tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19967174724295198892024-09-08T11:41:19.423-04:00Old highways and towns keep me on the back roads.Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.comBlogger72125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-50851283629832541672011-10-18T22:29:00.001-04:002011-10-18T22:31:28.504-04:00

There are days when I feel a little out of place when I'm riding the back roads. But not today.

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-72194472663842460602011-09-22T19:00:00.002-04:002011-09-22T19:00:00.497-04:00

My instrument panel, simple as it is, works together to let me know what the bike wants. But its main function is to remind me of my exact level of incompetence. The bike has a speedometer, a tach, and a strip of lights. The green light indicates neutral. There is no gear indicator. By using the postion of my left foot and revs. relative to speed, I have a fairly good idea where

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-1470307547860439452011-07-10T23:13:00.001-04:002011-07-10T23:20:52.538-04:00

I rode with my friend Steve from Scooter In the Sticks this weekend. We put on a few miles. Steve rides a Vespa most days, but today he had a Triumph Scrambler on loan from Kissel Motor Sports. When I was looking for that first bike four years ago, the Scrambler topped my list. It's simple design embodied what I was looking for in a motorcycle. It still does. But that classic boxer

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-31532539981535589012011-06-19T12:41:00.008-04:002011-07-07T19:53:06.727-04:00

Twenty-five years ago in June, my father gave me what still ranks as one of the best presents ever. When I graduated from high school and set out for Florida in an old Camero, dad thought it would be in his son's best interest to be properly prepared. Unlike many things in my life, the tool box has remained a constant. It kept my car, my friends cars, and numerous bicycles alive. It built flat

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-22723314744994114122010-03-28T00:24:00.016-04:002010-03-28T17:50:19.854-04:00

What else would do you do on a cold day in March?It's the week before Easter and the start of the paddling season kicks off with the Red Mo river race at Grassflat. It's a seven and a half mile run through class II rapids. Rocky and swift it a good time and a great run for beginners. The water however, is very cold. The river and the event have changed over the years. Hurricane Agnes rearranged

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-82293651298384340782009-12-09T21:11:00.005-05:002009-12-09T21:20:59.871-05:00

Studebaker Commando

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-90161310639050905222009-11-29T12:59:00.024-05:002009-11-29T16:42:49.973-05:00

Every year at this time, Dad grabs a few of us and we head down the hill to Fred's and and grab a 100 bales.As we pull in, Fred comes out and lends a hand. In his late 70s, he climbs the rafters quickly and tosses bales with ease. Fred's barn was built in the late 19th century. He feels that there is a nicer one farther down the valley. "It has straighter beams and has held up better over the

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-48452498585551890832009-11-15T20:21:00.025-05:002009-11-15T22:04:18.979-05:00

There are some things time just can't fix.If you head north of Snow Shoe, above Moshannon, you come to the little town of Grassflat. This is where my dad and I would put in for a run down the Red Mo. And where he taught me how to run fast water.In the spring the water is high and there are deep pools separated wide lazy flats. In the summer it's barely navigable, but a heavy rain makes it

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-48897074503890434562009-11-08T22:36:00.011-05:002009-11-08T22:57:29.095-05:00

Winter is closing fast.The leaves are off the trees and from the looks of it, they have taken up residence in my back yard. A fact that I choose to ignore along with the rest of my home maintenance. A near 70-degree day found me out on the road for what could be the last good ride of the fall.I've been hitting the same roads lately. The back way to my father's house remains one of my favorites.

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-77517425768337464352009-10-27T20:45:00.007-04:002009-10-27T22:06:32.818-04:00

I can't help but wonder if this is Jack.

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-43837771060359257602009-10-25T21:50:00.008-04:002009-11-01T23:23:09.912-05:00

There many constants in the world. With an old bike, it's the mystery sound. The odd rattle. The annoying tick. I suspect some of them never go away. But, I have found that most can be solved with a wrench, a bottle of lager, and a little help from FedEx.After dealing with the electrical issues that plagued me this summer, I pulled the head covers to go after a pinging sound in the forward left

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-77732211192001121912009-09-30T21:25:00.006-04:002009-09-30T21:34:54.433-04:00

Basement bars have always had a special place in my heart. Perhaps that's why I never really found my home in Seattle. Their bars weren't dirty enough.Sure, Linda’s had a great jukebox, and I'm fairly certain that the floors of the Comet went unswept for the nine years I lived there, but they were surface level and lacked the character and wisdom that can only be found at the bottom of a flight

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-15142602071411059002009-08-09T22:19:00.016-04:002009-08-09T23:16:20.167-04:00

It still won't start.The bike has been sitting most of the summer, and in attempt to get to the bottom of this little mystery, I pulled the front plate.There are disadvantages to having an electrical system designed to withstand a nuclear blast. Humidity and an old rubber seal can wreak havoc on even the best Cold War engineering.

