Jo Hays Vista
It’s rare that my first riding mistake comes before I leave the driveway. And humbling to realize after years on two-wheels I’m still capable of making decisions that come back to haunt me. I had just pushed the motorcycle out of the garage, pulled it onto the center stand, and rushed around to make sure the doors were locked and the dogs were content before my departure. With the BMW K75 idling in the driveway I felt hot in my First Gear Kilimanjaro riding jacket despite the thermometer indicating 63F.
The weather forecast indicated it would rise quickly to 70F. And there was no rain in the forecast so I didn’t need the heavier jacket or a rainsuit. Substituting my summer mesh jacket I made my first mistake — I was not prepared for any change or variation in the forecast.
The entire day would be one of mistakes and lessons on riding.
Just nine miles later atop Jo Hays Vista my error was apparent. A t-shirt under a mesh jacket and a bit of mist in the air felt cold. Unlike Paul’s BMW K1300 with full faring, heated grips and seat, and his leather jacket to ward off the moisture and cold, I just hoped for the promised increase in temperature and some of the fabled heat from the K75 fuel tank.
Above the Clouds
Photographically, fog, mist and rain make for equisite pictures. But unprepared for the elements focuses attention away from the landscape and on to the physical discomfort of being wet and cold. Add to that the psychological beating I was inflicting on how stupid I was to not wear the other jacket as planned. And with no rainsuit either I was condemned to some riding misery robbing a full appreciation of ethereal passing landscapes.
During the 25 miles of riding from Jo Hays Vista until this stop above the clouds it had rained a bit, gotten foggy, and the temperature dropped noticeably. My second error — not considering the effect of elevation on temperature.
The high energy lines overhead crackled with electricity. Everything was so wet that I was sure a charge would leap down and kill me. Or if I was lucky, warm me up a bit. As anyone who follows Scooter in the Sticks regularly knows — I don’t like being cold. You also know I plan carefully to stay warm.
But here I was wet and near shivering.
At least I was suffering in a mythic landscape.
Sheltering from the Cold
Down the mountain and in to Huntington, Pennsylvania we stop at the Standing Stone Coffee Company for breakfast. A chance to warm up. There’s little as invigorating as a hot mug in cold hands. And hot tea rekindles the dying furnace inside me that suffered from bad choices. Gratefully, the cafe did not have their air conditioning blasting the place toward meat locker temperatures.
By the time I finish the tea and breakfast I felt normal. Almost dry and ready to resume our adventure. Paul and I briefly discuss routes and destination and decide to head east over the Appalachian Mountains and then south to Antietam National Battlefield in Maryland. It’s in these moments I make more mistakes:
Didn’t check the weather forecast for Antietam.
Didn’t check the local forecast.
Didn’t take the opportunity to stop at a store to buy a cheap sweatshirt or windbreaker to put on under the mesh jacket.
Didn’t remind myself I was being an asshole.
Instead, I envisioned a lovely adventure into the mountains and across the Mason-Dixon Line into the blazing heat of the South.
More mistakes and lessons on riding.
Creepy Feelings
The valley narrows near Shade Gap, Pennsylvania. This area of the always feels a bit strange to me. Probably because of the kidnapping of Peggy Ann Bradnick back in 1966. Walter Cronkite spoke of it nightly as it became the largest manhunt in U.S. history. Echoes of that reporting has stayed with me, one of those stories of the bogeyman.
Riding was tolerable at this point in time. The BMW K75, while not nearly as protective of the elements as Paul’s K1300, the Parabellum windscreen kept a lot of the rain off my chest. My pants and shoulders were wet and leather gloves had soaked through but I was certain the weather would moderate soon.
More Fog and Rain
Just over the summit of Tuscarora Mountain the fog thickened to the point where we had to slow down. Another stop to warm up and make a photograph of the environs and talk to Paul about next steps. It was here I finally decided to buy something to ward off the cold. A good plan theoretically but in the heart of the Appalachian Range there weren’t going to be many choices. If any.
