Tractors

Tractors. I grew up around tractors. From before I  have memories there are pictures of me and tractors. I suppose we all have those photos parents love to show from our childhood, often embarrassing photos, but not always. Such a photo shows me in my little red wagon hitched to the back of my Grandpa's Farmall CultiVision A. Apparently, I would ride for hours behind him as he cultivated. I don't remember. But some of my earliest and fondest memories are of sitting between Grandpa's legs and steering the tractor, and then later, of sitting on the fender just riding back and forth from headland to headland, just keeping him company. It was around the age of ten when I began driving tractor in the field for myself.

Tractors. The tractors I grew up with didn't have air conditioned cabs and it was mostly before the advent of herbicides. We spent a lot time on those tractors--plowing, fitting, planting, and cultivating. There was lots of back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, etc. all day long and sometimes into the night.

We ran Internationals, but this would be near the vintage of some of the tractors I drove. My uncle had Allis-Chalmers tractors. Notice the lack of protection from the elements. I took this photo when we were in Iowa last Fall on the way back from visiting Chris.

Another photo from that trip. It always surprises me at how big all the farm equipment is now. Notice the big blue tractor with its climate controlled cab.

Tractors. It has become clear to me the moments I enjoy most riding are connected to these experiences of riding on and driving tractor. My favorite rides have been on roads surrounded by crops.  My second favorite rides are puttering through neighborhoods hunting the occasional lawn art, pink flamingo, or turkey.

I discovered this red giraffe on evening as I was taking a long way home.

I think it's sweet how this homeowner has some of the flamingos positioned to look like they are nesting.

Now, this is one proud bird.

Tractors. The twisties are just another road to me. I ride them when I'm on a ride with others. Others seem to like the twisties a lot. Me? I ride the twisties because I need to to get somewhere else.

On State Rte. 94 coming back from Marthasville.

Tractors. I, also, love the being out in the elements. I enjoy the challenge of staying warm in the winter and surviving the heat in the summer. For me, dealing with the weather is a big part of the adventure of riding.

Until I made the connection between my riding and my experience of being raised with tractors I'd wondered how so many others could talk of flying like birds. My riding seemed more plodding, equestrian, and utilitarian. Now I have a clue. There was a peacefulness, an attentiveness, and a connectedness I felt once upon a time in those fields of my growing up. I was deeply longing to taste this experience again and didn't even know it. I'm grateful to have it back.

This Is Getting To Be An Old Story

I needed to get gas for my commute tomorrow. I really didn't plan to even go for a ride.  There was a chance of 100F/38C temperatures. I knew I didn't really want to inline skate in the heat. Heather was busy and I was on my own for the afternoon. I figured I would decide how to spend my afternoon after I filled up Billie. Truthfully, nothing sounded all that much fun nor was there any chores I had to really get done. Besides, it really wasn't that hot riding. Actually, it was rather comfortable. It just started to seem to be a good idea rather than go straight home to point Billie in the general direction of South.

Why South? It seems lately I've been going mostly West and North. Other than going South, the closest thing to a goal I had was to take Morganford/Union to its end, which believe me, is a rather modest undertaking. But, then I wondered what the corn looked like. I know we need rain. I wondered how bad it was. I wanted to see it with my own eyes.

The corn looks quite stressed. We are very dry here.

Well, one thing led to another and before long I found myself headed for the Covered Bridge that sets in a park at the end of Old Lemay Ferry Road. 

The bridge is closed to traffic, but I know a number of people who have posed their rides in front of the bridge, and some even on the other side.

I'm afraid I am terribly rule bound. This was as close as Billie got to the bridge.

When all was said and done, my little ride turned into a three hours plus and 77mi/124km jaunt in the country. By the way the temperature didn't reach 100F, but did make it up to 98F/37C.

My Daily Ride

Martha has a wonderful blog. It is called Living Among Tourists. I highly recommend it. Recently, she made a challenge.  She challenged us to photograph our usual ride, "the one that most illustrates the path most taken-the drudge, the glory, whatever it is that you see all the time on your way to work or play."

