The Ultimate Temptation of “Ride To Work Day”

“Ride To Work Day” loses something in translation for those of us who labor at home. The commute from the bedroom to my office isn’t much, even if I go via the kitchen. Quite frankly, the prospect of suiting up and running the bike around in a one-man display of solidarity on Monday (June 15), seemed somewhat pointless, even risky in one regard. Risky in the sense that it would be the greatest temptation to point my K75 in the direction of the open road, or one that promised the scent of open water, or even the open shirt of a tanned woman astride her own bike -- and ride as far and as fast from work as I could make the machine go.

I would definitely suit up for the “Ride To Escape Pointless Corporate Bullshit Day.” But that would be every day for many of us. So I didn’t join the morning commute as a moving target for the thousands of blank-eyed zombies headed for the office yesterday. What I did do was wait until later that evening, when the cursed hoards were already home, to take the bike out and cruise the local roads in a tight 5-mile radius of the house. Though this house has a West Chester address, we actually live in East Goshen, Pennsylvania, where it blends in with Paoli and Malvern.

This is a typical Pennsylvania stone house that commonly dates back to the mid-1700's. 

The windows and doors will have been replaced and the plumbing brought inside. 

This is a private residence.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

These are communities where each adolescent girl has a horse, and where families with several girls have several horses. This used to bug me a bit, considering my Suburban and my motorcycle are both 14-years-old. But I have grown more comfortable living within these equine demographics, as I suspect a number of these families are now eating the horses they used to ride. And when the horses are gone, they may begin eating the children too. (I came around a corner and found a young woman astride a thoroughbred that cost more than my college education. She was as hot as a bucket of fresh rivets, wearing jodhpurs and a tailored blazer. And as God is my witness, the horse was just ambling along while the rider text-messaged someone on her cell phone. What is it with this compulsion to type out ten word sentences every 30 seconds?)

Flanked by horse paddocks on both sides, this packed and pocked gravel road 

has the unlikely name of "Warren Avenue." Two minutes before I took this picture, 

I yelled at a fawn the size of a labroador retreiver, standing in the center of the road.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

Not a mile from Leslie’s house, where I live as the premier paramour parasite, it’s obvious the roads are little more than paved-over farm lanes. The old agricultural concerns are long gone, but I must still ride past a dairy farm and cornfields on my way to the liquor store or post office. It will not be long before these too are converted into ugly strip malls, executive offices, cookie cutter housing, or pasteboard mansions. So on this day, I decided to ride my bike over very familiar ground, and grab whatever pictures took my fancy.

This is typical of the "country road" that I ride on, less than a mile from the house. 

No shoulders, fog lines nor street lights, each mile of these pleasant runs can accommodate

 about 22,000 deer. 

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

Farm roads are the essence of practicality. They are as wide as they need to be, as crooked as they can be, and as pointless as the original deer tracks or Indian trails that preceded them used to be. That means that the best views or most interesting photo angles are where there is no place to pull over without dropping the bike into a swamp or getting hit by a car on a blind curve. The blind curve is not only common on these roads, but also regarded as a the best place to locate a driveway. To prevent accidents, these driveways are marked by piles of loose pea gravel, subject to movement by strong rains -- like the kind we’ve been having on and off for the past 5 days.

The entire county is criss-crossed by split rail fences. These fields are the scene of 

fox hunts and the home of some beautiful horses.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

Many of the the local communities in these parts, like Willistown Township, have very restrictive “no gunning” laws, despite thousands of open and forested acres. This guarantees an endless supply of picturesque deer to eat flowers, carry ticks, or sustain the auto body repair industry through lean years. The deer are most active during the times of the day when motorcycles pass by. At the sound of a passing motorcycle, deer will look up and jump over whatever is in front of them, be it a fence or a barn, to run out in front of the machine and stare down the rider. It’s quite thrilling.

The extent of the fields around here has to be experienced to be believed. I hope the reader 

will enlarge the photograph to get some sense of the depth of the picture. In this shot, 

there are three different fence sizes to compare for perspective.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

Yet in riding around this neighborhood, it’s easy to understand why the embattled farmers decided to stand and fight, as opposed to handing over the family farm to advancing Red Coats or Confederates. There are miles of lush fields and wooded hills, separated by wandering streams, crossed by covered bridges or stone arches dating back to the early 1700’s. Stone houses from the same period, once regarded as quaint or just enduringly practical, are highly sought-after and can cost a king's ransom (in the previous economy). These tend to be placed as close to the road as possible, an important consideration in the 1700s, when plowing snow was not as easy as it is now.

There are times when I feel as if I live in the Hudson River School of Painting. 

(Picture by the author -- Click to enlarge)

Even the ruins of these houses, fallen foundations covered by ivy, are worth a mint in building materials, or as accent elements in new construction. The most precious of these structures are ones which reflect three building styles of consecutive periods. In other words, there are a few houses in which one section is a log cabin, while another is the undressed stone, while a third portion is stone covered with stucco. I know of two which are original, and three built as exquisite copies.

The building on the left is a community museum and was originally the blacksmith's shop. 

The structure across the street is another stone house dating back to the mid-1700's 

and is now a bed and breakfast.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

Equally charming are old barns, raised by the Amish or Quakers, that have been converted into residences. One of the building styles incorporates three or four external stone columns to create what appears to be a loading bay for farm vehicles. Several of these stone farm structures have been converted into galleries and antique shops. One close by is a bank, while another is a bed and breakfast.

Here a little stream meanders under the covered bridge closest to Leslie's house, where I live as a parasite. The preservation of this bridge is nearly perfect as a modern road now crosses a modern culvert next to this structure.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

But the structures most commonly recognized and treasured are the covered bridges, There are three in the immediate area, but only one that could be deemed in this neighborhood. That one is very well preserved, as the traffic no longer runs through it. (The other two are in daily use by cars, but their 9-foot high portals exclude all truck traffic.)

A black, wrought-iron gate protects the bridge's laminated wooden arches from mischief. 

Maybe I'll get a chance to gt better pictures in the future, if I feel like getting off the bike.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

I have been threatening to run a kind of “Key West Diary” type blog for months, but this is not it. Tonight’s blog is more inline with the kind of presentations one would expect from Bobscoot in “Wet Coast Skootin’” or from Steve Williams in “Scooter In The Sticks.” I am under no illusions as to my limitations as a photographer. It is important to note that I took these pictures with a little camera, in the last hour of daylight, without ever getting off the bike.

Afterthought...

There has been a lot of discussion on the best way to deal with flat tires, when they occur on the road far from the comfort and security of the garage. Some folks carry a tire repair kit. I simply carry a spare motorcycle. 

What is the point of fooling around with messy plugs and glue, when all you need to do 

is grab the spare bike off the top case. Here we see "Fireballs" with balls of her own. 

"Micro Balls" is a 49cc "Pocket Rocket" capable of hitting 45 mph.

(Photo by the author -- Click to enlarge)

Originally developed in Key West as transportation in scale with the Conch Republic, these gutsy bikes have been known to tangle with errant roosters and rogue lizards, and to jump  g-strings on Duval Street with reckless abandon. They make great spares.

Mac-Pac member Corey Lyba was kind enough to assist me in mounting the spare bike on my top case, at a recent event in which he and his wife Kimi raised funds on behalf of the moto-marshalling team for a Multiple Schlerosis bicycle event, to be held in Lancaster next month.

©Copyright Jack Riepe 2009
AKA The Lindbergh Baby (Mac-Pac)
AKA Vindak8r (Motorcycle Views)
AKA The Chamberlain -- PS (With A Shrug)