Riding and Aging

My daughter sent me a link to this video about a woman who at 101 is still driving her Packard.  Surely the inference is that I should set my goals to still be riding at 101.

It's funny how varied people's ideas of old age can be.  Mine can change with the weather, the creaks and aches, or with the memories that surface at any given moment.  Right now, as I write this, I'm a young buck ready to take on the world.

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.

Joe Paterno: 1926 - 2012

Joe Paterno died at 9:25am today at the Mt. Nittany Medical Center where he'd been hospitalized since January 13 due to complications from the chemotherapy he was was undergoing for lung cancer. I've seen Coach Paterno often walking back and forth from his home to his office since coming to Penn State in 1972.

The Paterno family released this statement shortly after his passing:

It is with great sadness that we announce that Joe Paterno passed away earlier today. His loss leaves a void in our lives that will never be filled.

He died as he lived. He fought hard until the end, stayed positive, thought only of others and constantly reminded everyone of how blessed his life had been. His ambitions were far reaching, but he never believed he had to leave this Happy Valley to achieve them. He was a man devoted to his family, his university, his players and his community.

He has been many things in his life – a soldier, scholar, mentor, coach, friend and father. To my mother he was and is her soul mate, and the last several weeks have shown the strength of their love. To his children and grandchildren he is a shining example of how to live a good, decent and honest life, a standard to which we aspire.

When he decided to forego a career in law and make coaching his vocation, his father Angelo had but one command: Make an impact.

As the last 61 years have shown, Joe made an incredible impact. That impact has been felt and appreciated by our family in the form of thousands of letters and well wishes along with countless acts of kindness from people whose lives he touched. It is evident also in the thousands of successful student athletes who have gone on to multiply that impact as they spread out across the country.

And so he leaves us with a peaceful mind, comforted by his “living legacy” of five kids, 17 grandchildren, and hundreds of young men whose lives he changed in more ways than can begin to be counted.

In lieu of flowers or gifts, the family requests that donations be made to the Special Olympics of Pennsylvania or the Penn State-THON, The Penn State IFC/Panhellenic Dance Marathon.

Riding Interruption Due to Snow

A fresh snowfall overnight -- just four or five inches but enough for me to opt out of riding today.  I've ridden in this kind of situation before but only to prove I could or to test out my winter tires when I bought them.  With nothing to prove to myself the angels of my better nature reminded me of how greatly the speed differential is between four-wheeled vehicles and two-wheeled vehicles in snow.  Seems like every SUV owner feels they can drive even faster in snow because they have four-wheel drive.  And on a motorcycle or scooter, well, you know how slow you have to go in snow if you've tried it.

So I'll stay home and admire the landscape.

And walk Junior.  He and I did a trip to the park so he could tear around in the snow, seek out other dogs to play with, and try not to lose the ball in the snow.  Succeeded in every objective.

All that's left now is to lie on the couch and get fat...

Snow Equals Minivan

The view when I stepped out of my office last night.  Wasn't riding the Vespa then and not today either as another three inches of snow dropped overnight.  More forecast for tonight.

Putting on my mathematician's hat I've calculated that snow = minivan.  Or the more complex expression:  Oh well...

My Own Private Insanity

Riding in the winter is my own private insanity. I do it over and over again with the same results.

In more serious moments, like this evening, standing in the parking lot at work, looking at the darkening sky, wondering how dry the road would be, asking myself which route to take to minimize automotive pressure to rush and I'm left wondering (again) if I'm not being just a bit foolish.

This morning I almost left the Vespa in the garage; a quick look out the window revealed some dusting of snow from the previous night.  Walking through the driveway I realized how much ice might remain on untreated surfaces.  For those of you in warm climates read that surfaces without metal eating salt.

I don't remember the decision making process.  The 29F temperature didn't matter so I must have assumed (rightly) that the roads would be clear and remain so throughout the day.  What I didn't count on was being at work late and riding home in the dark.

Mental calculations are quick in the cold -- gear in place, road surface acceptable, traffic thinning, visibility good.  But there are things I forget. Aggravations at night, in the cold, with visor constantly fogging and the glare of headlights making it hard to assess the road ahead for deer, living or dead, chunks of firewood, on an unfortunate instance of ice, I asked myself again, "What the hell?"

With a smile.

The ride home was uneventful save for some beautiful instances of a landscape under a dying light.  And of course, there is always, every time, a rather potent feeling of accomplishment that doesn't show itself in warm air.

Is it worth the trouble, discomfort and risk?  Maybe only in my own private insanity.

Decision Making

A frosty beard on Junior should be a strong enough indication that the Vespa should stay in garage.  Still, I was running scenarios through my head from the time I woke up.  The Weather.com app indicated 13F and clear skies -- certainly not a show stopper.  Looking ahead the forecast showed ice and snow moving in around 6pm.  I've heard that story before only to find snow falling three hours early.

Thirty minutes of dog action chilled my body sufficiently that the luster of riding to work wore off.  All the ride variations and rationalizations were reduced to "I'm too cold to get on the Vespa."

Good thing too.  The little ice balls started falling around 4pm...

Gerbing Electric Gloves: A Pleasant Surprise

My electric gloves are dead.  They died a slow death over the past couple months but last week during an 8F morning ride I knew they were done.