The new tires on the BMW K75, Pirelli Sport Demons, did a nice job on the wet roads. I did learn a lesson on downshifting to reduce speed — do it carefully and make sure to add some throttle lest the rear wheel skids from the sudden slowing of the rear wheel.
Seemed like nothing was going smoothly.
Camouflage Gear
We followed an Amish Buggy into the parking lot of the Dollar General Store in Spring Run, Pennsylvania. While not Revzilla, I was certain I could find something that would keep me a bit warmer.
Another mistake. Clothing is not high on the list of items available at the Dollar General. After much searching the warmest item I could find was this camouflage long sleeved shirt. Heading down the road I could instantly feel an increase in body heat retention and started to envision the enjoyable ride on toward Antietam.
And then it started to rain.
Hard.
Again, I was reminded of the mistakes and lessons on riding.
Course Corrections
By the time we got to Chambersburg I was soaked, cold and thinking about hotels. Paul displayed the radar map on his phone which promised even heavier rain to the south. The only workable plan to escape the rain was to head west for 50 miles to get on the far side of the storm front.
The Lincoln Highway (US Route 30) climbs up and across the Appalachian Mountains. Despite the scenic vistas strangled by weather you could still sense the changes in altitude as we rode on through the rain. I pulled off the road near the summit of Cove Mountain just to move around and warm up. My hands were almost numb and my boots were soaked through and making a sloshing sound as I paced back and forth along the highway.
Despite the physical discomfort, surprisingly, I was having a good time.
“Adventure is just bad planning.”
If I take Norwegian explorer of polar region Roald Amundsen at his word, Paul and I were having an adventure. He remains stoic throughout the unfolding journey in the rain, albeit from a warmer vantage point, and accepts whatever circumstance comes our way.
It’s good to have a travel companion who soldiers on.
No Hot Chocolate
Arriving at Sheetz in Breezewood found the rain stopped and the air blast from riding had begun drying me out a bit. After refueling I was looking forward to the heat and sugar from a cup of hot chocolate.
Perhaps as a cosmic gesture to reinforce the memories of my errors of the day — both hot chocolate dispensers were whacked. Nothing but a pale, lukewarm mix of tasteless broth filled the cup. Who ever brewed this stuff didn’t do something right. And not being a coffee drinker I had to leave without a blast of heat. And to add insult to injury the air conditioning was set to 40F. Perhaps lower. Maybe that’s how Sheetz keeps things moving inside.
After a quick conversation we decided to head further west to Bedford, Pennsylvania for lunch at one of the local cafes or taverns. Karma had other ideas.
The first place we stopped was closed for a private party. No worries, we walked down the block to a coffee shop. No joy there as they literally only have coffee, tea, smoothies and a smattering of sugar vehicles. The barista informs us there is a great take out sandwich shop just up the street. “Get your sandwiches there and bring them back here to eat.” he says. Sounds like a plan so we head up the street.
The sandwich shop is closed. So across the street we go to a tavern. A quick look at the menu in the bar shows the least expensive item to be a $16 hamburger. I’m cold and hungry but there’s something about a $16 hamburger in a bar that rubs me the wrong way. So Paul and I walk back to our motorcycles and begin the trek north toward home.
Slick’s Ivystone Restaurant
The skies had cleared and the sun was shining as we rode north. Even though the temperature was still in the 60s the effect of sunshine was invigorating. So much so that the cold feeling was replaced by hunger. It had been almost six hours since we had breakfast and being cold consumes a lot of energy. So when we saw the sign for Slick’s Ivystone Restaurant we had to stop.
Walking inside we were greeted by servers in Colonial dress. The place was a throwback to restaurants my parents would go for a special night out while on vacation. It was filled with antiques of every stripe, paintings, signs and I had the feeling it was 1963. It could have been the hunger affecting my senses.