It seems apparent from reading and looking at the postings of others who have taken up the challenge, I originally misread the assignment. I thought she was asking for one picture that somehow summed up my daily commute. After all, in her post proposing the challenge she only had one photo.

As I had first read the challenge, it proposed a daunting task. How could one view sum up my daily commute? There is so much. Could I really refine my daily ride down to its essence? I decided to try.

There are the tree lined residential streets I ride down.

There are the shells of homes once glorious.

There are the marvelous planned green spaces, and...

There are the not planned green spaces I've heard called "urban prairie", where housing stock has been torn down leaving a forlorn emptiness.

I ride by strip malls and empty storefronts.

I even spend some time on a remnant of the "Mother Road", Route 66.

But, if I had to choose one photo to sum up my commute it would be of a group of trees I ride by in Tower Grove Park.

These trees are twisted and bent. They have been broken, but still stand. Their beauty isn't in their perfection, but in their simply being there.

By the way, my most direct route contains twenty-four stop signs and twenty-three stoplights, but seldom do I take the most direct route. Most days there are more. My chosen route is not a hurry up and get there sort of affair.

Nearly everyday I notice something I've not seen before. Each and every day I ride I am grateful to be able to simply be there...here and now.

The List

Some things are difficult to categorize. I think motorcycle/scooter riders are such a phenomena. Every rider is their own definition of what type of rider they are. That said, there does seem to be some common ingredients found in the pot whenever a rider stews about what type of rider he or she is; or the type of rider someone else is.

My friend Maggie took this photo on our ride this past Saturday.  Yes, that is  me and Billie.

I'm proposing a list of these ingredients. It isn't meant to be an exhaustive list and I'd be interested in hearing any additions or refinements you might make. While I came up with this list on my own, I'm not claiming any uniqueness about it. Truthfully, I wouldn't be surprised if others have said much the same things, even used the same terms, and probably said it better. I'm offering it simply as glimpse into some of my ponderings and as a conversation starter.

The List:

--There are the Socialites. These riders love group rides and hanging out with other riders and sharing stories. Food often plays a large part in their riding life. I remember a friend telling me a story about his wife and he being invited to a ride with a group they hadn't ridden with before. They started at a dealership and rode a few miles and stopped for breakfast. Then they rode a few more miles and stopped by a another dealership for some coffee. Then it was lunchtime. His wife said to him, "When are we going to go somewhere?" I'm thinking Socialite wouldn't define her very well.

--There are the Adventurers. These are riders who like to go places...places far far away. These are the folks who eat up the miles. The Southern Tip of South America, Alaska, and around the world are all places these riders long to go....and some do.

--There are the Simply Curious. These riders like to look and see. Often they are photographers or artists. They tend to ride alone. With the Adventurers, they share a certain curiosity and a desire to experience the ride. They will often go out in all types of weather to explore the world around them.

--There are the Tinkerers. These riders are always doing something to their bikes. I have one friend who spends more time with his bike in pieces than he does riding. He always has some project going on.

--There are the Adrenalin Seekers. These are the riders who love speed, racing and stunting. Perhaps even some off-road riders fit here as well. I know these folk. I see them on the road. Still, I'm sort of guessing here. Of all the ingredients on the list this one is most lacking in my pot.

--There are the "Got to get to work" riders. I see these riders often on small scooters in all kinds of weather, because it is either ride or ride the bus. I'm always surprised at the number of sportbikes, especially Kawasaki Ninjettes, I see out in inclement weather and I've suspected necessity 

Seven scooters. One parking place. No problem.

I doubt few riders fit perfectly into any one of the categories. Perhaps the list is more a list of symptoms representing a continuum of the riding experience. Or, it could be all this is just my own foolishness.

What say you? What type of rider are you? What terms would you use to describe yourself? Would you add a category to my list, or take one away? Do you have your own list?

Stillness

I tend to get pensive on foggy days.

 Today it was foggy...and it was chilly.

Some at the bagel shop seemed surprised I rode today. Some asked, "Why?" I just shrugged my shoulders. I seldom try to explain why I ride to those who ask. Experience has taught me most really don't want to know my reasons. They have already made up their mind about the merits of riding and about my sanity or lack of it.


