Dreaming

The entire morning was focused on dreaming.  Or more precisely on ideas and paths not considered or taken, of flights of fancy and journeys of partnership that might be explored.  The morning ride had me thinking about what to write in Kim's birthday card.

Another cold morning though sunshine took the edge off making the snow and cold seem little more than a picturesque landscape in which to explore.  A week off work provided ample opportunity to acquire a taste for the cold and grow relaxed with the winter riding ritual. 

Seven days ago the thought of riding through a frozen cornfield would seem a technical stretch. Today it seemed almost normal.  So normal that thoughts of birthdays and dreams came easy.

Before the Vespa, Kim and I explored these mountains on foot with cameras and notebooks.  And before that fall and winter backpacking.  Now, as the Vespa slowly prowls along small paths and roads puzzle over what's next here for Kim and I; how will our lives unfold.

The morning had a postcard quality to it with blue sky draped with white clouds over a mix of snow and ice.  Riding was a joy.

Joy might give the wrong impression.  While the main roads were clear it didn't take long to find snow and ice still lingering on secondary roads.  Caution was in order.  

Coming across a local Christmas tree farm moved thinking from birthday to another season. Christmas will be here in less than a month.  Time is flying.

The ride at times felt like a dream, a scene from Lord of the Rings with familiar places transformed into new ones.

Riding this time of year when the temperature drops below freezing it's important to anticipate problems.  This snow covered road exits from a clear dry road.  On warm days I would enter this road at 40mph.  Knowing it might now be dry I crawled on at 10.  Good thing too because at a higher speed I would have lost control.  In cold weather you can never ride faster than what you can see.

Never.

The message of this picture:  I have little traffic to content with as I navigate the snow and ice.  And there was a lot of ice hidden beneath the light dusting of snow.

A view from Schlow Library towards the Vespa.  By the time I sat down at a table by the window my thoughts were complete and I wrote something to Kim -- a fine morning, a fine ride, and a fine day.

It's been like a dream...

Ride More and Aerostich

Aerostich is responsible for this ride.  Seriously, had I not looked through their catalog last night and read "The World's Coolest Ride" by Mr. Subjective, I would not have chosen the cold this morning. It's nice to have a reminder to ride when the weather conspires against instinct.

At 29F my hands get cold fast when the gloves come off to make a picture.  But it's worth it to stand in the flow of sunlight.

The Aerostich story says we humans are natural risk managers and improve with success.  I know there's more risk when the temperature drops below the freezing point.  Idiots about dumping coffee and other liquids from their vehicles onto the road.  And natural springs contribute to the possibilities.  Managing these and other obstacles bring focus to life.

Besides, it's great to see the sunrise in the open.

Like all rides of late food is involved.  This morning I met my friend Howard for breakfast at the Naked Egg Cafe in Pine Grove Mills, Pennsylvania.  Warm inside and cold out.  Nice to beat the rush.  Breakfast was, as usual, stellar.

Not sure what Howard ordered, some kind of Southwest breakfast, but it sure was pretty.  I opted for my usual bacon, eggs, and this morning the absolute best tater tots I've had the opportunity to eat.

Aerostich offers hints on how to ride more and sells a T-shirt by the same name.  I've been looking at those hints and have the desire for a Roadcrafter suit in my head again.  Would make things much easier to deal with when it's cold.  Dressing for cold rides takes time right now.

Warmer tomorrow -- 32F at sunrise.  Balmy.

Ride More.  That's my motto at the moment.

Riding as the Path

The distance from my bed to a cup of tea at Starbucks is just under ten miles as MapQuest would direct me — a short, 13 minute ride on the Nittany Valley Expressway.  On Sunday morning traffic is sparse and I can ride as fast or as slow as I chose within the possibilities afforded by the Vespa.  Indifferent to route, riding demands focus to remain safe.  But focus doesn't necessarily translate into awareness which, to me, is something bigger and more important. Awareness can be a result of riding but not always.  It requires a measure of deliberate choice and focus before I find myself dwelling in the moment -- appreciating life and minute, near invisible details that make up the world.

The Vespa leaned right and exited the Expressway to take a different route.  Standing, looking, watching the clouds move along the horizon with the sun warming my face in the brisk air I felt the muscles in my face relax into a smile.

I was on the right path.

It takes longer to get places when you turn off the main road.  Narrow gravel paths don't lend themselves to breathtaking lines of speed.  And you never know when some of these tracks will just end, or you'll find a locked gate. Patience and persistence are useful qualities, neither generally associated with riding scooters or motorcycles.  And they remain as elusive and slippery as ever since I seem to naturally gravitate to the path of least resistance -- fast, easy, cheap.

