Strangeness and Murk

There's a full moon overhead and the plaintive sound of a worried dog drifts in the window along with the cool, damp air.  Something is happening as the world resigns itself to the coming of winter. Everywhere there are signs of the strangeness that seems to follow the murk.

Where has the light gone?

Historic Boalsburg absorbs the changing of the season and soon will be looking towards its Victorian celebration of Christmas.  Dead leaves are beginning to pile on the road offering unsuspecting riders a slippery surprise if they're not careful.

This Vespa parking space is just a couple hundred feet from Ken Hull's Moto Hang Lounge -- home of Pistons and Pints.

Halloween isn't far off and the artist's in State College, Pennsylvania seem to be embracing the chaos of the season.  Unfortunately, the model in this painting must have been riding without a helmet, something every rider should think hard about before pressing the starter button lest you look like part of the Halloween landscape.




Junior seems unfazed by the change in the earth's energy and whiles away his days eating, sleeping and chasing women when he can.  Border Collie's are fast but so are Belgian Sheepdogs.  Try as she might she just couldn't open any distance between herself and his ardent pursuit.  Junior's no dummy though -- he's hedged his bets by carrying a tennis ball on the chase should there be a change of plans.

Somehow, looking at this picture, I keep thinking of Jack Riepe...

Riding in the murk -- I have to admit that I love it.  The gray, dark, damp days where the sun struggles to be seen.  Even short rides can turn into gothic novels.  Mount Nittany, an icon of Penn State, remains a fascinating subject to me, not unlike the Vespa itself.  Not sure why, I just keeping running the camera in it's direction.

Trips to Saint's Cafe are far more satisfying when the world feels forbidding, when the fading light along forested roads reveal shadows of phantoms and ghosts and others of my twisting imagination.  As Gordon talks with another patron I could not help think of how the place could be a scene from Dark Shadows and at any moment Barnabas Collins would join us for tea.

The delusion flew as I realized Collins is a vampire and he wouldn't be joining us in the daylight.

Thankfully, I have a good dog to keep me safe and grounded lest the season sweep me deep into the eerie terrain of mystical stories where much seems possible.  And just as it was at 9 or 10, I loved this time of year when spooks and demons became as real as Superman and the Man from U.N.C.L.E.

And now, as then, my trusty dog stayed close to keep the bogeyman at bay...

Attitude Adjustment: Riding at the End of the Week

I needed to be out in the world, riding, or making photographs, I'm not sure which.  The mist cum rain shrouded the mountains in a dark gloom.  Seven miles from home, the gray ribbon of limestone and mud flows through stands of White Pine and hemlock, oak and ash trees creating a sensual canvas of sight and smell that I can't resist.  Triggering those senses serves to reset a mind and body drawn thin from a week of work.

My first visit to this part of Rothrock State Forest came over 40 years ago when I drove a Volkswagen Beetle along the roads I continue to prowl on the Vespa.  Thinking about the vehicles I have owned during my life I see a trend of spartan power and performance right up to the Honda Fit sitting in the driveway now.

The rain was light, just enough moisture to keep the camera wet and continually wiping the helmet visor with my glove.  When I traverse these kinds of roads, especially when wet, I find myself wishing I had more aggressive tires.  Too early for the Heidenau winter tires and too late to change out the summer ones.  Even so, I can safely manage the scooter from 25 to 40mph depending on the amount of loose gravel, washboard sections, mud or crown height.  Riding a scooter on wet gravel roads is a different piece of business from riding a motorcycle.

I suppose it's part of the mental attraction to a ride serving now purpose beyond hitting the reset switch in my brain and perhaps tease the lizard brain.

Central Pennsylvania is a beautiful place in the fall.  Riding through the woods I expected to see a black bear or two loping along the road or crossing in front of me.  I've seen it before on foot or in the car.

But nothing this evening, just a few deer and the odd squirrel.  It's cold enough now I don't worry about rattlesnakes as I tromp through the weeds and brush.  The deer tick is the only evil worth paying attention to at the moment.

