Into the Night

Junior knows when we’re on the last walk of the night. He has an uncanny sense of time and often knows what I’m going to do before I do. Standing under a moonlit sky at 1:30am we listen to crickets, cicadas, and katydids perform their summer symphony. He’s thinking biscuit and bed. I’m thinking it a good night for a ride.

The nice thing about being married to an artist is that a middle of the night ride falls within the limits of normal behavior. Kim’s only misgiving is that she can’t come along. If my employer is reading this please note I am on vacation this week.

Night stimulates varied responses among riders. For some (like me) it evokes a time of stillness and reflection. For others, it's a time for terror of deer, drunks, and unfortunate interactions. I remember a book on motorcycle technique that admonished the reader to venture into the night only in an emergency and in dire, personal peril. I believe that. The heightened risk is real and I manage accordingly.

I arrive in town as the bars are closing and people are on the sidewalk making final social decisions. With camera in hand I walk across the street to make a few pictures. Too lazy to retrieve the tripod I sit down against a parking meter and steady the camera against my knees for a half second exposure at a grain generating ISO.

Forgive my photographic indolence.

On campus the pervasive illumination keeps the night at bay and lends a theatrical feeling to the surroundings. Night is somewhere other than here.

Kneeling in the middle of the street behind a little tripod I struggle to make a picture of the Vespa and the moon. I police cruiser glides by watching me work. Law enforcement everywhere knows that photographers using tripods constitute the good guys. I thought he might question my Vespa parked on the sidewalk but he departed in search of more interesting miscreants.

It’s 2:30am as I ride out of town in search of a more suitable landscape to breath in the night. I’m transported into childhood as the scent of Queen Anne’s Lace growing along the road reminds me of playing army in the fields and woods of years ago.

Standing in a field of corn and soybeans the moon illuminates the controls of the camera. Everything is painted in a cool blue gray with deep shadows hiding any real detail. Fireflies and the taillights of an occasional passing car provide the only rich colors.

My interest in making pictures wanes quickly. A few lame attempts to use the flash and I’m done. Dew has formed on my helmet as the temperature drops. I sense a nearby skunk. In the distance a car engine moves over the road coming closer and bringing it’s bright light with it. When the car stops I wonder who’s behind the wheel – someone concerned for the safety of a man in a black and yellow riding jacket standing next to a Vespa? Or is it just someone looking for trouble and sees a scooter as an easy target?

The car slowly moves away and disappears over a hill. I’m left alone looking at the stars and thinking it gets no better than this.

The Demon Within

Kim made this picture of me one evening at the Arboretum at Penn State. I thought it appropriate for this post.

There comes a point where training and experience yield to human nature. Or more pointedly: human failure. The world of the demon that whispers of appropriate action and choice. Viewed later, from the comfort of an armchair with a cup of Earl Grey tea, choices can seem positively stupid. And so we begin.

Perhaps there's no more honest reflection of a person's true character than on the road where masks and facades seem to shed easily. Employers wanting to know who they are hiring should conduct interviews in a car and have applicants drive them on errands through a few frustrating locations to see who emerges.

If asked how I would describe myself as a rider (or driver) I would say calm, relaxed, slow. Arriving at work and parking on a quiet summer campus definitely helps support those feelings and while generally true I have my moments. The demon whispers and I do things that are less than intelligent.

On my way to Barnes and Noble last week on I was reacquainted with weakness. Traveling along on a busy stretch of four lane road I could seen a silver SUV weaving through traffic in my mirror. I wondered why they were in such a hurry. They'll just end up sitting at the next traffic light. I don't remember the demon whispering but I was gauging opportunities to educate the SUV driver. I'm in the left lane on the Vespa slowly approaching a car in the left lane. Traffic is moving around 35mph. The SUV has just moved into the right hand lane in a bid to pass me on and then swing around the car. Not far ahead is a traffic light. As if I am in a chess game I adjust the throttle to move ahead a bit faster. A man in the SUV approaches quickly still hoping to pass me. He's closing on the bumper of the car trying to decide if he can get between the car and the Vespa. There's room but just barely. My fingers have crawled over the brake levers. And just as it seems he's going to try the car's brake lights come on and we're all stopped at the traffic light.

My brain hasn't recognized how stupid or dangerous game I'm playing. I'm teaching now, providing someone else with an opportunity to see the error of his driving ways. Where does this kind of thinking come from? I'm not riding through the woods or stopping to make a picture in a stand of pines. I'm in fantasy world.

