Too Cold to Ride, Too Old Not to Ride

Coldest morning yet — 23F.  Frost and ice.  Perfect for riding to work.  And not.  The walk with Junior in the early morning sun felt great with only a hint of icy sharpness creeping into my hands and feet. Sunshine can generate a lot of denial in addition to warmth.

When I look in the mirror I still see a young man.  Decisions are driven by appraisals of ability and stamina that vanished a long time ago.  I become aware of who I am after three flights of stairs, or carrying a few 80 pound bags of concrete.  It's that man who is approaching his sixth decade who finds it more difficult to pull on the gear and ride off in the cold.

The Vespa did leave the garage this morning and despite some initial doubt I was glad I rode off into the glow of falling maple leaves.  By this time the thermometer climbed to a comfortable 30F.

Concerns about the cold faded into searches for patches of ice and other frozen things like coffee, soda and various waste tossed from vehicles.

In the short time it took to make a photo of the scooter the leaves had begun to pile up.  In another week the landscape will almost look like winter.  Time is flying...

The nearby free motorcycle parking was full which surprised me on a cold day.  So I opted for a fine space along Allen Street with time on the meter.

I'm in town for lunch with Hannah.  She tells me about the Inaugural Pittsburgh EQT 10-miler she and her husband competed in. He finished in 1:04:33 (6:27 min/mile pace) - 78th overall out of just short of 4,000 runners and 7th in his division. She finished in 1:46:05 (10:36 min/mile pace) - which for her (she says) is pretty fantastic.  My feet burn and tingle as she talks about it.  My running days are over.

But it seems I can still ride in the cold.  For now.

Change the Time, Change the Tires, Just Change...

The clock changed this morning with the departure of Daylight Savings Time meaning an extra hour of sleep and it wasn't dark when I got up. With more and more mornings showing the temperature in the 30s -- Fahrenheit -- a change of tires isn't far off now.  Mounting the Heidenau K66 LT Snow Tex tires offers a lot more cold weather performance on the Vespa.

Love seeing the sun rake across Mount Nittany.  After seeing it for over 40 years it's still magical.

On the ride to work I was thinking about a lot of changes -- moving Scooter in the Sticks from Blogger to Wordpress, dropping the Google ads, writing more often, writing less often, improving my diet, exercising more, blah, blah, blah...

It's not even New Year's Day yet.

Surprised to see the big Honda Shadow on such a cold morning.  A couple hours later every space was full of bikes and aside from my Vespa not a scooter in sight.  But all that will change when freezing temperatures arrive in force.  Not sure I can even stomach the idea of riding in the cold as I type this.  Hot tea will chase away the weakness...

Nothing much changed today.  One more picture of Saint's Cafe from across the street.  I wonder if I'm considered a regular yet?  Haven't received any kind of Gold Card or special access.  The people know me by sight if not name.  A few know about the Vespa.

So I sit in the corner and write in a journal, listing all the things I should change.  The list is ponderous but that's in the morning.  At night, as a date with a warm bed nears, who cares about change.

There's tea and a brownie with my name on it downstairs.  Kim is searching for something for us to watch on Netflix.  Or Amazon.

No reason to change anything right now...

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...

Piston and Pints Extravaganza

I'm one lazy blogger and when I catch up it can often mean a boatload of photos with little text, description or commentary.  Such is the case with some images of a Piston and Pints gathering from earlier this month AND images made today at the final moto hang cookout.

Couldn't resist photographing the tank on this vintage Royal Enfield.  How often do you get to see one anymore.  The rider, I did have his name written down somewhere along with all the technical details about the bike, rode in from Beford, Pennsylvania, about 90 minutes south.  Along with the Enfield he had some other vintage British bikes.  Perhaps sometime in the future we'll have the chance to see them.

Paul Ruby interrogates, I mean interviews the owner of the Enfield...

Another vintage bike -- a Harley Davidson that doesn't rattle your fillings when it goes by.

Early in the evening.  Ken Hull's trials bike in the foreground.  Looks uncomfortable for long trips.

A Triumph and a Vespa.  Doesn't get much better than that.

Piston and Pints executive board and think tank members stand aside and ponder deep thoughts.

Always at least one two-stroke machine at the event.  The sound reminds me of my youth...

Romance or just jostling for position to admire the Royal Enfield???

Ken Hull leads Mario towards his first ride on a full sized motorcycle (I think).

I should have shot video.  The results -- Mario was ripping around the yard and then off down the alley.  Not sure I saw him return...

I'll end this group with "a good time was had by all..."

October 26 Moto Hang Party

Hot Italian sausage from Hogs Galore was on the menu today along with a host of other fine foods.  Ken is just beginning to get things going...

A lot of pictures, it's late, I'm tired, so I will just post them here.  Visit the Scooter in the Sticks Facebook page if you need to share or tag pictures.  I think that's how it works.

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...