Rather than the typical quick bite to eat while riding Paul and I sat down for dinner. I chose the Captain Shrimp — big fantail shrimp, baked potato, vegetable, apple sauce, bread. It’s been a long, long time since I’ve sat down for a dinner like that in a place like the Ivystone. It was a bright spot in the riding day.
After dinner we mounted up for the 70 mile ride home. It was 3:30pm at this point and soon the watch for whitetail deer would escalate. Paul wanted to get home in time to drop a package off at the Post Office. Possible on these motorcycles, especially since Interstate 99 was a few miles away and it would take us to almost to our front doors.
I’m not a fan of riding on the interstate highways. The speed doesn’t bother me as much as how little you get to see. But in this case we were on a mission.
The posted speed limit of most of this highway is 70mph. The K75 is smooth and comfortable at that pace. As traffic was moving quite a bit faster than that we throttled up to 75 and at times 80 with traffic still moving past at a brisk pace. The motorcycle felt even smoother at those speeds.
As we got within 20 miles of home Paul pulled in front and started to pull away. He was thinking of the Post Office while I was enjoying the view of the Allegheny Front. At one point I sped up to catch him and was surprised to find myself briefly at a frightening speed. Riding speeds on the motorcycle are deceptive. I know what things feel like on my Vespa scooter. It will take some time to learn the same on the BMW.
So Paul and I parted ways three-quarters of the way of the last leg of the trip. When I got home I received a text message that he made it to the Post Office. I was happy I made it home without freezing or hypothermia.
I won’t forget the mistakes and lessons on the ride.
All things considered, it was a fine, 250 mile ride.
Yikes. Ouch. Damn.
Reminds me of a few recent rides of my own, details on some of which I’ve shared here. Unprepared for rain–check. Unprepared for not-open-for-business eateries/cafes–check. (You’re about the only person I know who groks the irritation of walking into a cafe to order tea or hot chocolate, only to be told in no uncertain terms that they cater to hardcore bean-freaks only; in these parts, it’s the Rook chain of cafes I avoid like the plague for that reason.) The only thing I haven’t suffered lately is unpreparedness for sudden temperature changes. But my next moto-specific purchase is Summer/fall-weight water-resistant gloves: I’ve got a mesh jacket with zip-in rain liner (highly recommended, just don’t forget to pack it with you like I sometimes have), as well as slip-n rain overpants (ditto), but the gloves…waterlogged gloves flat-out suck.
As far as high-speed runs go: I’ve had Melody up to where the limiter cuts in (about 85mph) when and where I felt the need to make time, and for the relatively brief stretches I’ve done this, all was largely well. But I’m guessing that the presently-novel experience of hurtling a larger, faster beast like the K75 at somewhat higher speeds is quite another thing entirely. Four decades separate me from bigger (bot not necessarily much faster machines, so I can only speculate here, but I think you’ll adjust at least a bit before too long…hopefully not at the expense of enjoying the unique zest of the Vespa.
Being unprepared, whether the weather, food, a breakdown, whatever — is just unnecessary. I’m still kicking myself for decisions made for that ride.
I have all the gear I need. I just need to make sure I bring it along. The K75 doesn’t have any good way to bring much along unless I mount the side cases. Could have done that. Should have done that. But I was just in some mind place where I told myself it wasn’t necessary. Insanity.
I’ve had the Vespa at the limiter on freeways and all was fine. The difference between the scooter and the motorcycle is the quality of that ride. The BMW isn’t tossed around as much by passing trucks. And the bigger wheels give a more relaxed feeling of stability. But mostly you’re aware that you can twist the throttle at 75mp and rocket off. On the Vespa, you know you’re at the limit.
The Vespa still is attractive. Rode it yesterday and still feel the thrill!
A great story, Steve , and one to which I easily relate.
I have long believed that there is no such thing as adventure in the absence of discomfort … and i’ve had the near frostbite to prove it. Had it been me riding with your friend Paul, I would have likely berated myself for the whole 240 miles for not begging the use of one of his sizeable panniers , and for not stuffing it with Everest grade expedition gear.