The light changes and we're all off. I move a bit faster than the car and when it seems I'll pass the car the SUV swings in behind me. The car keeps accelerating and begins moving ahead. The SUV swings back right hoping to get past everyone as he drives just inches from the car in front of him. The gap widens slowly. I can see his eyes flashing in his side mirror, his brain working to calculate the space needed to pass as the car suddenly slows and I move up ahead. The car speeds up again and I wonder if he is playing this game too. Or maybe he's just suggesting the SUV get off his ass. Or for me to get the hell out of the game.

All this has happened in less than a mile. The SUV is again right on the bumper of the car willing him to speed up. I sense something is about to happen and move left in my lane and roll off the throttle slightly. The SUV explodes left, passes the car, and veers back to the right lane, hits the brakes and immediately turns off the road and into a McDonalds parking lot. I look over and see the driver queue up for the drive up window. He was obviously not the brain surgeon on his way to emergency surgery that I sometimes use to excuse reckless behavior on the road.

Notice it's all about the other guy.

This brings me to my point. The behavior of other drivers is not something for me to fix. They are a changing constant on the road to be managed and nothing else. Education and justice is the realm of others. Nothing anyone does is an excuse for me to listen to the demon. What would I have lost by letting the SUV pass?

One morning on the way to work I stopped to pick up a sandwich for lunch. Standing on the sidewalk I saw my scooter reflected against the Karate Kid poster and it got me thinking about practice and learning. I need to do some further work as a rider.

Thankfully, the event is atypical and not a pattern. But even once is too many. As I grow as a rider I'm learning that the attitude I bring to the road is just as important as the technical skills. For me, dismissing the demon is the place to improve my riding.

Have you conquered the demon?

3 Prints Project: Limited Success with Print Giveaway

In the driveway, packed and ready to try and give away some prints away at the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts. Thirty prints that had lived in a box since I made them would try and find a new home.

On Sunday the festival doesn't open until 10am so I had some time to roam around on the scooter. Morning is my favorite time to ride. The earlier the better. If 6am is good then 4am is heaven. I haven't seen much of heaven lately.

I can remember days when this area was solid humanity from sidewalk to sidewalk and you could barely travel a half block in 15 minutes. Early morning is a favorite because things are more quiet. In the background you can see a bicyclist amidst the water spray made available to help cool people off and give kids some water action. The bicyclist had a small child on the back of the bike and he rode back and forth through the spray to give the little one some excitement.

The print giveaway.

Gordon Harkins and I gathered on campus and decided to make one loop through the festival and see how people reacted to our offer of free art and prints. We would make no verbal offers or approaches, just respond to inquires. We probably should have taken a long look in the mirror before making that decision.

Gordon was fully outfitted for the giveaway of his prints. Being far more serious than I am he had selected four images and made five custom, numbered prints of each. The prints were carefully signed and labeled and placed inside plastic sleeves to protect them. I had my prints in a satchel on my shoulder with a package of plastic sleeves to protect the print from barbecue sauce or funnel cake fallout should anyone desire to take one.

Neither of us had any idea how this would go. The show was just waking up and people were just beginning to arrive as we approached the sidewalk sale. I could see people reading us and wondering what we were doing. I could see furtive glances and hear soft comments like, "You ask." But no takers.

Finally, "Hey, what are you giving away?" A man in a white van who just helped unload some artist's wares. We showed him our prints and explained what we were doing but we couldn't convince him to choose a print. He told us his wife was the artist and that we should visit her just two booths away.

"Why are you giving these away?" was her question. I froze and mumbled something meaningless about having boxes of them sitting at home. Gordon stepped in for the save and told her that we are setting them free. Worked for me. Worked for her. She selected a gelatin silver print of a dead tree I shot just a few miles from where we were standing. It was made with an 8x10 Zone VI view camera and that particular image garnered a Best of Show Award in the Annual Art Alliance of Central Pennsylvania Show. I never felt it was too popular. Photographs are never supposed to be chosen over painting and sculpture for a best of show honor. It's like a mixed breed dog winning Best of Show at Westminster.

The woman wouldn't know any of this unless she visits here. Doesn't matter. I was just curious about what people would chose.

In the 90 minutes we were at the show I gave away nine prints. And I recognized another dozen individuals who wanted to ask but wouldn't. This was all Gordon's fault. He labeled his hat "Free Art". Everyone knows that's code for a credit card offer or worse.

In addition to being surprised at how reticent people were to ask I was also surprised at what they chose. One young woman picked a picture of my front yard. A young man chose a tree with a Posted, No Hunting Sign attached to it. One woman chose a picture of a single tea cup on a table in an empty Saint's Cafe and a man selected a picture of a shimmer of light on a brick wall at the Cleveland Clinic. Good thing I had a diverse selection.

