Late Summer Musings

A single yellow leaf hit the windshield on the bike this afternoon as I made my way through Harding on a leisurely ride toward Tunkhannock.  Although the first of September was the beginning of what the weathermen call “meteorological autumn” I think it was that leaf going splat and then sliding off the side of the shield in the slipstream that finally got me to admit that summer’s just about near its end.  

Well, that and that I almost returned to the house when I was about a mile out to change into long pants and to slip on a light jacket.  I did come back to switch out my glasses which were annoying me, but at that point something inside me refused to give in to the nagging sense that I was going to be cold by the end of the ride.  I’m glad that I ignored that concern because what I’d feared was going to be a chilly adventure turned out to be merely cool in just my tee shirt and shorts.  I believe today’s the first time that I ever made a distinction between cool and chilly, the difference being that cool isn’t really uncomfortable while chilly definitely is. 

I decided somewhere between leaving the house and heading north that I’d ride toward Tunkhannock along Route 92 which would take me through Harding along the western side of the Susquehanna River.  It was a gorgeous day for such an undertaking with the sun shining brightly for me to have to reach for the clip on sunglasses and the air, as already mentioned, being a wonderfully perfect degree of cool. 

As is the case with much of the scenery here in “da valley,” Rte. 92 is dotted with reminders of King Coal that once fed the bellies of many of the valley’s families whose daddies worked in the mines.  This building is beside the concrete remains of a railroad overpass, perhaps having been some sort of station where train crews might have swapped out their duties.   

And this tunnel leads through the remains of the trestle that connected the tracks that ran over the road decades ago.  Were there somewhere to park the scooter other than on the rubble and gravel that kisses the road there, and if I were able to walk better than I do these days, I might venture through to see what’s on the other side.  

Because I need to take a diuretic for my cardiac problems this Rent-A-John was a very welcome sight out there in the virtual middle of nowhere.  Although there are a few businesses along the run of Rte. 92, they’re garages and other sorts of places that aren’t open on Sundays.  A big thanks to Frontier Communications on whose property it’s set.  

The eastern wall of the valley can be seen in the distance with the river just behind the trees on the other side of the road from me.  The scooter has given me such a different perspective on so many things, one of them being how life here in the valley is sort of “boxed in” by those opposing mountainous walls.  Most of my rides are simply up and down the length of the valley, though on different roads and byways.  Although I’ve gone west a few times I’ve not much ridden out east.  I’ll have to think about that!  

This remains one of my favorite waypoints on 92, where this tree appears as though it might have grown apart as it has to let the wires run through it.  That, and that the house at its base is one of those places that seems like it would be so cozy inside.  I’m not sure why some places just give me that feeling like they’d be a happy home to anybody, but this one does and I never ride past it without a wistful smile on my face.  

Likewise, old school buildings and the like draw me to them.  Although I remember my elementary school days with the nuns as not having been particularly pleasant, somehow I think in reality they must have been a lot better than I remember them as having been.  So odd that I returned to that same building as a teacher only eleven years after getting out of it, and staying there as a teacher for 24 years till it was closed.  But, I digress.  This building had that rustic school appeal to it so I had to give pause for a bit just to check it out.  

Along a right turn from 92 that I’d never noticed before I discovered a neat little neighborhood that almost seems cut off from the rest of the hustle and bustle of nearby things.  With a neighborhood deli, a post office, and a church, I could imagine being happily snuggled in any of a number of the inviting looking homes there through a wintry cold spell or snowstorm.  The river looks a lot nicer here than it does as it runs through Wilkes-Barre where it always looks brown and dirty.  

Although being out on any sort of boat for this non-swimmer is a very rare thing, there’s something about it that never fails to look appealing.  I’d imagine being in a light craft like one of these would be somewhat like riding the scooter with plenty of time for introspection and taking in things about the world that one often just doesn’t otherwise.  

I see the river a lot in my scootering because of my tending to ride north and south within the confines of the valley walls and somehow in spite of my not being a water person it calls to me in some primordial way.  I never tire of stopping just to watch it run its course and it invariably causes me to feel something ineffable that’s good.  

When I cross the river in Falls, Route 92 continues north to Tunkhannock, but there’s more of a “wildness” about it.  The twisties are plentiful and to anybody on two wheels the ride is a lot more fun from the sheer fun of riding perspective.  No more looking at homes in rustic settings and thinking about how hospitable they might be inside; just the sheer joy of leaning into the turns and feeling that likeness to being at an amusement park that makes two wheeled motoring exhilarating.