With the approach of colder weather, your story may help save a whole bunch of us from similar discomfort and I thank you for that Steve.
I spent more time than I should kicking myself and internally whining about the discomfort than I should have. But the lesson learned will save me from similar discomfort in the future. If others can benefit from my stupidity, I’ll consider something positive emerged.
Be well and ride safe!
OK, in the middle of signing in for flights and readjusting items in my bag, the email shows up. I click on it and see the motorcycle setting proudly on the road. I don’t have coffee, I am out of grappa, but I press on. I was expecting a “Zeny” type article about riding the motorcycle. I was quite surprised and pleased to read “just” an article about riding. And, no matter the steed, we still put ourselves through misery riding and enjoy it. I did not even notice you had your legs spread.
Thanks
It’s funny you noticed the “lack” of BMW K75 reflection. While I was writing I kept telling myself, “Write something about the motorcycle.” But the story really was a riding story and it would have been no different on the Vespa. I’m sure something will come up at some point that’s peculiar to the K75 but not this time.
Have a fine trip to Portugal. I’ll be watching your blog for some European scooter drama!
Time to put those huge bags on the bike. Pre-Roadcrafter, I used to carry rain gear with me all the time (as well as a bunch of other stuff) especially on a long-ish ride like you took. In spite of your discomfort, it still sounds like you enjoyed the day. An entertaining post.
Next long ride I make will be with the side cases in place. Paul tells me the motorcycle will look much better with them. I’m not sure. Pictures will render a verdict. He does agree with me that the top cases look horrible. Destroy the fine design lines of the machine.
Oddly enough, the discomfort and misgivings only seemed to add to my enjoyment. Does that make me a masochist?
Krausers Steve. Side cases is not a Motorcyclists expression. Or Bags, maybe even saddle bags if you want to be formal.
I can’t afford those expensive bags designed by Michael Krauser for BMW. All the guys on the MotoBrick forum call them side bags or side cases. I’ll have to investigate why they don’t call them Krausers. I’m sure they’ll have some smart ass response!
“The valley narrows near Shade Gap, Pennsylvania. This area of the always feels a bit strange to me. Probably because of the kidnapping of Peggy Ann Bradnick back in 1966.” Wow! It’s nice that someone else remembers that news event. Every time I go through there, a few times every year, I tell whoever I’m with the story of the Mountain Man of Shade Gap, as I call him.
Re. “Road Closed” picture. What a great portrait of Paul!
Hope to see you tonight.
I don’t run into many people who remember the story. Worked with a fellow who was an AP reporter there and he has told me how nuts things were at the time. What stands out most in my mind are hearing Cronkite repeat the words her little brother hollered to his parents, “Mountain Man’s got Peggy Ann!”
Paul is a great subject. Easy to photograph. Anyone comfortable with the camera is a good model. A person who’s aware of the camera as well is a great model.
I plan to be at the Moto Hang this evening. The Vespa needs some exercise!
We forget (selective memory I believe) the bad conditions of previous riding and the motorcycling gods then inflict “remedial training” to remind us to be prepared…..I rarely ride with raingear packed somewhere on the motorcycle anymore….then again, my days of far-ranging rides are pretty much gone. I can endure till I return to the URRV!
Sort of like childbirth. How else can you explain a woman wanting to go through it a second time?
I always carry rain gear on the Vespa. Plan to get into that habit with the BMW. It fits in the small tail bag I have. Just need to put it in. I don’t like enduring!
Been there and done that too though it has been awhile. Cold and wet on the Moto just isn’t a nice place to be. Bet it won’t happen again?
It will not happen again. Something different will happen!
Without a doubt.
There’s a lot here Steve.
A LOT all too familiar. 😉
And I thought the impetuous teenage boy in my had gone away…
Steve, I think you have added a expanded definition for the word ADVENTURE😏
Well, at least my understanding of adventure has changed. Never realized bad planning was part of it.