Walking home Gordon and I characterized our endeavor as a limited success. No one yelled at us and no one chose a print and ritually destroyed it in our presence. That's always a good sign.

It did feel good to share the pictures and I will do it again next year. If not before. Until then I'll keep riding and making pictures. It is its own reward.

Giving Away Photographic Prints

Free. Just for the asking. If you see me wearing this handpainted T shirt on Sunday at the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts in State College, Pennsylvania you can have one of my gelatin silver prints.

That's what my friend Gordon and I will be doing tomorrow morning -- giving away prints from our 3 Prints Project and perhaps some others that make their way into my satchel.

Gordon sprang this on me a couple days ago after thinking about a conversation about the expense of buying a photograph from an artist or photographer. No wonder so few people have original prints hanging on their walls. Collecting photographs is a pastime for those with disposable income. So giving prints away is our answer to the problem of high print prices.

It's almost midnight as I write this and I am wondering what exactly I'm doing.

I'm not certain why anyone would want a print -- their personal and not particularly pretty or decorative. They're small, black and white, and printed on 8x10 inch paper. No one is going to ask which frame looks best for putting this over the couch in the family room. They're just little memories, snapshots, snippets of experience.

But they originals and they are free. At least until someone says we aren't allowed to give them away. I certainly don't want to end up on the no-fly list over it.

For now it's just an opportunity to do something just to see what happens.

The BMW R1200 RT: Riding a Big Bike

What’s big? When your everyday ride is a Vespa almost everything seems big. I’ll confess a predjudice towards large motorcycles and share my reactions as I tried out the BMW. The BMW R1200 RT fits neatly into my big motorcycle category with descriptors like heavy, lumbering, cumbersome, overpowered, and expensive. All of them negative and a reflection of my own riding preferences. Even Craig Kissell recognized my bias when he offered me the motorcycle beginning with, “I know this isn’t your style.” That’s the baggage I brought along on this ride.

I tell myself I’m going to be open and fair towards this BMW when I roll it out of my garage on a clear, 40 degree morning (back in early May). After placing my camera, notebook, and map in one of the side cases and checking the bike over I decided to leave my cold weather riding jacket and gloves at home and surrender myself to the protection of this touring machine.

My feelings about big bikes might color my riding expectations, but it does not affect my familiarization routine with a new machine. In a parking area at the end of the street I sit quietly examining the controls, feeling the switches with my thumb, and raising my boots off the ground to experiment with the motorcycle’s balance. It’s what I do. It makes me feel better that I won’t be making that call, “Hey Craig, you know that BMW I’m riding….”

There’s a riding plan in my head but before heading down the road I force myself to practice a few slow speed maneuvers and some braking tests. Nothing dramatic, just enough to feel how the BMW responds.

I plan is to ride north on main roads. Fast, without stops. No meandering down back roads looking for pictures. This time I am going to be a real rider. No frequent stops, just a fast direct route to breakfast 50 miles away.

The R1200 RT is designed to travel. If I had to ride to Montana tomorrow and didn’t have a lot of time this is the kind of motorcycle I would choose to make it a pleasant, comfortable trip. Pleasant and comfortable -- new descriptors.

It’s cold outside. On the Vespa I would have several layers under my cold weather riding jacket, electric gloves, and overpants. At 70mph on a 40 degree morning a person would get pretty cold without protection from the wind. But here I am with a sweater and t-shirt under my mesh summer riding jacket, summer gloves, jeans and boots. The power windshield and cowling keeps me out of the windblast. The heated grips keep my hands toasty and the heated seat, well, let’s just say it’s nice. By the time the thermometer reaches 55 I have shed the sweater. I could see riding this motorcycle until the snow flies.

I make the 50-mile trip to breakfast in record time with only one stop to take a picture. The BMW is smooth and the faster you go the smoother is seems to get. It feels luxurious. I add smooth and luxurious to my list.

No one passed me and when I joined the four-lane section of US 220 BMW traveled at speeds my Vespa could only dream about. Did I mention the R1200 RT has cruise control?

After a hearty breakfast at the Restless Oaks Restaurant near McElhattan, Pennsylvania I pointed the bike north towards Mansfield 70 miles away.

The BMW does a bit of deception when it comes to speed. The wind protection, power, and smooth ride give the impression that you aren’t traveling as fast as your actually are. On a stretch of US 15 I glanced at the speedometer and saw 80mph. I would have sworn to the State Police that I was going 60. No wonder I was passing everyone.