Making a different choice is painful whether to ride down this road, push the scooter out of the garage when it's cold, or pretty much do anything that I'm not programmed to want to do.  But I have to say when I do make the painful choice -- it's worth it.

Every time.

I don't think this cattle guard does much good anymore beyond offering a little test of the shocks on the scooter.  Thinking about these little rides I can't believe how thrilling they are.  Not the kind of high speed, exotic lands, soaring rides I see in movies or read about in books.  I'm referring to the absolutely normal, everyday, easily accessible journeys I can make when going from point A to B for errands or a commute to work.

I'd like to take some of those other rides but circumstance has me here, in the cold, next to a cow pasture, on my way to Starbucks...

I stood for a long time watching the cattle though I'm not sure even now why.  For whatever reason it was satisfying to be there and take in one moment and then another, and another until finally, I made a decision to move on.

And that's the path I took last Sunday morning.  I have no idea what's on the path tomorrow...

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...

A Perfectly Ordinary Ride

Every route into town is familiar, intimate.  Mental notes on every jarring pothole and road seam, trees dropping walnuts and osage oranges, hiding places for police cars and intersections known for drivers running stops signs and traffic lights.  If you ride long enough.

Ride even longer and the characters along the road come to life as well.  Like this Belgian draft horse at Oak Hall Farm.  Trotting over each time I stop to take a picture -- a bit unnerving to have 2000 pounds of horse giving you the once over with only a few strands of wire between us. If we were properly introduced and the owner approved I would offer a slice of the Honeycrisp apple stowed in my topcase.  Few words exchanged between us aside from a soft, "Hey bud, why the long face?".

A moment more to consider the fog, make a few more images, and then off towards town and Saint's Cafe. A perfectly ordinary ride until I take a moment to look a little closer and say hello to a horse.

Fog offers one of the few reliable environments to experiences something too strange to believe.  Like seeing spirits or ghosts, aliens or Big Foot.  If there is magic in the world it will surely involve fog.

Imagination forges doorways in perception that allow imagination to burn forth and transform a perfectly ordinary ride into something special.

Off in the distance, at the foot of Mount Nittany, I can almost see a mountain lion cross the road and disappear into the forest.  Some believe they still prowl the Pennsylvania forests.  If they do then surely their existence will be confirmed on a foggy day.

Photographically speaking fog strips away much of the tonal and color experiences of life leaving behind form, shape, composition and the hint of something more beyond perception.  I've ridden past these gravel piles a hundred times, maybe a thousand.  And each time I stop and look I imagine something new, like a kid laying in the grass on a summer day looking at clouds and seeing giants.

The new front rack looks good in this dream on a perfectly ordinary ride.

Can't help but think of scenes from The Walking Dead.  Empty roads disappearing into the unknown. The story would be different in the sunshine, a different perfectly ordinary ride.

Sunday morning at Saint's Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania -- a destination for, by now, hundreds of perfectly ordinary rides to meet my friend Gordon, talk about photography, teaching and the work and world we construct.

The morning started with a whisper today, the world spinning up slowly giving me time to take it in.  As it was on the Vespa during a perfectly ordinary ride.

 Finished watching "Long Way Down" and thought about my own experience in light of that film.  Adventure lies close and circumstance dictates the rides I make.  That's ok.

I don't believe I've yet scratched the surface in terms of seeing and experiencing the world just outside my door. And that's why a perfectly ordinary ride is still so rich.

Wonderment and the Small Riding Ritual

Quiet, serene, the perfect space for Earl Grey tea and a toasted bagel — Saint's Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania.  What began five years ago as a time to inspire photography and examine contact sheets and prints has become, for me at least, part of a solemn riding ritual.  

This morning, the day after the Nittany Lions defeated Kent State at Beaver Stadium, I thought the place would be packed.  Instead I found a welcome emptiness to reflect on the day and pen a few notes in my journal.

The familiar route under heavy skies sublime, all cares and worries washed free leaving imagination and wonder as the Vespa rolled along.  Objects and places strange, new, and the ride I've made hundreds of times

Looking at the looming road sign brought a smile as it faced off with the scooter.  A quote sang in my head...

“Wonder is the heaviest element on the periodic table. Even a tiny fleck of it stops time.” 
― Diane Ackerman

How lucky the rider who finds a piece of wonderment along the road.

This morning, Mount Nittany, the quiet hill watching over Penn State, Lemont, Boalsburg, Oak Hall, Linden Hall, State College and Houserville — it possesses magic which I never tire of witnessing.

Home.

The first leg of the ritual ride ends across from Schlow Library.  Ample free motorcycle parking on a Sunday morning.  In fact I have never failed to find a space here, or at least I can't remember a time.

And off to Saint's Cafe on foot, a few hundred steps, not quite a walking meditation, but just enough time to recognize a troubling thought or happy memory.

