Searching for Autumn

Autumn is about to burst forth, leaves beginning to escape their captive positions in the trees.  First a few yellow and orange leaves on the road, a few more in the trees, and suddenly, as if a fuse was lit and a fiery palette of red, orange and yellow sweeps through the forest, across the mountains and then vanishes.

I took the Vespa for a ride in the mountains hoping to feel the change.  Like a kid on Christmas morning the anticipation builds, still after all these years, for natures pageant of color.

There is no doubt this season touches an uneasy place in me, a reflection of the cycle of life that seems more real each year.  I am a leaf still clinging to the tree.  Or so I think as the Vespa climbs through Rothrock Forest, a place so familiar and charged with memories of over 40 years of travel here, on foot, in cars, on skis, bicycles and now the Vespa.  At one point I asked to have my ashes spread near here when I die, on Little Flat, a vantage point that surveys the place I call home.

Autumn was still in the distance for now.  Days away then, almost here now.  Riding the Vespa along forest roads is always satisfying but especially now.  Running back down the mountain towards duty and responsibility I wished I could search longer.

Later in the day, while on a walk with Junior, I found more evidence of fall.  The bright sun erased any lingering uneasy feelings from the morning.  And soon the Vespa and I will plunge headlong into autumn and emerge into winter.

Perhaps autumn is merely practice, preparation for the real test ahead.

Always something to think about on a ride.

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.

Tomorrow is the Very First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Stumbled across the opening scene from Then Came Bronson again and struck how it still resonates 44 years after seeing the pilot.  Can't help but think the writer mapped out a series of archetypal characteristics the would capture the imagination regardless of whether a person rides a motorcycle or not.

I want to say it has a universal appeal but it definitely was created with men in mind — a Mad Men styled world where the guy always gets the girl during or at the end of almost every adventure.  Can't remember ever having a conversation with a woman who pointed to Then Came Bronson as an important cultural event in their lives.

Listening to Bronson's brief exchange with the man in the hat at the intersection and riding off on a motorcycle to see the world was a powerful idea for me at 15.  It remains that way today.  And even though I ride a Vespa I can easily imagine myself on a Sportster.

Wonder what a 2013 version of this would be?  Ewan McGregor and Charley Booman's Long Way adventures have some things in common save for the absolute aloneness that Bronson can conjure.

Maybe it's time for another pilot.  I have some ideas...

Lion and Wildebeests

All Vespa riders experience it, moving through the world, minding your own business when suddenly you realize the Vespa frightens a big segment of the riding world.  Most of the BMW riders, some of the sportbike riders, and almost all the Harley-Davidson riders.

At a fuel stop I realized a large contingent were huddled on the far side of the lot awaiting my departure, like nervous Wildebeests waiting for the lion to leave the waterhole.

It's a sad statement on the riding world...

Learning to Ride, Choosing to Eat — The Unionville Cafe

My youngest daughter recently acquired her motorcycle license and the rights and privileges attendant to it — like having to invest in the global petrochemical cartel. Her Yamaha Vino sips fuel but the tank eventually wants more.

On the bright side, Aleta is experiencing the freedom a scooter can offer.  And the food.

Aleta joined Paul Ruby and I on a Saturday morning ritual — riding and eating.  Part of the lesson is becoming comfortable on the road whether by yourself, with a big motorcycle, or with other riders.  In this case Paul and I were probably the biggest challenge for her.

For a beginning rider one can't ask for more than what's available here.  Light traffic, reasonable road surfaces, and plenty of twists and turns to practice what you learn in and MSF course.

I suspect Aleta will attain character status on Scooter in the Sticks if she continues to ride.  I'll have to think about a name.  Flash doesn't seem quite right.  Neither does Twisty.  I suppose Aleta will suffice for now.

Upon arrival in Unionville, Pennsylvania — a 20 mile jaunt from home; just enough time to feel like you had a ride, eat, and get home to take on a day of chores.  Pretty good deal in my mind.

Paul and I have eaten breakfast here a few times but it was the first for Aleta.  Once she gets the hang of things I expect she'll be choosing the routes and eateries.  There are a lot of vegetarian cookbooks in her house.

Fearful about the future of my bacon and eggs lifestyle...

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.