Scooter in the Sticks

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

The March of Time

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wall calendar with picture of granddaughterDays on the Wall

The last day of a month long series of blog posts based on specific writing prompts.  This one — the February image on your wall calendar.  So here it is, the calendar hanging in our kitchen, the only one in the house.  It’s a 2016 calendar made up entirely of photographs of our granddaughter and we move through the year hanging pictures of her to look at again.  The month and days are unimportant.  Kim keeps a day planner and I utilize my iPhone and computer to track the days.

Ah, the march of time.

As startling as it is to watch how fast a baby turns into a little person, that same speed applies to life in general.  Frightening really, how swiftly time marches on.

The month long writing prompt challenge has been enlightening and challenged my ability to produce content quickly.  It’s also helped form a ritual to conceptualize and produce on a daily basis.  On more than one occasion it introduced me to sloth and procrastination. I’m glad I participated.  And I’m glad it’s over.  Not sure I have the energy for one more post.

Reflection of Steve Williams in mirror at Saint's Cafe in State College, PennsylvaniaThe March of Time: What’s Next?

I’m always wondering what’s next.  At work. At home.  On a ride on the Vespa.  And now here I am with Scooter in the Sticks wondering what I’ll do next. I have a list of topics, ideas and goals.  And probably all of them will wait until I retire at the end of June before I leap in to action.  Or maybe stroll.

Until then I’ll just post whatever happens to cross my path or occur to me while riding to work or dozing in an easy chair.

2017 Brave, Bold Blogger Challenge

This post is part of a month long writing prompt challenge conceived by Kathy at Toadmama.com.

Pass Through Time

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Vespa GTS scooter on country roadThe Road Ahead

Autumn amplifies my recognition of the passing of time.  It’s more than the visual recognition of leaves changing color and falling to the ground.  It’s a deeper connection to the cycle of life.

I’ve been taking little rides for the past couple months, in part because of the limitations of a slowly healing lower back, and partly because I just don’t have time to ride.  Despite all that, riding in autumn is a lovely experience, heady with the fragrance of drying leaves, lovely for eyes filled with the glowing warmth of light and leaf, and all packaged with the label, “Pass Through Time”.

On the scooter or on foot, the road ahead is taking me somewhere new and I’m loving the ride.

autumn leaves in a forestAutumn Leaves

I’m lucky to live in the heart of Pennsylvania’s hardwood forest and the canvas of color it creates this time of year.  The leaf-peeping season doesn’t last long but oh what a show.

Vespa GTS scooterRiding a Vespa

A BMW R1200 GS passed me today on the way home from work.  The yellow version from 2007 or so.  I covet that machine from time to time along with a short list of other motorcycles.  But none (yet) have the addictive and overwhelming good feeling of my Vespa GTS scooter.  It’s perfect in many ways and good enough in others.

Will the spell break at some point and allow something different in the garage?

Riding a Vespa, a modern four-stroke version, is just plain magic.

Really.

And I’m not getting paid to say this…

Autumn leavesThe Lure of the Canvas

Along with many other things on a list of “before I die” activities is painting.  Acrylic on canvas.  I want to try my hand as a painter.  Seeing the autumn leaves and the wonderful landscapes of the season triggers the desire.  Perhaps something to do in retirement.

Funny thing about the list, a bucket list I suppose, is there’s really nothing on it pertaining to riding.

What’s that mean?

Vespa GTS scooterRiding to Work

Stopped on the way to work one morning last week to stretch my back that was starting to cramp. Striking a yoga pose while simultaneously grumbling and cursing might create an odd mix for anyone passing by.  Despite the need to sometimes stop I’m grateful to be riding to work.  Every commute is an adventure.  Every adventure is a reminder of the damn great life I have.  Even is it’s just to pass through time.

You experience the nicest thoughts when you’re a rider.

Memento Mori

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Memento Mori: a reminder of mortality…

an old brick in a frozen bird bathWitnessing Life

Save for the photographs I make for Scooter in the Sticks and a few family snapshots I’ve been an idle photographer.  The darkroom is shuttered and I’ve sold almost all of my “serious” cameras — the Leica is gone along with the view camera.  And with them my desire to seriously pursue any more photography projects. Finally free of the torment of camera work and creative irritations I could relax and enjoy each day as it unfolded.  At least until I found myself picking the camera up each morning as I wandered the garden with the dogs.  Without intention or goal I pressure the shutter on whatever provided interest.  Or not.  I was engaging a photographic process that I knew, at least subconsciously, would stimulate desire.

A desire to see again.

garden details and dogLearning to See

I can’t remember when the camera became a means to see beyond what was revealed to my eyes.  There is more — sometimes wonderful images reflecting the soaring joy felt felt witnessing a magnificent vista, the grin on a granddaughter’s face, or the loving eyes of a faithful dog.  Make enough photographs and you may find something else, something not everyone is comfortable looking at — the march of time.

