I'll Go Honey!

I refuse to believe I'm the only rider who secretly leaps at the chance to go for a ride while feigning resignation and sacrifice in taking on an errand to a grateful spouse.  This can't be a deception.

This evening my ears pricked at the sound, "We're almost out of coconut water".

Sure, no concerned, loving, caring husband would ever, under any circumstance, allow their wife to run out of an essential element of a full life.  From that noble and lofty place I stepped forward and proclaimed, "I'll go honey!'

A few minutes later I was chasing the sun to the horizon dashing along the freeway towards Trader Joe's.

Mathematicians have proven the shortest distance between two point is a straight line.  Seems obvious that they weren't riders.  If they were the idea of the shortest distance wouldn't have occurred to them.

Only 9 miles as the crow flies lay between my couch and the coconut water at TJs.  Through careful planning and deep thought I could easily triple the distance.  I refer to the conversion effect as Steve's Third Rule of Enlightened Riding.  Included in the rule is the postulation that level of physical, emotional and spiritual well being is directly proportional to distance traveled.

I'm too tired to write the equation.

Any little dirt track leading into the distance merits investigation.  This stretch of pseudo-road reminded me of a question another Vespa rider asked me last week — is it ok to ride a Vespa on dirt and gravel?  The rider was concerned with comments related to the location of the air intake and fear that a rider could take in a lot of dirt and possibly damage the engine.

All I could offer in response is that I have ridden a lot of miles on dirt and gravel.  Hundreds of miles.  Perhaps thousands.  And no problems so far...

The weather at this time of year, and this evening in particular, is exceptional.  The temperature dipping to 60F and below in the evening under clear skies and falling sun create a magnificent palette of color and tone in which to ride which makes it a little easier to deal with the heavy burdens of running errands.

More small tracks through the woods.  This one ended at a locked gate.  Fortunately the Vespa is agile and thin enough to pass through a human sized opening and continue or towards Trader Joe's.  The mushy forest soils that make up this part made me think again of how nice it would be to try out some knobby tires and the Vespa.

Mission almost accomplished.  Groceries fill the topcase, the underseat area, are hanging from the incredibly masculine purse hook, and my newly installed front rack is loaded as well.  The Vespa and I are beasts of burden, plodding relentlessly to fill need and bring sustenance to those we love.

Give me a reason to ride...

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...

Latin Lessons, Breakfast and Other Riding Pleasures

If I had a quarter for every time I was asked "Can a scooter ride with a motorcycle?"...

The answer is simple — yes, and no.

On this morning last week my Vespa was an acceptable riding companion to Paul Ruby's BMW K1200GT despite the gap in size and power.  In this case the riding styles of the riders matched making the machines incidental to the ride.  No freeway tricks or backroad racing involved, just a leisurely 38 mile tour through the woods on the way to breakfast.

Paul dispatched some trash from the road which offended his view in the pristine landscape.  I can't remember ever seeing a rider police litter during a ride, myself included.  Only took a few minutes to gather, stow in the sidecase, and return to the ride.

Positive Karma points involved.

The woodlands and waterways in Black Moshannon State Park are more like the arboreal forests of Maine than the typical Pennsylvania ones.  The last flowers are blooming on the lilypads before everything recedes into fall and then the cold of winter.

Speaking of motorcycles and scooters mixing -- there's a reason why the BMW isn't in this picture.  Fine, soft gravel provides uncertain footing for the big bike where the scooter, while no dirt bike, is easier to flog without fear of dumping.

My wife is the naturalist in the house, by temperament, training and love.  I know this plant as Doll's Eyes.  She does too but consistently shocks me with her encyclopedic knowledge of scientific names (in Latin) of plants as Actaea Alba flows from her lips. I tell myself I'm smart in other ways.

On rides like this I wish she had a Vespa and we could ride together...

Ruby and I arrive at the Retro Eatery in Philipsburg, Pennsylvania for breakfast — hungry. It's a great place to eat and not what I would expect to find in P Burg.  If you're out that way it's worth a visit.

Paul always investigates the menu and engages in a range of culinary evaluations.  Regardless of where we are though the end result is the same: waffles and bacon.

I've never questioned the choice.  Some things are private.