Today it occurred to me I ride to seek stillness. My soul yearns for stillness. Some may find my speaking of riding to seek stillness odd given I wear ear plugs to protect my ears while riding, but it is true. This stillness of which I speak isn't a lack of sound nor an absence of movement. No, it is a waiting...a waiting on life as it opens up. It is also a place...a place of willing response to what simply presents itself

Nearly all the major lifeways that humanity has discovered have some sort of chanting and/or repetitive prayer as a tool for cultivating this sense of stillness. As I ride, five some horses chant a call and response to Miss Billie's internal combustion. Sometimes my pieces of self, pieces most often scattered about, are gathered up in this steady thumping rhythm and I taste a becoming...I become THE watchful eye...I become THE listening ear. I become full...filled with All that surrounds me.

And, I am still.

At these times a knowing takes hold of me. It grasps me, but slips through the fingers of my brain as I try to grasp it. I'm left with only a taste of what was and could be again. Sometimes this taste of becoming lingers, but most often it is gone as soon as I take note of it.

 And, I'm left longing to ride again another day.

The Hawk

I didn't own a camera before I owned a scooter. I now have two. Both are point and shoot cameras. Actually, they are basically the same camera. The only difference between the two is one is waterproof. It is the newer of the two. When I ride it hangs from a lanyard around my neck. The older one has a case with a loop that I can wear on my belt when I'm not riding. Now I seldom am without a camera.

Riding a scooter has opened up the world around me. I see things I don't remember noticing before. Riding prompted me to get a camera. Now I find the camera, too, opens my eyes.

Heather and I visited Forest Park Saturday. I wasn't riding, but I had my camera on my belt. We walked through the old-growth woods at one end of the park and we spied a hawk up in a tree. I wasn't looking for the hawk, but I was looking. Because I was looking I saw.

After our nature walk we spent a few hours in the Zoo, which is also located in Forest Park. There was much to see there, but the real treasure happened when we were leaving. I caught something out of the corner of my eye. I stopped. I saw a hawk, perhaps the same hawk we'd seen earlier.

The hawk had it's prey. Its prey was struggling. Would it get away?

I watched and waited and took another photo.

And, I took another.

I've become a hunter much as the hawk. I collect images, some I capture in pixels, but most are but memories. Is it the hunt I enjoy or the freedom I feel as I ride? I don't know, but I sense I have a clue to what joy it must be to fly like the hawk, to respond to air currents and ride where they take me.

Ah, but there is a "but".

Last weekend we traveled to Kansas on I-70. We don't travel this road much. When we do travel on I-70 it is usually East rather than West. And, I-44 sees even more of our time. I-70 from St. Louis to Kansas City is different from the other Interstates we travel in at least one regard. The median is quite narrow. The median on I-70 to Indianapolis is much wider, as is the one on I-44. We noticed something as we drove West. We had never seen as many dead hawks on the road. Truthfully, we had hardly ever seen a dead hawk on the road. Heather was driving when I saw something unfold that I think may be the answer. A hawk went to fly from the median and barely escaped being hit by an oncoming truck. I suspect the nice mowed median makes for a great hunting area as it does on the other Interstates I mentioned, but the narrowness of this particular section means greater danger for these big birds as they attempt to fly off.

There is danger in riding. Riding calls for vigilance. A momentary lapse of attention at the wrong time and like the hawks on I-70 we can cease being the proud predator and fall prey to disaster.

There is something very natural about this, I suppose. Human's spend much time being the hunter and forget they too can be the hunted. I've come to wonder if knowing this is a vital part of our being--part of our feeling really alive. I hope to be wondering about this for many more miles.

Wisconsin

We left the Twin Cities committed to meandering, to stopping to take photos whenever we wanted, and to taking our time. Chris had suggested we take Rte.35 along the Wisconsin side of the Mississippi river. 

It was a great suggestion.

We began stopping at each of the roadside historical markers located along Rte.35. It seemed like a good idea at first, but there were so many. We eventually stopped stopping.

Here's the bow and arrow.