Writer, filmmaker, teacher and activist Susan Sontag eloquently described a part of the photographic phenomena.

“All photographs are memento mori. To take a photograph is to participate in another person’s (or thing’s) mortality, vulnerability, mutability. Precisely by slicing out this moment and freezing it, all photographs testify to time’s relentless melt.”
― Susan Sontag

Wandering the garden with the camera I’m stricken by what is passing away.

bamboo grove closeup of culmsStride with Grace

My lovely bamboo grove — planted 20 years ago and growing into a dazzling array of culms and shimmering leaves.  Such a graceful plant (though wildly aggressive lest one wield a shovel continuously). And then, seemingly overnight, it passes its peak and begins to fade.  The camera sees it.  There is less life ahead. The Phyllostachys aureosulcata surrenders to time’s relentless melt.  Evidence is everywhere.  In the garden, along the road.

In the mirror.

A Belgian Sheepdog in a gardenDear Friend Junior

There are dogs and then there is something more — canines of myth with mystical power to influence behavior.  Junior, our Belgian Sheepdog, has wandered with me for almost seven years now and submitted to frequent encounters with the camera.  Photography can make some knowledge almost too much to bear.  But it also reminds of what is happening constantly.

A dog’s stare — a quiet mesmerization whispering, “pickup that ball”.

sunlight illuminating the hairs on a staghorn sumac branchA Photography Project

Fine hairs on a Staghorn Sumac branch as the dawn comes to the garden.  I work with the camera each morning.  Sometimes for only a moment, a nod toward compulsion that I can check off a commitment to work. Kim loves this tree and her enthusiasm has rubbed off on me.  I’m slow to change in almost everything, including trees.

After a few weeks of making exposures with the camera in the garden I can sense a simmering desire to do something more — a photography project that stares at the memento mori.  Friends have suggested my heart attack last spring has influenced an outlook toward mortality but I know I’ve been photographing that feeling for years, long before the heart attack.

I’m uncertain where the photography will lead but I’ll share evidence here as it surfaces and provides a glimpse of time’s relentless melt…

 

Riding Resistance

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The intrusion of work, life, age and weather conspire to build powerful physical and cerebral riding resistance.  As the interval between rides (or blog posts) grows, the energy required to regain motion increases as well.

Or so it is with me…

Snow covered drivewayEvaluating Snow

Our new snow blower, cardiologist recommended, cuts a fine path to push the Vespa scooter out of the garage and into the world.  I did the winter riding dance, testing the road surface, evaluated the quality of snow, traffic and forecast for more of the white stuff.

Riding a scooter or motorcycle in winter, especially in snow, demands a long checklist of considerations.  On this morning I stopped at “Snow tires mounted”.  My Heidenau snow tires are sitting in the garage waiting to be called to action.

It’s been a week since I went for a ride and already I’m feeling the resistance.

Vespa GTS scooter on wet rural roadFlights of Euphoria (or not)

Last weekend I abided the damp chill of a light rain and temperatures in the upper thirties as I wandered the countryside pondering thoughts trespassing my serenity.  Some rides are flights of euphoria while others chained to the noise of existence, the scooter, like a team of draft horses, part of a forced toil dragging my grey cloud spirit along in hopes of finding clearer skies.

View of snow from Pump Station Cafe windowRide Cancelled Due to Snow

The view from the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania as I write this post.  Part of me wishes the Vespa was in the picture.  Most of me is happy I drove the car.  What sort of Vespa adventurer does that make me?

I don’t care.  Contentment, serenity and attendant happiness arrived when I grew comfortable with my choices and actions.  Wish it hadn’t taken so long to get here.

Eight inches of snow are on the ground with more falling.  Deciding not to ride is a good choice.  Provides an opportunity to respond to a mountain of unanswered email, write a post, rub the dog’s bellies, make pancakes, and generally frolic in the little joys of being alive.

Except for that part about email.

Vespa GTS scooter in a farm field on a rainy dayCenter of the World

I know my photographs of the scooter in the center of an empty space are metaphors for my brooding on life — especially the pathway decorated with murals of aging.  I’m not sure what’s more thrilling; riding to these places, or thinking about them later.  It’s a gift finding joy in both.

Everyone observes their path differently.  A quote from the movie based on Larry McMurtry’s book Lonesome Dove that I’ve come to recognize:

“The older the violin, the sweeter the music.”
— spoken by Augustus McCrae

Steve Williams and his Vespa GTS scooterResistance is Futile

The scooter always takes me where I want to go.  I may not know the destination or the reason I’m on the road but there always seems to be a mysterious arrival at the right place at the right time despite the rocky mental roads along the way. Riding resistance has continued to melt as the call of the road becomes louder.

For now, the snow will keep the scooter in the garage while I attend to other matters.

All is well.