After breakfast we made a quick stop at my entrepreneurial enterprise that promises to make my retirement years profitable and comfortable.  I see new socks and underwear in my future.

We took the long way home — a 50 mile trek across the edge of the Allegheny Plateau until we descended into Bald Eagle Valley and the beginning of the ridge and valley section of Pennsylvania.  The abrupt changes in natural and geologic landscapes are a pleasure to experience and with the tutelage of my loving wife I see a lot more than I used to.

Just not in Latin.

Have Fog, Will Ride

Another morning greeted by fog which, for me, is near the pinnacle of riding environments. While not the most dramatic fog day it was still enough to push me on a more circuitous route to work.

Most riding textbooks I've read counsel riders to leave the bike at home when it's foggy with similar advice for night, rain, snow and other visibility limited situations.  Those situations definitely have heightened risk but can be managed with training, preparation and a riding mind attuned to the dangers.

Acquiring those skills is the challenge.

Reading about a crash on ModernVespa.com two comments stood out that shine a light on the possible outcomes of learning to ride in less than ideal conditions.

"...congrats on the healthy crash. crashing safely is the best thing you can do to become a better rider..."

and

"Wish it wasn't so, but experience really is the best teacher. Glad she is ok."

The comments relate to a new rider making a mistake on a wet road.  Easy to do especially if you think riding on wet roads is pretty much the same as dry ones.  You can get away with that thinking in a car but on two wheels not so much.

Anyways, I've been thinking about how differently I ride in different conditions including fog.  And try to keep the risk fresh.  Two of the most anxiety provoking rides I've ever made were in fog.

The ride to work today was uneventful — at least I can't remember anything happening of note.  Just a relaxed ride through the countryside slowly giving way to autumn.  Before long we'll be seeing snow flakes in the air...

The Torture of 25 Miles Per Hour

The hand painted sign appeals to drivers and riders alike to slow down.  Traveling slowly may be the most difficult riding skill of all.

I pass this way frequently and admit how inviting the winding road can be to push the Vespa to soar through the curves like a bird in flight.  The bigger challenge is to resist that urge, make a choice to travel at a speed almost foreign to mind and senses.  It can be painful at times, like struggling for air, being restrained from what's good and natural in the world.

The romance of power and speed mixed with self importance and rationalization propels vehicles at speeds far beyond posted limits.  Rush, rush, and rush some more.  And grumble about the idiots who post roads far below their potential interrupting needs to get to a destination.  Traveling slowly isn't an option.  Or so it seems.

Riding at 25 mph can be torture and almost unbearable.  I've seen drivers so agitated that they can't go faster that I imagine their heads exploding as I seem them wildly gesticulating and mouthing words of encouragement to those impeding their progress.

There are real benefits to slowing down. Reducing speed in almost every roadway environment provides extra time to evaluate hazards, choices and make decisions. All easily put aside for another day when the highest and best skill is often reflected against speed.

Whenever I talk to riders of big machines the almost universal response when asked about what part of riding makes them nervous the most common response is slow speed maneuvering.  If the bike is going down that's where it's likely going to happen.

There is something peaceful about going slow.  It's not always possible where heavy traffic forces the pace but I see riders and drivers race over roads like these where speed is a choice.

Going fast can be fun.  So can going slow.  And the latter is far more difficult because it requires commitment and willpower — even on a Vespa.

Speaking of slowing down on the road....

This morning I was traveling with the traffic flow when I saw a Ring-necked pheasant clip the top of an oncoming car's windshield and tumble onto the road in the middle of an intersection.  The traffic light was red and I knew I had a few seconds to create a barrier in front of the bird.  It was alive but stunned, likely dispatched by a passing car in next few moments.  Leaving the Vespa on the center stand I motioned for traffic to stop as I approached the bird.  For a moment everything stopped.

The bird came to life and raced towards a cornfield on the other side of the road before I could reach it, narrowly missing an oncoming minivan moving slowly through the intersection.  I've seen this sudden change before as traffic halts to let a family of ducks cross the road.  Or a dog.  YouTube has a series of video clips from Russian highways of drivers stopping to rescue dogs, help elderly people cross busy roads, or pick up dangerous debris that might cause disaster.  Little gifts of slowing down.

A few smiles and beeps of horns acknowledging the event and we were all on our way again.  And I was glad I slowed down...