My friend Paul gave them to me for Christmas in 2007 and in the subsequent four years they have seen a lot of use; probably more than most riders ever use them.  I wrote of that joy in a post titled 18F and Gerbing Electric Gloves. 

As I was preparing to toss them in the trash I decided to check to see if the heating elements could be repaired.  Or even easier a bad connector.  Being of sound mind I retrieved a little used multimeter from the toolbox and set to work to determine if something was wrong with the gloves themselves or the connector coming from the battery.

A strong arc on one of the probes indicated to me that I was getting power to the connector so I abandoned that line of research.

A quick continuity check on the gloves themselves indicated failures in both.  Checking for repair service on Gerbing's web site indicated a lifetime warranty on the heating elements.  A LIFETIME WARRANTY!

My sense of joy was dashed when I read that I would have needed to register the purchase four years earlier.

Shit -- I never register anything.  Still, I had to try.

An extremely pleasant voice answered the phone at Gerbing customer service.  I described the problem and asked about repair service since I knew I hadn't registered the gloves.  When the woman on the other end of the line said she would check in the database to see if I was registered I knew I was done.  A new Aerostich catalog had just arrived, maybe they have some new electric gloves.

"Steve Williams" I sheepishly responded when asked for my name.

"Gee, we have a lot of Steve Williams's in our database." she replied.  

Williams is a terrible name to have if you're trying to get a handgun or wade through registrations of any type.  The first because mostly we're criminals and second because there are so many of us.

"What state do you live in?" was her next question.  

When I answered she proceeded to recite my address, phone number, place of employment, blood type, sexual preference and favorite chocolate.  I looked out the window and thought I saw the sunrise.

"Holy shit," I thought. "I must have registered the gloves."  

Great news from Gerbing.  They gave me a return number and said they would either restore the gloves to their previous toasty state or replace them with a brand new pair.

A real surprise to someone who is always expecting to get ripped off at every turn by capitalists everywhere except for L.L. Bean and Walmart.  Always bring Vaseline to Best Buy.

So the gloves are now in Tumwater, Washington and I am roughing it with conventional gloves until they return.  So far the temperature hasn't dropped below 25F, easily managed for the comute to work.  But longer rides will have me on my knees praying at the muffler.

Still, I'm a happy camper.  I'm getting something for free!

Memory, Loss and the Power of Photography

Memories are more valuable that gold.  At least to me.  As time passes I find them more and more precious.  Memory drives me to make photographs, a tool to capture fleeting moments and restore them to fullness in my mind later.  Photography has a special power.

This morning I read the following tweet by @timmoolmanphoto

Don't underestimate the value of what you do.“@jeremycowart: MUST read for photographers. http://fototails.wordpress.com/2012/01/02/a-letter-on-my-doorstep-portraits-are-more-than-paper/” @kikiphoto

For those of you who don't speak Twitter don't worry, I'll translate.  Tim Moolman identified a link to photographer Jeanine Thurston's blog Fototails Photography.

The post titled, "A letter on my door step. portraits are more than paper." is one of the most powerful messages about the simple power of pictures I have ever read. It talks about photography as it relates to normal, everyday life. Not the drama of war or famine or exotic locations. Just life in the way most of us will embrace it.

Take a moment and read it. She posted it yesterday and it already has over 500 comments.

It's short. It's sad. It's a potent reminder of what is important in life.

A New Year, Another Ride, and Another 3 Prints Project Meeting

Downtown State College, Pennsylvania on New Year's Day.  The ice sculpture remnants from First Night glistening in the morning sun. The first day of the year was mild for the beginning of January.  Almost no snow so far this winter.  A nice way to begin 2012.  Riding, I was thinking about resolutions. About not making any.

Leica M6 in tow and a box of black & white prints on hand Gordon and I started the year with new prints.  Our 3 Prints Project agreement is to show up each week having exposed two rolls of film and three new prints.  It's a tough assignment amidst a busy life.

As part of my avoidance of making resolutions I was reading those of others.  Joe Crivelli, author of No Baffles motorcycle blog, had a good set of resolutions for riders titled New Year's Resolutions -- Motorcycle Related.  Good reminders for the road.

Mandoo is a regular at Starbucks.  He and Junior have met on several occasions and have a genial relationship.  Junior could learn a lot from Mandoo.  On command he will sing, or more specifically, utter a long lonely howl.  Seems like an important part of growing up canine.

On the subject of learning I can across a list of lessons learned during the past year written by Bobbi Newman, author of Librarian by Day.  Her list is a good reminder of some of the important things in life and is titled "Looking Back: The 5 Most Valuable Lessons I Learned (or Re-Learned) in 2011".

3 Prints Project: January 1, 2012

Last week on a morning walk through town.  Shadows and road markings always catch my attention.

Kim makes a lot of photographs with her digital camera with an intensity that I admire and wish I had.  She sees things I miss because I am hurrying on to the next subject.

The front window at Saint's.  People seem to get lost in things within those walls.

I'm carrying the Leica M6, there's a roll of film in my pocket, and have a few project ideas in my head.  A good start to a new year.  

Happy New Year!