View From Above

You 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.

Rambling on a Vespa

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 Awhile

Not 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 Vagabond

Kim 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 Mountains

Pennsylvania 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 Forever

The 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, Pennsylvania

Riding 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 Bridges

For 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 Monotony

The 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…

Lunch and Homeward Bound

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.