Radar, Riding and the Tasmanian Devil

Radar.  The kind that forecasts weather instead of nabbing speeders along the freeway.  After a long day and a comment by Kim that the light "was interesting" I was watching a radar animation on my iPhone estimating my chances of dodging rain and lightning.  A few moments later I was on the Vespa chasing the fading sun.

There's a method to this madness beyond seeing the sunset, making a few photos, or riding the Vespa.  It's connected to the Tasmanian Devil — the one always chasing Bugs Bunny in the old Warner Brothers Looney Tunes cartoons.  To most people I appear calm, even tempered, and a few times I've hear"zen like" whatever that means. Inside it's often a different picture with my thoughts, imagination, joys, sorrows, frustrations and more swirl like the cartoon devil, spinning madly with snarls and growls.

So it often is after a long day of burning mental energy the right medicine is to burn some more in sharply focused manner.  If I was built differently meditation would work but I can't bring myself (yet) to sit still.  Riding coupled with chasing an image is perfect.  The riding forces me to stay focused to remain safe and the visual puzzle related to finding a picture flavors the experience into a creative craving.  Or so it seems as I write this now.

I was 15 minutes too slow getting on the road.  The sun was gone and the dregs of light just weren't right.  Still, the ride served it's purpose and the devil went to sleep.  The rain from an hour earlier pushed much of the heat away and left the world moist, thick with possibilities, but remained elusive.  The Vespa rolled over pavement and gravel searching, seeking, looking for the answer to the photographic puzzle in my head.

Never found the answer.  And that's ok because, as has been said so many times in so many places, it's the journey that matters.  And on this journey I was able to acquire two Hershey bars for a plan to be hatched later in the evening.

And now the devil and my dog Junior are asleep.  A few small chores will transform the day into night and my mind into a quiet stream.  A stream familiar because of a scooter and camera.

I feel like riding some more but that would just be selfish...

Family, Friends and a Ride to the IngleBean Coffee House

Not just another Saturday morning in central Pennsylvania.  This one was one of those magnificent days where the atmosphere is free of haze that postcard photographers love.  Add a constantly changing variety of blue sky and wispy clouds and it feels like you're in a Disney World commercial.

With the temperature at 48F, Aleta, Paul and I pointed our scooters towards Millheim, Pennsylvania and the IngleBean Coffee House for breakfast.  A fine, lazy ride through some of the most picturesque agricultural landscapes in Pennsylvania — a real ride through time as a result of the growing Amish communities here.  

Seeing horse-drawn buggies is a common scene with road apples everywhere and the telltale lines on the road sketched by hundreds of thin steel wheels.  During the ride we passed a number of them.  I noticed one Amish farm is a solar array on the roof.  Wonder what that powers...

We were lucky enough to get a parking space right in front of the coffee house.  Notice the parking pattern -- Paul and I represent the older generation parking head out.  Aleta does the head in parking.  Evidence of an intergenerational ride.

The IngleBean Coffee House is a relaxed, comfortable, feels like home kind of place with good food.  Definitely worth the half hour ride.  The place has a rustic, LL Bean feel to it and is the sort of establishment you would expect to find friends (which we did when we first arrived).  Paul and Aleta seemed to be at home.

Paul Ruby, BMW, Ducati, vintage Vespa, and on this day Piaggio Fly rider.  I think he's sucking in his stomach...

Aleta puts up with one more picture with the local mural on the side of the Elk Creek Cafe. Another fine place to eat.

We wandered across the street to the Green Drake Art Gallery where I bought a small clay tile for Kim.  On the way back I had the chance to catch another Amish rider...

As fast as the morning develops it draws to a close.  Departing Millheim we wandered a bit until Paul and Aleta decided to head to the Nittany Valley Antique Machinery Show and Flea Market while I chose to head home.  Riding with family and friends is great but there are moments that I like to keep to myself -- the little walks along the road looking for a vantage point, burning memories into my synaptic pathways, being grateful that I'm alive and on the earth.

Riding through the middle of the valley on the small roads, the ones the Amish use, and just thinking how fortunate I am to be here.

Another little ride stored away, percolating, mixing into the Vespa experience.