The Vespa can go just about anywhere a motorcycle can.  Perhaps not as fast or with the same mechanical prowess, but it is a capable little machine.  At least until you encounter water.

I expected to see pools of water but hoped to avoid any flooded areas which I did.  But the low air intake on the scooter makes it a poor candidate for any sort of foolishness involving water or deep mud encounters.  Doesn't take much liquid or debris being sucked into the engine to cut a ride short.

Possibly permanently.

I make sure to avoid water where possible and to absolutely know how deep a murky flow is before attempting any riding heroics.

My hope for drama in the sky with fog in the valley were dashed as I looked east towards Detweiler Natural Area and the Seven Mountains beyond.  Not even an eagle soaring overhead or a screech owl to serenade me before turning towards home.

As the day began to fade my eyes adjusted for darting deer and the black bear I still hoped to see. I'm amazed at how well a ride continues to demonstrate a unique power to transform my attitude and outlook on life.

Sitting at home now thinking of other rides and what the next will bring.  Until then a cup of tea and thoughts of dinner will transform the world again...

Aging and Riding a Vespa

Autumn is for the mind and spirit, the senses taking in the changing of the world.  At no point during the year do I feel so exhilarated and sad at once.  Falling leaves a sharp reminder of the impermanence of life yet the sparkling thrill of feeling alive amidst the sudden sea of color and fragrance makes this time a gift.  Standing at the edge of the road I felt oddly parallel to the world around me, my body in sync with the autumn as I paused at the beginning of a ride to visit a rheumatologist at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore.

Still not sure why I chose to make this trip on the Vespa.  By car on the freeway I can drone along at 75mph for four hours to make my appointment.  The empty stretches of road are a moving meditation for the eye and the soul.  Even though this trip would take 7 hours, an accurate estimate based on an assessment of the route and my propensity to stop to look, listen and make a picture.  Or two.

My complaint is psoriatic arthritis, an inflammatory disease affecting the joints for which there is no cure.  Looking at the field of corn transitioning into something else I couldn't help but see my own transition.  One day healthy and the next barely able to walk.  That was two years ago and I've been fortunate to find control of the symptoms with the tamest of the chemical interventions.  Genes and luck may keep my liver intact for a long time and the ability to lead a more or less normal life for an aging man.

A handful over 200 miles separated home from Johns Hopkins.  Paul Ruby and I both now wrestle with the various annoying maladies that grow more common with aging.  Watching Paul stretch on his BMW had me asking myself when stretching wouldn't be enough for me.  Precisely when would I know that I can't ride anymore?  And would my willingness to stop arrive at the same time?

The kinds of questions that are perfect mind puzzles on a long ride through a quiet countryside and if not interrupted can turn gloomy.

No wonder why the National Military Park at Gettysburg seems eerie.  Though I have to add that more than once I have wandered through the Devil's Den or along Little Roundtop along and sensed a restless energy among the rocks.

Paul and I paused only for a few moments along the road — all access to the park closed due to the shutdown of the federal government.

And then the first leg of the trip was over and I found myself sitting once again in the Arthritis Center filling out forms, submitting to some biometric tests, and going over the results of a series of blood tests I had done a couple weeks earlier.

Executive summary — I'll live to ride another day though admonished to take better care of diet and exercise lest other insidious metabolic tragedies rear their heads.

I want chocolate so bad right now while I'm typing that I can barely concentrate.

Camping outside Baltimore in Patapsco State Park.  I needed to sleep on the ground again for some reason I think is related to convincing myself that I still have a few years of life in me.  Or maybe it's just a cheap refusal to spend more money to sleep in a motel and worry about bedbugs.

The front rack on the Vespa was handy to carry a sleeping bag and tent and I was pleased I remembered how to put the think up.

It was a fine campsite.

The morning came quickly.  Paul spent a few moments with a book while I took one last look with the camera before we began the ride home.