The roads closest to the Susquehanna, on both the eastern and western sides, often have the wall of a mountain on one side of the road with a set of railroad tracks between the road itself and the river.  The tracks around here closest to the river don’t see a lot of use these days, but some of the local short lines still run a few cars here and there, now and then on them.  I was surprised today when just on the other side of the trees you can see to my left a small freight train went blazing through.  I don’t typically get to see trains there as I do out my own back window every day when the trees aren’t full with their summer coats.  

This roadside stand in Tunkhannock, now on Route 6, was another reminder that fall is just around the corner.  Facebook is full of posts from former female students of mine who are all excited about pumpkin spice flavored everything, hoodies, hay rides and such, and while I love the fall and all of that myself, I don’t like that it’s the doorway to winter, and after the very mild winter we had last year, I’m fearing that this year’s might be brutal.  

I hadn’t thought about meal times at all when I headed out, but halfway between the bridge and Tunkhannock itself I started feeling ravenous.  A quick stop at the Burger King coming out of Tunkhannock along Route 29, and then a quick jaunt a mile or so back to the tracks and river where there’s a pleasant little park, and I enjoyed a quiet and most pleasant lunch alongside the river.  As I was heading back to the scooter a couple in an SUV stopped to ask me some scooter questions which I’m always happy to answer.  I wonder if anybody who’s ever stopped to talk to me about the bike went out and got one as a result of my singing the praises of scootering? 

I’m so easy to entertain!  Something as simple as a place named “Whistle Pig” gives me a grin that’s probably much wider than is warranted.  I can’t help it, though.  When I’m on the scooter I’m just in the kind of mood that makes such things so easy to appreciate.  There’s a kind of joy in riding that I’ll never be able to express.  William Byrd who put his pen to paper in a lifetime spanning the later 15th and earlier 16th centuries wrote a piece that was set to music and performed by the chorus in college of which I was a part.  It ends with, “Since Singing [sic] is so good a thing, I wish all men would learn to sing.”  That’s how I feel about scootering!   

A selfie at my last stop along the way home at the “Twin Stacks” in Dallas, has me looking more like a biker than a scooterist.  Well until anybody might stop and see the cute cartoon squirrel on my shirt.  

I have to say that I don’t really know why sometimes months go by between my writings here.  I’m always riding when the weather is conducive to enjoying it, but my want, desire, need, impetus to write just isn’t there at times.  I used to joke with my kids in school who’d try to argue “writer’s block” when they couldn’t get started on an assignment and ask them rhetorically, “What if your house was flooding and the plumber said he couldn’t help you because he had plumber’s block?” or “What if you were dying and needed emergency surgery to save you, but the surgeon threw up his hands and cried, ‘Surgeon’s block!’?”  But, then again, my writings here aren’t assignments with due dates; they’re just scattered notes about how good life is that I make when I’m so disposed.  Thanks for reading!
 

Farther Than Usual

I hadn't intended to take a long ride this morning when I left the house on the Piaggio.  I was simply taking a forgotten phone to somebody (who'd have felt naked all day without it) and then doing whatever I felt like doing.  What I felt like doing after dropping off the phone was to get something in my belly which was practically doing tricks to convince me to fill it.  Lucky for it I was in a generous mood.

When I got to McDonald's (for the cheapo menu, not the great cuisine) and sat down to munch what I'd gotten (that I'm not going to specify here lest my cardiologist ever venture in to read this) I took one look at the sky and knew that heading back to the house after eating wasn't going to be an option.  The open road was calling and after just a little internal debate I knew where I was heading - Honesdale, PA.

I visit Honesdale often enough when I'm away from the house for a few days and staying elsewhere, but then I approach it from the other direction, east going west.  Today's trip took me from west to east and it was a marvelous ride.  For good portions of it I was able to push the scooter to 80 mph just for the hell of it, staying at the posted 65 most of the time.  In spite of its being nearly 10 years old and approaching 20,000 miles it ran beautifully and without seeming effort.

 

It's always enjoyable to take in new scenery and this trip provided much of it.  Stretches of the trip that weren't on the expressway between Scranton and Carbondale were posted at about 45 mph, and on the scooter 45 is a very nice cruising speed at which to take in the sights and smells along the way.  Though nothing was out of the ordinary, a lot of it was new to me and that alone made it something to savor.

I didn't tarry long in Honesdale, stopping just long enough to top off the tank, hit the men's room, and adjust my boxer briefs that felt like a thong after an hour and a half in the saddle.  I snapped a picture or two and turned myself around for the ride back.  Honesdale is one of those towns that takes two parallel streets, each plenty wide for two lane traffic, and makes one a ONE WAY main drag in one direction and the other a ONE WAY in the opposite direction.  I abhor that and wonder what the hell it is that makes town planners do that instead of just keeping both streets two way.  There's no advantage to it that I can discern.