Ah, the small rituals that make life sweet...

Fog is Strong Medicine

Fog is strong medicine -- it's stimulative power capable of pulling a comatose body from fantastic dreamworlds into a real world shrouded is gaseous water and mystery.  Forsaking plans and conceptions, no destination in mind, far from home in the dawn mist, I could feel the energy whispering through me, urging me on.

Into the darkness.  Fine water droplets transform the view through the visor into a translucent white luster framing the road as it winds through the forest, subduing detail not already lost to the fog.  A finger drags across the outside of the visor, then inside, a vain ritual to navigate into the morning nebula. Make no mistake – fog increases risk in the riding world and demands careful consideration before choosing to explore.

Empty dirt and gravel roads in Rothrock State Forest changes scanning for vehicles to a search for sudden changes in the road surface, meandering black bears, fallen limbs, and the ever present white-tailed deer.

Bear Meadows.  This place retains the same lure today as it did when I first visited in an orange VW beetle 40 years ago.  I see my dog Essa loping along the path, or remember falling through the ice on a New Year’s Day hike.  Sight and vision are sharpened by memory.

Kim and I used to come here before sunrise, hours before having to be at work to sit and write and experience the world.  And always when there was fog…

Free to explore.  That’s the secret power of a Vespa – far from discussions of fuel economy, hipster lifestyle or scooter culture.  It has power to move me into an altered state.  I’ve ridden a lot of fine motorcycles and scooters – this Vespa remains the perfect companion in my riding world.

The Vespa doesn't say no.  It just goes without complaint or demand as if just as driven to experience as its rider.  Through rain and snow, mud, ice, wind and darkness, the Vespa is up to the challenge. In videos of the Dakar and pictures of them rigged for water crossings, it is a hearty machine.

In a culture of bigger, faster, stronger a scooter isn’t a comfortable fit.  After tens of thousands of miles on a Vespa I’ve come to see the difference between my choice and the choice others would make for me should I give them the chance.  

Reflection.  Miles from home, standing in a stand of hemlocks listening to a small brook babble along on its way to the Chesapeake Bay, a mind is free to wander and wonder and reflect on whatever is important at that moment.  This doesn’t happen standing at the water fountain down the hall from my office…

The spell is broken.  I’ve read there are no wild places in the lower 48 states.  Certainly none in central Pennsylvania.  Still, in the fog a mind can wander and pretend.  Nothing breaks that wilderness bubble faster than the intrusion of runners into a fantasy.  Serious ones no doubt – the loop they were taking has 15 miles of mountain running ahead before returning to civilization.

Down the mountain.  A steep grade on mud and loose gravel challenge the scooter’s descent and highlights the need for careful braking and the technical limitation of the Vespa’s automatic transmission.  The Heidenau winter tires provide enough grip and bite to make for a reasonable ride.

Return to civilization.  Rides can’t last forever, especially ones made without boundaries measured in hours.  The departure from one world to another is softened on a foggy day, each mile unfolding with it’s own secret personality.

Sharpened vision. The Vespa bears witness to the landscape shaped and twisted by fog driven light as its small wheels turn through mud then gravel and back onto the security of pavement.  There’s a pull back to the forest and another on into the day.  I’m glad I can feel it.

Fully medicated. Mentally. Emotionally, Physically. How better to start a day than a ride in the fog. A few hours investment for a valuable return – it’s strong medicine and requires no prescription. A simple choice to ride.

The Senses of Riding

A dog may not reflect a connection to riding to the casual observer, the connoisseur of mechanical marvel, or the unwashed masses who see riders as fools with a death wishes as they talk on their cellphones.  My dog Junior, like my Vespa, bring me into the world, cause me to move forward, at this time of year through resistance and doubt only to emerge at the other end of a trip with a profound sense of satisfaction.  Like a dog, eyes, ears, nose, they're all turned on, alert and scanning the world.

The Vespa almost always comes after the dog.  Biology trumps engineering.

A ride to work, on an errand, or just an unplanned and aimless trip to no where in particular is much like he morning walk -- senses attuned to the world, sights to see, and that feeling of motion, flying in this instance, but motion both figuratively and literally.  It's a potent medicine.

And always there's arrivals.  A place, a sight, a location.  In cold weather I relish in an almost unnatural way the heat and steam of a cup of tea as no other drink has ever provoked.  And again, the senses are focused keen like a sharp knife on every sound and motion, sight and smell.  All lost on the non-rider?  How would I know?

There are the grand sights and the small ones.  When riding to work or on little journies from one task to the next a person takes things as they come.  Standing at a coffee shop counter I spy the tulips across the room in the window.  I'm certain, had I arrived in the van, my mind would be elsewhere and I'd never have seen them.

Thank you ride.