Breakfast, ice water for the road, and a few minutes of charge time for the iPhone as Paul and I reflected on our collective health or lack thereof.  I can hear my father, "It's hell to get old boy.".

I understand the joke.

I've not ridden across the border from Maryland into Pennsylvania in the Appalachian Mountains.  It's beautiful and left me wishing I could spend days rather than hours exploring.

That's a fine desire.

Two days and 440 miles of riding on backroads and byways at leisurely velocities.  It's the perfect formula for the Vespa and I.  I think Paul was comfortable as well and appreciated the chance to embrace slow travel.




A week has passed and autumn is in full bloom.  The desire to ride is strong and the roads are calling.

I wonder how many rides are left...

Searching for Autumn

Autumn is about to burst forth, leaves beginning to escape their captive positions in the trees.  First a few yellow and orange leaves on the road, a few more in the trees, and suddenly, as if a fuse was lit and a fiery palette of red, orange and yellow sweeps through the forest, across the mountains and then vanishes.

I took the Vespa for a ride in the mountains hoping to feel the change.  Like a kid on Christmas morning the anticipation builds, still after all these years, for natures pageant of color.

There is no doubt this season touches an uneasy place in me, a reflection of the cycle of life that seems more real each year.  I am a leaf still clinging to the tree.  Or so I think as the Vespa climbs through Rothrock Forest, a place so familiar and charged with memories of over 40 years of travel here, on foot, in cars, on skis, bicycles and now the Vespa.  At one point I asked to have my ashes spread near here when I die, on Little Flat, a vantage point that surveys the place I call home.

Autumn was still in the distance for now.  Days away then, almost here now.  Riding the Vespa along forest roads is always satisfying but especially now.  Running back down the mountain towards duty and responsibility I wished I could search longer.

Later in the day, while on a walk with Junior, I found more evidence of fall.  The bright sun erased any lingering uneasy feelings from the morning.  And soon the Vespa and I will plunge headlong into autumn and emerge into winter.

Perhaps autumn is merely practice, preparation for the real test ahead.

Always something to think about on a ride.

5 Reasons to Ride on Fall Mornings

The pools may be closed and the kids back in school but that doesn't mean you can't keep riding. In case you're not convinced riding after Labor Day is a good idea I'll share a few reasons why I keep riding through the fall and beyond.

1. The sharp air.

Walk outside early on a fall morning in Central Pennsylvania and the cool air goes right to your heart and brain. Metaphorically speaking anyway. The leaves were fringed with frost as I prepared to leave this past weekend. The temperature indicator on the Vespa displayed 31º Fahrenheit. Lungs fill with the chilled air. All senses turn on. I'm awake, aware, alert, sharp and ready to go.

2. The light is magical.

For a brief time just before sunrise until an hour or so afterwards the world is painted in a unique way. The angle of illumination renders the landscape more dramatically. The color of light creates alternative versions of even the most mundane roads. Riding down the road I saw leaves falling into a pool of light and just had to stop to watch the Fall in action. Sleep in to wait for the warmer part of the day and you may miss all that.

3. Imagination runs free.

Perhaps it's just me but venturing out in the early morning always fills me with a sense of adventure, of anticipation and the feeling that anything is possible. I want to know where every little road and path leads. What secrets may be revealed around the next turn in the road. My brain runs free with that fuel and anything seems possible.

4. A feeling of satisfaction.

Related to number four but more a sense of mental or spiritual satisfaction. For me it's the knowledge that I have done something good for myself by having fun, detaching from any cares for a time, and allowing myself to live. Seeing things is important to me. It's a feeling that comes when I know I pushed past a bit of discomfort or resistance by riding on a cool fall morning.

5. The joy of warming up.

You can't ride forever and sooner or later you have to come home. Or stop at a destination. After riding near freezing, no matter how much fun I had on the ride, it's just great to transition from the outdoor cold to indoor coziness. A physical satisfaction. Feeling my body warm is just nice not to mention the addition of caffeine, sugar, and chocolate.