Horrible. A retired man gets to wait out the weather. I still look at that picture of me standing in the fog dripping and you thinking it was a great day.
Despite retirement I feel I have less time to wait. The post-retirement paradox where time shrinks and you wonder how you ever found time to have a job. The dirty secret of retirement.
You looked happy in that dripping photo. Don’t go telling me you’re really just a fair weather flower.
That reminds me — hell — I’ve never posted my story about your epic visit! Time. Time. Time, where has it gone!
I like to think all of us have ‘mistakes and lessons while riding’. Happily, it all ended well with no injuries or damage or worse.
Yeah – I’ve got a story. For me, it was riding on a hot, hot day with a great mesh jacket that moves a ton of air… that’s a good thing because it means you stay more comfortable… that’s a bad thing because it may mask dehydration. Yep, I got dehydrated, tunnel vision kicked in and I barely got my Moto Guzzi V7 off the highway before I passed out. Woke up with severe burns as one of my hands dangled over the header pipes while I was unconscious. Took about a year to heal – excruciating pain (after the nerve endings grew back).
Bike was sold soon after – but several years later I’m looking at Vespas… no exposed pipes or blistering heat save for a small exhaust. Yes, after all that I still miss riding and that mysterious nirvana produced by it.
Man, reading of you unconscious with a hand on the header pipes made me squirm. That’s terrible. Hope your pain subsides and you can get back to some sense of physical “normalcy.”
You’re right, the only thing hot on the Vespa that would burn you is the exhaust pipe and muffler. Still possible to end up as you did but more unlikely I fear. And the really hot header pipe is pretty well hidden away.
I’ve often wondered how I would react to an unfortunate incident. I know people who have been in more than one horrendous accident with massive physical injuries who could not wait to get back on the bike. And others who had one near miss at slow speeds who stopped riding forever. I suppose you never know until it happens to you.
The mysterious nirvana of riding is seductive. And real. For me at least. Therapeutic in ways I will never understand. It’s enough that I recognize the value and move on from there.
Regarding dehydration — I am extremely vigilant in hot weather. I know how fast it can happen and how deceptive it is when you’re riding with a mesh jack and sweat is instantly vaporized. Lots of water on those days.
Thanks for sharing your story. I appreciate it.
Paul,
Have you ever given any thought to tracking your rides via an app or Google Maps and then including a shot of the route with your post? I have a vague idea where you went but it might be interesting to see the route on a map. Thanks.
I’ve considered doing it. At least for the longer rides. It would be pretty easy to reconstruct the route in Google Maps and then embed it in the post. Maybe I’ll try it for the next ride and see what people think.
Thanks for the suggestion.
My friends disagree with me and ride under any conditions, I personally despise riding when it is raining.
One of the nice things about the riding community is the diversity of thought and experience — even within seemingly homogeneous groups. Rain is one area of diverging opinion just like temperature, helmets, ATGATT, group riding, solitary riding, speed, distance. There’s plenty of opportunity for each of us to embrace what we find appropriate and let others find theirs. At least that’s my utopian dream!
A great warning that even an experienced rider can make mistakes about gear, weather, and who knows what else. I’m reminded of the day riding buddy, Bob, and I had not stopped to put on rain gear with a storm looming on the horizon. “It will miss us,” he declared with perfect confidence five minutes before taking refuge in a hay barn, drenched to the core. I’ve learned that the best way to prevent rain is to put on rain gear ahead of time.
I agree, preemptively donning rain gear makes sense. I can’t figure out why I still resist doing it…
It actually took me a while to read this post but – except for the freezing conditions – it was a pleasant read. Many hints inside: the Mason-Dixon line which reminded me of the J.Taylor-M.Knopfler’s song “Sailing to Philadelphia” which was one of my Chuggabug’s riding songs while riding along SS1 back in my long commute days; then Noodler’s Antietam red ink which fills my Aurora fountain pen and borrows it’s name from one of the bloodiest (and most inconclusive) battles in Civil War; I use it daily at school to correct my student’s work and it sometimes feels creepy if you know a bit of American history (which Italians actually don’t study at all).