Riding and the Coming of Cold Weather

Last night the long shadows paralleling US322 told me that fall is on it's way.  That and thermometer readings dropping through the sixties, into the fifties, and this morning a bracing 42F when I rolled the Vespa out of the garage.

Cold weather excites the rider in me, fueling a desire to ride that mostly lies dormant during the heat of summer.  Cold, rain, snow, fog and other physically challenging forms of weather are my mountain -- the manner in which I find satisfaction.

The coming of fall has a peculiar look and sound — a long, heavy light as if the sun isn't quite ready to move across the equator for the autumnal equinox.  Cicadas drone more loudly until they suddenly stop.  Every living thing seems to respond to a biological imperative to brace for winter. Mount Nittany, the icon familiar to Penn State students and alumni around the world, is ready for the world to change.

Even my dog Junior seems aware of the change.  Tinkering with a new iPhone photo app – Alt Photo — I stumbled upon a blue tint that combined with his serious gaze to have me thinking that, like me, he senses the coming of cold weather.

As motorcycle and scooter riders I think we all bring our own, unique reactions to the road.  For some, the passing of Labor Day is the first step in winterization of the machine.  For others a reminder of the few weeks left until the ride becomes unbearably cold.  And for the coldblooded, foolhardy lot who swears they ride through the winter it means the start of an adventure.

To each their own.  I've already started organizing my winter riding gear.  The Heidenau snow tires are ready to mount.  I hate to say it but I've been running snow scenarios through my head.

And all because of a few long shadows along the road...

Quick Review of The Naked Egg Cafe

Saturday morning, up early and on the road to welcome another day into existence — at least until my stomach takes control and zeros the Vespa towards a place for breakfast.  In addition to fine roads for riding there are a lot of small, locally owned eating establishments to are a perfect addition to a fine ride.

On this morning my mind is set on The Naked Egg Cafe in Pine Grove Mills, Pennsylvania.

The Naked Egg is situated along PA Route 26 as you enter Pine Grove Mills coming from State College.  It's in the place that for years was occupied by Watkins Dariette.  This is my second visit since they opened about a month ago and I have to say I'm about ready to make the place my go to eating establishment.  They've done wonders transforming the interior space into something special, the food choices are extensive, and it tastes great.

You can see menus on the Naked Egg Cafe website.

I ordered a simple steak and eggs breakfast.  Sitting here writing I wish I could have it for dinner but they closed at 2pm today (Sunday).  Oh well, next week...

The toast, eggs and home fries were perfect but the steak, a luscious 4 oz. filet — I told the waitress it was the best steak I've tasted in years.

So, if you find yourself in central Pennsylvania and need a good place to have breakfast or lunch, try the Naked Egg.

Riding at Night and Other Photographic Pastimes

Walking the dog at sunset and the sky opens and momentarily illuminates Boalsburg.  An iPhone picture doesn't sate my visual survey and the little photographer voice tells me I should be riding.  The 82 pound dog at the end of the leash says otherwise.

By the time I'm on the road the sun is gone and the light is fading as mist begins to gather along the ground.  Luck figures into photography more than I like to admit — F8 and be there kind of stuff...

Riding into the night still provides a thrill.  Some say a dangerous one which I keep in mind and make plans to manage.  Give me the right night, a camera and keys to a scooter and motorcycle and I'm off to see the stars...

The Pleasure of Being Lost

This past Sunday morning was remarkably clear — bright, crisp, the world a surreal stage on which my friend Paul Ruby and I were riding our scooters. Abandoning our normal meeting at Saint's Cafe we veered north towards Beech Creek, Pennsylvania, a 30 mile ride for our breakfast.

Easy riding through the broad Bald Eagle valley and along the lake at Bald Eagle State Park was a quiet reminder of how simple life can feel on my Vespa.  Paul abandoned his BMW K1200 in favor of a Piaggio Fly 150.  Sometimes less is much more.

After donning a liner to my jacket — the air temperature was hovering at 62F — it was time to eat.  Or so demanded my stomach.

I don't come to Beech Creek often and when I do it's just to pass through on the way to somewhere else.  The Furst Corner Restaurant deserves more allegiance.  How many places can I say serves more bacon than I can eat?

After breakfast a decision was made to take a scenic route home and I suggested a road along the west side of the valley that would wind the 15 miles to Milesburg.  Turning right towards Orviston would lead us to the road I thought I knew.