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-82339528751890359812009-07-28T21:48:00.016-04:002009-07-29T09:32:01.860-04:00

On foot, and off the black top.The bike is still down. It is something that will press the limits of my patience. So I've bailed on the idea of getting any riding done in the immediate future and have taken to the back country—on foot.Somewhere off the Ridge Road, a mile or so deep in hemlock, is a little trail my father showed me. It follows a small run that drops into the west branch of the

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-22763373566266407572009-06-28T01:07:00.010-04:002009-06-28T01:59:46.418-04:00

I really need to get that new battery.We've been soaked with rain this spring (one of the many reasons for me not being on the road), and my friend Todd asked me to check in on the family cabin at Pine Creek. He lives in Florida. I live an hour and a half from from the cabin. Scouting report? No problem. I love it when a reason to ride falls into your lap.I rolled the bike out of the garage. It

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-91037861165551543342009-04-25T20:19:00.008-04:002009-06-05T22:33:35.846-04:00

I had forgotten how much fun you can have with a wrench.My father is a practical gift giver. As a kid I had received countless pocketknives for Christmases and birthdays. Fishing rods, sleeping bags, and all things outdoors would appear wrapped in the Sunday comics. At 13 I became the proud owner of a Ruger 10/22, skipping the BB gun and proceeding directly to rapid-fire plinking.But the best

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-62943456786083686242009-04-08T20:25:00.008-04:002009-04-08T22:30:39.903-04:00

We had a snow squall yesterday. Forty degrees and relentless wind.I put the bike on the charger over the weekend. It started on the first try. A little backfire. Some white smoke. Then the familiar click that reminds me that I am an airhead.There are things that need to be done. Oil change. Clutch cable. Break adjustment. Lube the spline.I love my bike. I miss the road.

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-42670823647394618372009-04-01T00:25:00.002-04:002009-04-01T00:27:32.515-04:00

I know that many of you arrive here via Steve Williams' Scooter in the Sticks. But for those of you who don't, stop by Steve's site. Our friend John is starting on an interesting little ride—his first one after losing a leg to complications from a motorcycle accident in the fall of 2007. Steve has a nice post about John's decision and photos of the new ride.Good luck John. If I get my act

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-73759924486367518382009-03-16T20:00:00.008-04:002009-03-16T20:14:06.132-04:00

No matter how good the riding weather, never turn a blind eye to yard work. Otherwise… things happen.Reported missing three years ago, could this be the estranged wife of Ken and beloved friend of Skipper? After her disappearance from her Malibu Penthouse in 2005, investigators were left with few clues and a toy industry that quickly closed ranks."The entire thing didn't feel right from the

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-85571912751948913852009-01-23T21:54:00.009-05:002009-01-27T10:05:17.985-05:00

There is something about a smoky bar.Found in old row buildings crammed tightly together, they share common walls with laundry mats and drug stores. In the old days, they rented rooms to the rail workers and day laborers by the month, day, or hour. Men’s hotels.In the sticks, they live out on the crossroads in the middle of gravel parking lots miles from nowhere. Servicing loggers and drag line

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-86780841058104192292008-12-26T19:55:00.022-05:002008-12-27T06:54:41.500-05:00

The one I fell in love with—a 1976 Ford F150 Super Cab.This is the one. The one I learned to drive. The one whose tailgate I caved in. The one whose starter failed countless times in parking lots, but never on the back roads. It hauled firewood, mulch, canoes, and countless apartments full of junk. This is the truck that my father owned, but I loved.It had a four-speed transmission, power

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-83584954351336844422008-12-13T18:41:00.007-05:002008-12-13T18:52:57.429-05:00

This is the closest thing I’ll get to the peace of riding until the spring thaw.Today is the last day of deer season in Pennsylvania and the back roads near my father’s house are filled with hunters. Pick-up trucks and men in safety orange prowl the gravel lanes and fire roads that push deep into the backsides of local the townships and state game lands. These are the roads that I like to find on

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-56479987118148668462008-12-10T21:30:00.005-05:002008-12-10T21:59:25.783-05:00

Traveling through small towns, I find the remnants of old buildings. Some the victims of neglect, arson, or worse—gentrification. They remind me of the faded wall signs advertising local hardware stores. At one point relevant, but now re purposed and forgotten. Replaced by box stores and townhouse living.

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-69871258389858940112008-11-01T16:51:00.012-04:002008-11-11T13:32:33.455-05:00

Another Saturday at Dad's.The good riding days are slipping away and I've decided at this point to pack it in. I have put the bike up and am tending to my much neglected yard and lending the occasional hand at Dad's. Today we cut wood and ran down to Fred's for a few loads of hay.In Central Pa. I don't have to go far for a country road. Every trip to the mountain where my father lives puts me in

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1996717472429519889.post-74194544904398100812008-10-26T13:51:00.004-04:002008-10-26T14:12:12.787-04:00

My favorite stretch of road. The colors aren't as intense this year. Clinton County had light rainfall in August and September, but the view from the ridge road was still as beautiful as ever.I work for Penn State's College of Ag Sciences, and I am constantly amazed by the breadth of topics that are covered in our education and research. Marc Abrams in Forest ecology, and Cooperative

Jonathanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05337887373853281676noreply@blogger.com1