Simply because of what side of the road it's on, the westbound side of the expressway which I took back from Honesdale lends itself to some wonderful scenery overlooking the valley and drawing the eye to the mountains forming the opposite wall of the valley, miles away.  Because it was a gorgeous clear day with humidity much lower than it was before a cold front came through yesterday with some much needed rain, the eye could see clear to the horizon without the haze that often makes the view across the valley murky a lot in the summer.

 

I paused by a familiar church on the way back.  It's a place I remember well from a very humbling day some years ago on which I failed the "written" (i.e., computerized) portion of the PA motorcycle test because I was too cocksure that I'd studied the book well enough though I knew I hadn't.  My plan was to nail the test and trade in the 50cc Piaggio for the BV250, but after I flunked the test I couldn't swap the smaller bike for the bigger one because to ride the 250 I'd need a valid PA motorcycle learner's permit and I couldn't get that without first passing the test.  (Anyone can ride a 50cc in PA with a regular driver's license.)  I was passing by that same church on the day when I failed the test to take a phone call and remember well the shame with which I admitted to my caller that I didn't pass the test and couldn't get the bigger bike.  Now whenever I pass that particular landmark I often pause for a bit just to remember the taste of humble pie that I gorged on that day, I guess just to keep myself in check lest I get too big for my own britches again.

 

When I checked the odometer after parking under the deck at home I discovered that my trek was 4 miles over the 100 mile mark.  I hadn't taken a ride of this length in quite a while but today was an excellent day to have done so.  The weather was perfect, the traffic light, and my spirit in the proper frame of awareness to have enjoyed every mile of the trip.  All too soon the days of ice and snow will be here and I'll find myself looking out the window and longing to take a ride like the one I got in today.  Hopefully my pictures of today's venture will keep the smile on my face then.

Another Feather in My Helmet

I truly was going to go downstairs to get a turkey feather (from my turkey feather collection, of course) and stick it on my helmet to get a picture that would match the title of this post, but it’s hot, my legs are tired, and I’m almost ready for a nap.  Thus with much less visual fanfare than I’d hoped I present this post in honor of my having ridden the Piaggio 19,000 miles so far.  

I was pulling into my Mom’s driveway when I looked down and noticed that I was only nine miles short of the milestone, and the sky was darkening.  With thunderstorms on the way I cut my visit with Mom a little short so I could get in the nine more miles before the sky would open and drench me.   I rode about four and a half miles away from the neighborhood (Mom only lives two blocks over.) and then turned around and eventually crossed the Susquehanna to get to a relatively flat residential area where I knew I’d be able to pull over exactly as the odometer crawled over to mark the new record.  It was here that I officially marked the achievement.  

 As always, when I cross off another thousand miles, I take a few pictures of where I was at the time so when I’m decrepit enough to ride little more than a rocking chair someday, I’ll be able to remember where I was and when I was there to knock off another thousand miles.  
 

Looking ahead now to 20,000 miles!

 On a sadder note that has nothing but everything to do with my riding a scooter, my beloved Aunt Betty left us two weeks ago.  It was her husband, my Uncle Andy, who I mentioned in my very first post, who first introduced me to scootering when I was still of pre-school age.  He and his brother-in-law had rented a couple of scooters just to ride on around the valley, and he gave me a ride on what I remember as a gorgeous emerald green classic looking model.  We didn’t go far, but it was an awesome ride to me, and for all my life, till I was in my 40s, I hung onto that memory as one of the best of my childhood.  All those years later, it was a huge factor in my deciding that I wanted to get a scooter. 

Uncle Andy died in 2002, and for the past 14 years Aunt Betty longed to be reunited with him.  Yes, she knew what the price of that reunion would be, but still she knew that she wouldn’t really be happy again until she was back in his arms.  When my dad, her brother, died in 2012, she wanted to be with him too.  As she was dying all I could think of was how happy she’d be.  I was sad.  I cried when I realized that I’d not see her again in this lifetime.  Moreover, though, I rejoiced in the unshakable faith that she’s exactly where she wants to be. 

Two weeks before she was taken to the hospital from the nursing home where she’d lived for the past year after breaking a leg and never really recovering her ability to walk alone, we took her to her home for one last visit before putting it on the market.  She, my sister and mom, and my cousins shared a last meal with her there, and afterward I posed for this picture with her, the last in which we’d be together.  

Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon her.  May her soul, and all the souls of the faithful departed, rest in peace.  Amen.

And just like that I got home from my next ride and there on the grass was lying a blue feather.  Into my helmet it went for the picture I'd intended at the beginning of this post!