A few words about Orviston...

My knowledge is limited of the place which is nestled in the far northern end of Centre County seemingly lost at the end of a road far from anything.  I remember stopping there over 10 years ago at a little store which was part of the livingroom of a house to get something to drink.  All they had was chocolate milk.  More than a few of the houses had padlocks on the front doors. I thought it odd then and expected the same now.

Perhaps it was the light or things had changed but Orviston seemed a fine little town of 95 people.

On this day I never planned to be in Orviston but rather turn off towards home on some other road.

My cartographic memory failed me at Orviston.  I neither found the road or knew which way to go.  After a momentary pause to consider returning the way we came or to head up a little dirt track marked only by a sign "No Winter Maintenance" I motioned to Paul towards the path less traveled.

As the trail climbed up the mountain and the ride rougher I had absolutely no idea where I was or where we were going.  For someone who's life is full of planning and careful consideration of strategy and tactics it was an absolutely electric feeling to be disconnected from everything.

The pleasure of being lost is rare in Central Pennsylvania, at least for me.  As Paul and I raced our scooters along a path more suited for a dirt bike I remembered why I have little interest in a GPS.  There is little primitive or wild available easily to me and a GPS would obliterate any chance like the one presented on this ride.

A view looking down the mountain road.  Steep and not the easiest to negotiate with a CVT transmission.  Loose gravel and unexpected washboard and rocks made several miles of riding that was outside the norm for the Vespa.

Emerging onto pavement on the other side of the mountain near Polecat Road I passed Paul who was riding standing up in what I could only assume was a gesture of triumph.  A half mile up the road, still unsure or where I was, a came upon a coyote standing in the middle of the road, a tall animal, lank, staring and glittering a warm brown in the sun.  As I slowed he walked off the road into a thicket of scrub trees.

And me, lost and seeing that coyote — how could I ask anything more of the world?

The pleasure of being lost...

Rebirth

Morning, a fine ride tarnished by the familiar nagging that something isn't right, something important forgotten or ignored — like waking from a dream that I forgot to go to a class for an entire semester.

I was searching for something along the narrow lane — an idea, a thought, perhaps a feeling. Listening to a red-winged blackbird's sharp note and trill as the sun burned through the fog altered a mental path, a welcome release from an obstinate mix of thought and emotion.

I could enjoy being alive.

Later, looking at this picture I thought about how powerful a morning can be — visually, psychically, emotionally.  And then I remembered this quote:

“Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

And so the road rolls on...

The Vespa 946 -- the new Vespa Experience

I have to admit that this new Vespa 946 is a marvel of design if not utility. And with a price tag in the United States of nearly $11K I have to wonder who will buy them. Still, Piaggio does a fine job of building the Vespa mystique with this ad...

Perseverance, Weakness and the Question of Riding

The sound of rain falling as sleep fades and the day takes form draws pictures in my head — of mystical worlds shrouded in sheets of water and mist on some mornings, and others, like today, of toil and drudgery as I drag my mind and body through the relentless discomfort the weather presents.

Today I awoke to the latter.  Standing along the road with my little camera, happy and recognizing the fragile nature of being alive, how could I let a little rain move my mind into a state of reluctance at donning some riding gear for a handsome journey to work?

The rain was fell lightly during the ride as the clouds thinned across the valley.  An hour earlier the only reasonable choice for commuting was the van and it's steel and glass encasement isolating me from the world.

In 10 months I'll commence my sixth decade on earth and the event gives rise to questions of age and waning strength and perseverance in the face of resistance.  I take comfort in the example set by a neighborhood bicyclist who pedals into town daily throughout the year — and he must be in his 90s.

So I managed another ride to work with a few detours and diversions and the inevitable whispering of "take the day off and ride...".

Instead a last picture of a round bale in the lane and onward towards Penn State's Beaver Stadium and the office.

It was a good day to ride.

Piston and Pints: August 15, 2013

Mike Mohney at the Moto-Hang.  He rides the only two-stroke Cafe Racer style bike at Pistons and Pints.  I'm hoping to start making more portraits of the riders.




Here's Mike on his ride. To see more of the pictures from the event check out the Piston and Pints collections on my Flickr site.