the experience of travel and the exploration of the space I’m in, the continual revelation of things to look at.  I don’t want to rush to get somewhere and not take time to investigate everything on the way.  A destination focus hampers getting to know a place by demanding schedules and expectations.

I want to wander as a child.

family photo on livingroom couch in 1956Christmas 1956

I ache when I look at this picture of myself with my mother and father.  They’re just kids.  And now they’re gone.  All chances to know them better have disappeared. The further I travel away from them, the more I realize how much they have given me — she a curiosity with the world, and he the even temperament to accept whatever I discover.

I’m a long way from home.

Vespa GTS scooter on gravel roadSudden Golden Silence

Sunlight on a winter day warms the spirit. And the ground.  An attempt to cross a pasture was thwarted by the scooter instantly bogging down in the mud that lurked beneath the grass.  Without knobby tires the scooter was going nowhere in that mess. Still, it’s a quiet time on the way to work.  A few minutes to appreciate the air I’m breathing, the world I’m beholding.

One of the things I love about a ride are the little discoveries — mud I can’t traverse, the sound of boots squishing through soggy turf, the dramatic sky framing a photo.  There’s no destination or place (save getting to work) that is driving me.

Mother and son on the living room couchLessons on Travel

I learned from my mother how to travel.  I learned from my wife how to savor the trip.

About a year after this photograph was taken I made my first trip to Germany — a vague recollection of a long flight on a Pan Am Clipper followed by mountains.  My mother loved the Alps.  She was an explorer and I learned to appreciate everything from reading a map to how to navigate strange places.  Always on the go, it seemed we never were sure how a day trip would unfold.  It’s much the same on the Vespa — in motion and few plans on where to be and when.

From Kim, I’ve learned to be somewhere, stop, and absorb the place without agenda or itinerary.  Our stays in Ogunquit, Maine at the Beachmere Inn, weeks in one place, with nothing to do but walk out the door and see what the world was doing.  It’s like that with the Vespa too — get on the scooter and absorb what the road reveals.  It’s out there, just waiting.

Who cares where they’re going.

mud on the rear wheel of a Vespa GTS scooterRough Roads

The Vespa has taken a beating and has the earthly patina usually associated with BMW adventure bikes.  It’s an indication of the road less traveled — at least for most scooters.  If I was focused on destinations instead of “wonder where this trail lead…” I’d miss the opportunity to dirty up the scooter and a chance to explore what’s right in front of me.

father and son on living room couchDreams of My Father

Dad and his boy.  I don’t recall him ever referring to me by any name other than “Boy”.  He’s been gone now for 10 years and I can still hear his voice.

I have to confess a there is a place I want to ride — to the cemetery where he’s buried.  I’ve not been there since he died. It’s time to visit and say hello. I had a trip planned in November but some things came up and had to cancel.

kid with wooden go kartBuilding Dreams

Home after a second trip to Germany.  During or after each trip dad had something special prepared for me.  I was craving potato chips during the first trip so he shipped a big bag by airmail delivery which had to cost a fortune.  I still love potato chips though circumstance has changed how much or how often I can enjoy them.

A wooden push car built on the chassis of a little kid’s fire engine was the surprise in 1959.  The pack of kids living on our street pushed that thing around all over the neighborhood. Three years later I arrived home to find that he built me a clubhouse in the backyard.

Not everyone has good memories of their father for lots of reasons.  I’m grateful for mine but regret we didn’t talk more.  I never asked him the big questions.  It’s too late now.

Vespa GTS scooter on gravel roadLittle Journeys

Every ride is a journey if only to the grocery store for milk, bread and eggs.  I ride over the same roads and see the same places but somehow there’s always new things to see.  During a video interview I did while in graduate school with photographer Stephen Shore, he shared the challenge of photographing the landscape when he moved to Montana.  Shore told me it took him several years there before he could see anything.

I understand now what he meant.  And why a race to a destination for a quick photo or two and then on to the next doesn’t leave much room to experience a place.

So I’ll continue my destination-less riding and see where I end up.