Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
Riding on Dirt, Gravel and Remote Backcountry RoadsI do a fair share of my riding on unpaved roads. Not exactly the target marketing segment for Piaggio. But there’s something soothing and restorative about wandering alone away from the thrum of civilization. I’ve been content to ride wherever time and opportunity permits with little thought to much more than “going for a ride.”
Content until I ran into Bruce Leigh.Continue Reading
Quiet Riding on a Vespa ScooterAmong other reasons, I ride to relax. On the quiet rural roads near my home, I can pilot the scooter along and breathe in the landscape — through my eyes, ears and nose. The sensory tapestry created as the Vespa rolls along is rich and seductive. On this morning I only planned a short ride; too much tennis ball play with the dogs had me on the road later than normal. An early afternoon engagement meant a short ride.
There’s something about the Vespa scooter that brings childish behaviors to the surface. On the empty roads I find myself weaving the scooter back and forth like a bird swooping over a field. The Vespa moves effortlessly, to and fro, in a hedonistic ritual I practice more than I like to admit.Continue Reading
Curl Up with a MapSince I was a kid I’ve loved maps. They offer the chance to imagine journeys and adventures anywhere in the world. I have a worn and tattered Pennsylvania Atlas and Gazeteer, my book of dreams, that has been part of lots of travel — real and imagined.
On a rainy day with nothing to do (when is that?) it’s nice to curl up in bed and wonder where to ride next. Pennsylvania has 250,000 miles of roads. I’ve just scratched the surface. With a map in hand I can always go for a virtual ride.
The best things in life are free goes the old song. Sleep, laughter, love, friends and good memories — examples of the things money can’t buy.
Good MemoriesOf all my rides and Vespa meanderings, the picture of the scooter on a winding road near Hyner View State Park, not far from Renovo, Pennsylvania, on my way home from a camping trip, shines in my memory. What surprises me now is how much the planning and anticipation stayed with me — as if it were a riding event all it’s own.
I’ve been turning another event over in my head, a short trip of five and a half hundred miles, to visit my father, departed now for some years. And like the camping trip, the mental planning and imagining has proved just as exciting.
Perhaps you find satisfaction in the same way?
Imagining the RideI imagine myself on the road before dawn, easing into the dark to extend the riding day to allow for choices of coincidence encountered on the road. I know how many miles I need to travel on a direct route — 250 miles to my destination. Miles and miles of winding, at least until I hit the flat grids of Ohio, roads. But between here and there I’ll be presented with endless opportunities to turn left or right away from the plan. Depending on the choices I make I could easily ride 600 miles or more before returning home.
Lying in bed with a map before falling asleep fires the nighttime imagination.
Imagination is always assaulted by the demands of reality — there are things I must do which always seem to try and generate a list. The riding checklist.
The Riding ChecklistThere’s a lot of things to do before departing on a trip. The less attractive tasks spin around maintenance, something with which I have a love/hate relationship. Oil and filter change, spark plug change, hub oil change, air filter change, tire change. I usually look forward to change. Hopefully I’ll get the tools out on a lovely day.
I don’t make checklists. At least not for riding. Ideas and needs float around in my head and I try and attend to them. My resistance to organization in regard to riding is a conscious stand against regimentation and the robbery of fun. Just as I enjoy being lost there is a dark pleasure in finding myself scrambling because I forgot something. As long as it’s not my wallet I’m in good shape.
The mental checklist:
The choice of routes consumes most of my thinking but when I actually get on the road I often follow a remarkably general, unplanned route toward my destination. There’s a fine measure of serendipity to that sort of travel.
James D. WilliamsMy father has been drawing me toward this trip. I hear his voice from time to time, that familiar “hey boy” when I would answer the phone when he called. Our talks were usually focused on details of a project lest the conversations lag and end. This time he wants to talk more. In a few weeks it will be 13 years since he died. It’s time to pay a visit to his resting place.
I’m seldom superstitious but open to the unknown — a lesson I credit my wife Kim for teaching me. There are mysteries in life worth exploring, considering. She’s shown me magic and the shimmering of life. But that’s something for another post.
It’s time for a trip, I’m looking forward to the event and the memories it will nurture. Once the snow and cold are gone for a few days.
I try to remember, the best things in life are free.
In the scooter’s dream, this is the road it rides…
How much does danger factor into the thrill of riding? When my spirit soars is it because I feel I’m flying or perhaps because subconsciously I believe I’ve left danger in the dust?
While I don’t intentionally ride in a dangerous manner I do accept that being on two-wheels inherently has more risk, more danger. It doesn’t mean bad things will happen, but they could, and chances are whatever does happen will probably be more intense that if I were strapped in the cage and surrounded by airbags.
Danger, or perhaps more specifically, risk is seductive and at the heart of a living game of chance. At least that’s what passed through my head as I watched the video of the Atlantic Road in Norway — Atlanterhavsveien in Norwegian. In the dark gloom with a pounding ocean I could sense the risk, the danger, and imagined traversing the windswept expanse and the quickened heart rate. It’s the same feeling I have when snow is falling on the road, or the temperature drops below zero — me against the elements.
Seems a screwy draw to riding a scooter or motorcycle. But it could be worse. I could be scrambling up the north face of the Eiger, or diving off a precipice in a wing suit.
I suppose each is just another dangerous and beautiful road…