Fred's Barn

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 years." He keeps count as we toss bales to the trailer below.


When I ride, I pass old farmsteads and hay barns like Fred's. Most are more than a century old. Built by hand, the their beams are worn smooth from decades of use.

As a child these barns hosted endless games of hide-and-go-seek, supplied a refuge from the prying eyes of parents, and offered the occasional stolen kiss. The air in the barn is sweet and smells like late August. And as I climb the ladder to the hayloft, the worries of my week pass. I am a kid again.

Long Shadows

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. Winding with rolling hills, it's perfect for a lazy ride in the afternoon sun.

On the Ridge

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 Extension's water resource specialist Bryan Swistock sum it up nicely in terms even a marketing director can understand. Now if they could only tell me how to get that tapping sound out of my valves, my day would be perfect.

Don’t Pick Up the Phone

Living within twenty miles of your father means you can never sleep late again.

October has arrived and with it the last of the warm days. The days that remind me why I bought the bike in the first place. I should be riding. Instead I’m on the mountain cutting wood with dad. He likes to start early.

A Quick Ride

The weather held on Wednesday afternoon and I was able to slip out early for a quick ride. I don't ride as much as I would like now that the days are shorter. And for a new rider like me, this makes the late afternoon run all the more enjoyable.

I had initially planned on a short trip down a back road to Spring Creek. Usually I would be here with a fly rod. But today I was here for the winding road.

The more I ride the more aware I am of my environment. Everything comes alive. Subtle changes in temperature and visibility that would go unnoticed become relevant. A sudden rise in temperature on cold day can turn a 20 mile ride into 30. By the time I got home I had racked up 40. Not a bad way to start the holiday weekend.

Hoping For One More Ride

The first snow of the fall has hit the ground here in State College. I'm beginning to wonder if my weekends will now have to revolve around things like cleaning the garage and basement.


Looking out of my kitchen window I seen the remnants of a full summer and fall. The grill and the canoe are now covered in snow. The leaves, abandon after last Saturday's day of raking, lay in soaked piles waiting for me to them to the curb.

This is the time of year that seems to separate the enthusiasts from the fanatics in the cycling world. While I'm wondering if I should get the bike ready for winter storage, my friends—those with younger, healthier knees—talk of off-road romps through the muck that these wet snows leave behind. Other riders break out the winter suits and upgrade to the heated gloves. Then there's me. I'm waiting for that five day forecast to come true and get in a Wednesday afternoon ride (60 and sunny) before the family invades for Thanksgiving. If I'm to maintain my sanity with eleven adults and five kids, not only will I need a ride, I'll need to make sure the liquor cabinet is fully stocked.

Knocking Off Early

Usually when I leave early it's because I'm trying to catch up from a long morning.

Tuesday around 11 a.m. I realized that the weather was turning. A miserable morning of wind, rain, and unscheduled meetings was breaking into a warm fall afternoon. I emailed my friend Pascal (he just bought a new Triumph) and we agreed to meet up for a quick ride. Over lunch, I ran into Matt (he's has a Honda 250 that he picked up from a MSP course) and that made three. Beating the afternoon commute, we were out of town on the back roads by 4. We managed 25 miles and were home before dark.

Riding back against the evening commute I realized how lucky I am to be able to slip away every now and then. Passing car after car as they head home I began to think about how great it would be to do this every day. To ride to work. I would have to exchange a 20 minute walk across campus for fifteen minutes of congested local traffic. I would be in line with them—eating their exhaust and waiting my turn at the traffic light. But the chance to ride on a moments notice if the weather shifts … very tempting.

My friend Steve lives out of town. He rides most days and has wonderful morning commutes with detours down back roads and country lanes. I'm pretty sure it adds a little time to the trip, but I doubt he minds. For him, every day has the possibility of a good ride, even when it's cold and miserable. You can catch his thoughts and his photographs at Scooter In the Sticks.

If I lived out, I'd be tempted do the same. Even get up earlier to log a few extra miles before work. But for now, I'll have to settle for knocking off early.

Doing Things Other Than Riding

My father lives in a cabin about a mile down a township off of route 144. I met up with him at the Sunset West (a little diner on the edge of Pleasant Gap) for a Saturday breakfast with a few of the guys that come up from Philly to hunt deer on his property. They drive up every year at this time to help cut wood for the winter, get the last of the hay into the barn, and shut down the nursery. In return, he lets them hunt for a few days in late November.


Fall with dad has a way of making me feel as though I never left Central Pa. It could be the smell of the greenhouses or the saw dust and exhaust from a two stroke engine. Maybe it's the cheap lager that he keeps in the bunk room refrigerator, I don't know, but it adds to the magic of autumn.

This is my favorite time of year and I'm ashamed to say that I haven't ventured out on the bike in nearly three weeks. Days like last Saturday were perfect, and we had a string of them here in October. I've missed riding, but is sure has been nice to catch up with my father after a long summer.