I wonder how Paul can get well with blue jeans and I believe that under that wonderful Ducati Jacket he must wear some sort of overpants, ain’t it? I do, on the Vespa, especially if weather gets wet and cold.
Now I’ve just gotten up and had my usual two cups of tea for breakfast, I want to ride, it’s heavily raining outside and the south west wind is blasting the rocky coastline of my hometown; I’m a hundred miles away from the Chuggabug and I seek refuge in a good read. I started to thing that, at a certain point, you’d improvise a sort of tarp tent to find – just to quote another song – shelter from the storm.
I’m happy you made it home safely. The Post office is a plus in a story.
Thank you 🙂
I had to do some internet sleuthing regarding “Sailing to Philadelphia.” I had not heard that album or the lovely song by Knopfler and Taylor. Haunting lyrics and sound. Antietam was a terrible battle, the bloodiest in American history of any war, and the lead off to the American Civil War. I’ve been to a number of those battlefields and they have a haunted feeling. I’m always amazed at what old men can talk young men into doing.
Thanks for rekindling my fountain pen addiction. Looked up Noodler’s Antietam Red ink and now my mind is off to the races. And just when I thought I put my fountain pen work behind me!
Paul doesn’t have any dedicated cold-weather gear. He just adds layers. And in warm weather, he’ll ride with a t-short and low shoes. But he doesn’t ride in the cold weather like I do.
It snowed here this morning. First time the world was white this season. And off course I had to take the Vespa for a ride. And then I found shelter and hot tea at a local cafe. Life is good.
I’m glad to have refueled a healthy habit: writing with a fountain pen. Though I actually had to make a couple of horrible mistakes to do that (i.e. “it’s” instead of “its” and “thing” instead of “think”) 😉
It’s easy to miss those details of language, grammar and spelling!
I’ve cleaned three of my four fountain pens and am writing again. Can’t find one of my Watermann pens. It’s here somewhere…
Now that the pens are working, I may order some of that Noodler Antietam Ink.
Oh and you shouldn’t miss some good old Clairefontaine paper.
Now you’re hooked again 😉
I’ve been looking at a lot of notebooks. My go-to have been Moleskine. I like writing on unlined pages and the world seems full of lines. I’ve been experimenting with a lined notebook and it’s not so bad. Maybe the Clairefontaine offerings will be in my future!
I actually bind my own notebooks and sketchbooks, so I don’t care much about the offer on the market; I just buy the paper I love and turn it into A6 booklets. At the moment my favourite paper for writing is G.Lalo vergé paper, ivory toned, 100 gsm.
And yes, I don’t like much lined paper, mainly because I’m a sketcher and I often draw on my sketchbooks.
Stationery addiction, that’s what it is… 🙂
You are in the advanced mode of ink and paper. Far beyond where I am by temperament and choice.
I’ll try and stop just short of addiction!
I suppose people, at least for me, put up with exposure to weather because it is a physical challenge that makes me feel a bit more alive. Awake. Perhaps it’s similar for athletes, climbers, anyone who pushes themselves. In our world of comfort, it would be easy to never feel physical stress from the environment. Anyway, my thoughts…
So true. One reason I enjoy riding in the rain and at night. Feeling alive and capable, me prepared for the elements. The same for the cold, but only to a point. Ice or snow pushes the limit.
As I get old I am less willing to push limits regarding weather and light. I used to love riding at night but thoughts of deer and changes in eyesight have tempered things. Same with snow and ice. I will go to much greater lengths to avoid it and will almost certainly no longer venture out in it. I guess I’m becoming a fair weather rider.
Well, I will still ride in rain and fog. For now.