Both Heather and I tend to get in the car and head for a destination. That's not how it is when I ride the Symba. Heather has heard me speak of this different quality of experience. I think we were trying on doing the drive home differently, trying to bring to it some of the wandering childlike wonder I experience when riding my Symba.

We really did turn around and try for that photo that would have just gone by too fast to catch (even if the photo didn't quite work). 

We enjoyed spending some more time on the shores of Lake Pepin. This time on the Wisconsin side.

But the treasure of the day was Fountain City.

The place that drew us was just a boat launch.  But this day there seemed to be a magic about it. This day it was Brigadoon. I suspect we will never be able to go back again. The little islands will still be there. The dock will still be there. Still it will never be the same as it was for us on this singular overcast Autumn day.

After we left Fountain City we didn't stop until we stopped for the night. It was well after dark.

And, we were back in Iowa.

Minnesota

On the second day of our trip we became tourists. We did some sightseeing. On the recommendation of Mr. Everyday, Chris Luhman,  the author of Everyday Riding and Everyday Tastiness we stopped at Lake City, Minnesota.

Lake City is on Pepin Lake. The town was pretty deserted the day we were there.

But, from looking at the boats that were being prepared for winter I imagine it is a pretty busy place in the warmer months. I was grateful to be here on a day when it was just pretty.

I'd never seen them shrink wrap boats for storage over the winter. I didn't even know they did such things now. I remember canvas and tarps tied around the boats in dry dock along the Great Lakes. I was fastinated watching the fellow using the blow touch to tighten the plastic.

 When we filled up the Yaris with Gasoline we asked about a good place to eat. A place called Bronk's was suggested.

After driving the road from Lake City into the Twin Cities I suspected in the summer there would be a whole lot of Harley-Davidsons and other cruisers parked around this place. Later Chris confirmed my guess.


My favorite thing about the place was the sign on the men's room.

When we had finished eating we spent some time walking by the lake.

This flock of ducks was quite entertaining. They'd be swimming near the breakwater and . . .

Anytime someone walked by they would take themselves out into the water. They would then float back until someone came walking by again at which time they'd repeat the process. We saw this happen a few times.

I admit I love being by the water. On water is okay. In the water I don't enjoy so much. But, next to the water is very dear to me. One of the things I miss living in St. Louis is the Great Lakes. There is something that feeds my deepest self about being next to such large bodies of water. I'm impressed with the power of the great rivers I live near, but they just aren't the same.

Eventually we pulled ourselves away. We headed up the Minnesota side of the Mississippi River to the Twin Cities. As we went one could still see the signs of agriculture . . .

This field once was filled with Soybeans, but they have been harvested. I had to include a soybean field for Brady.

but we were definitely back among the bluffs along the Great River.

Iowa

It was beginning to seem we were bewitched. Three times we tried to leave St. Louis. A trip in June to Virginia to visit my daughter had to be scuttled. A trip in July to visit my Dad and Sister in Michigan had to be canceled.  At the end of August plans to visit a friend I'd never met in Minnesota fell a part the very morning we were scheduled to leave. It was tempting to just surrender and stay put until another year, but we decided to make one last try. It worked! Finally we were able to break free and we headed north.

Day one of our trip took us through Iowa. For me Iowa, at least the part of Iowa we drove through, was all about the process of looking, rather than about sight seeing  I'm getting much better at looking since I began to ride scooters. No radio or CD going as we drove north. There is nothing wrong with either, but for me they nurture a passivity in my watching. Iowa calls for active looking. The route we chose wasn't a route for sight seeing but for looking, for catching glimpses of the life going on as we passed by. Sight seeing is about going somewhere to see something special. On the road we took there wasn't anything special to see, but there was plenty to look at if one was open to the land. It would have been easy to see nothing but corn, to endure Iowa as we made our progress to Minnesota and our real adventure.

Corn.

And, more corn.

But then a curiosity. Was it really necessary to warn about smoking? Or, was there some wry humor at play here.

Heather says Iowa is all about Corn.

For me it was about clouds . . .

And moving houses . . .

And, yes, about corn . . .

Even if this water tower was in Minnesota.