On the high points of US 15 just south of Mansfield I hit some heavy crosswinds. The bike's big profile would seem to make it a perfect target for some serious buffeting but the R1200 RT tracked along well after scrubbing off some speed. Pretty impressive considering how badly some other bikes I have ridden performed in crosswinds. I add stable to my list. I don’t want to add impressive yet.

I think about the motorcycle during a stop to stretch my legs and make a few pictures. I’m beginning to understand what a touring bike is about and why someone would want one. Everything works smoothly to deliver a great ride on the highway. It’s got plenty of power, lots of storage and storage potential, and plenty of features to extend a rider’s comfort range. Things like electronic suspension adjustment and integrated ABS brakes. What do I love? The big display that tells me what gear I am in. Now you know where I’m coming from technically.

After a stop for fuel along US 6 (I didn’t check the fuel economy) I headed into Wellsboro for a quick look around. Thirty-six years ago I regularly traveled through this area in a 1970 VW Beetle as I made routine trips from State College to northern Tioga County. The BMW is a far better way to travel than that old bug.

Just a few hours on this motorcycle and I had to reevaluate my early expectations. It doesn’t seem large and I was impressed at how easy it was to handle. It wasn’t cumbersome though you do have to pay attention to what you are doing, especially doing very slow maneuvers or pushing the bike around for parking. If something stupid is going to happen that’s where I’ll place my bet. Several times I caught myself saying, “This BMW is pretty nimble.” I’m not adding nimble to the list.

I make a stop for water and chocolate at the Pierce General Store in Morris, Pennsylvania. It’s nice to go into a place that doesn’t have dozens of other stores just like it. Standing outside I was considering routes home. There’s always a choice in Pennsylvania – the simple direct route and the rider route that is twice as far and four times as scenic.

I choose the latter and turn off PA 287 onto PA 414 towards Blackwell and many miles of narrow, twisting road along Pine Creek.

When asked “Why do you ride?” I think about places like this. Lightly traveled roads through the forests and mountains of north central Pennsylvania where my spirit and thoughts are free to wander unencumbered by the more serious nature of work and responsibility. And there is so much to see. My desire to see the landscape is, in part, why larger motorcycles don’t fit easily into my riding world.

With more powerful motorcycles I find I ride faster more often and I just see less. Over 30mph and you just miss the details of a place. Traveling fast requires a lot of attention to the road because things happen so fast. You just can’t pay attention to the landscape around you as well. And I’m much less inclined to stop and inspect things because of the work involved making U-turns, parking and getting on and off a big bike. But that’s me.

I did stop and turn around to look at this cable car linking this side of the road to a cabin across the creek. Lot’s of nice little cabins in this part of the state.

The road is narrow, high crowned with almost no shoulder. I feel as if the bike isn’t tracking well through the broken, uneven curves and turns. This is no place to cross the center line or drop off the side of the road. I ratchet up my attention and think again of the need to practice on a new motorcycle. It’s the first time my lack of experience with the bike is apparent.

I’m stopping a lot now to look around and take pictures. This time as I cross Pine Creek. I’m feeling the lack of flexibility in my legs and hips as I swing my leg up and over the side cases and seat of the BMW for the 20th time. While the bike is designed for comfort it was never intended for the stop, start, and stop again riding routine I can get into.

Just to make sure you understand what I’m talking about, I may stop 6 times in one mile and spend 20 minutes looking around. It’s a wonder I ever get anywhere at all.

The road moves in and out of the forest as it tracks along above Pine Creek. I never tire of this part of Pennsylvania.

Crossing into a new county the road surface changes. Amazing what planning and cash can do for a road.

This is the first BMW I’ve ridden with a boxer style engine. It seems to have great low and medium speed torque and power and shifts as smoothly as anything I’ve ridden. It’s easy to understand why the BMW has developed a mystic among its riding community.

At another bridge I’ve been on and off the bike for over four hours and aside from the soreness related to swinging my leg over the bike I am remarkably relaxed and comfortable. Had I been heading to Montana I would be approaching the Ohio-Indiana border with plenty of energy to ride on to Chicago and beyond before bedtime.

On one stretch of road along the creek it was nice having a windshield as I plowed through swarms of insects. I was nice not having to stop and clean off my face shield.

One final stop at Ross Siding and I made the decision to put the camera away and head home. Directly. I’m 70 miles from home and just enjoyed the ride on the BMW R1200 RT.

With the bike sitting in the driveway I imagined the kinds of rides I could make. Long day rides, weekend rides, or extended tours. The BMW R1200 RT would be ready for any of them. For my choppy, start and stop, pictures first, riding second style it would not be the best bet. But for many riders this motorcycle would be heaven.