Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650

Exploring a Mysterious Road

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A Honda Trail 125 motorcycle parked at a scenic vista.
The goal in my mind’s eye.

Can I Get There?

There’s a road not far from here that I’ve spent considerable time thinking about, looking at maps, reviewing satellite imagery, and searching for first-hand accounts of whether it’s passable.

I know where the road might lead — to the ridge top where I have ridden many times. And I know a short stretch that reaches through a farm field at the bottom. But what lies between is unknown. I’ve been told it is now private property. Some suggest a property owner has bulldozed a barrier making in impossible to cross. And some say it is just too steep and rough to navigate. I’m left with the question, “Can I get there?”

I recently stumbled on a mountain biking site where riders share information and saw a nugget of intelligence about the Pennsylvania Furnace Road — rough but passable. No one seems to care if you ride through. Satellite images appear to show the road going through someone’s front yard and being a gentleman I don’t readily trespass so close to someone’s home. Especially when so many people here carry and are protective of their property. Still, the report said “passable.”

That’s all I needed to reach out to Paul and ask if he wanted to take a long ride to breakfast on our Honda Trail 125 motorcycles.

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How Far is Too Far for Breakfast?

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Four motorcycle riders along posing for a group picture.
A “Romeo” group (Retired Old Men Eating Out) Andy is still working. Photo by Paul Ruby

Group Photo

I look at this photograph with gratitude for having friends to share the journey. On motorcycles and scooters and in life. And for me at least the expression on my face says a lot. I didn’t realize my face was adorned with a big, dumb, grin.

The four of us left home this morning to ride to breakfast, a predictable rhythm in my life, and a pleasure to be willing and able to embrace it. When I was thinking about a ride one of the questions that emerged is how far is too far to ride for breakfast?

The first order of business was identifying a place to have breakfast. Reading comments on a recent obituary for a farmer I once met indicated he frequented the Cottage Restaurant in Lamar, Pennsylvania. I figured if it was so highlighted it might be worth a look. The route to the restaurant was simple. No maps needed. It was just 27 miles away on a route I’ve ridden or driven dozens of times. The bigger challenge was the ride home. It would be a bore to return the way we came so I began to look at Google Maps to look for alternative routes and roads I had never visited. With every cow path in Pennsylvania now paved the choices seem endless.

It didn’t take long to determine a route and memorize it for the following day. I don’t carry maps anymore and the only GPS I generally use is meat-based. The ride home would consume about 135 miles.

Most of my life has been led in relative isolation and solitude. I didn’t make friends easy and I was loathe to reach out to others to do anything unless it was a dire emergency. Scooters and motorcycles have enhanced my ability to reach out to others, often strangers, and make friends. And not just related to riding but in other aspects of my life as well. An unlooked for gift of riding.

Dave said he would ride to breakfast. Paul would too. And Andy, the non-retired member of the group said he would come as well. All I told them is it would be a long ride and we would be back in about five hours.

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Friendship Follows Interests: Riding and Photography

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A black & white photograph of two men in a mirror.
A familiar state of being.

Making Friends

A young man I know complains how hard it is to meet people. To make friends. For me, friendships have all developed from common interests. Years ago it was hiking and backpacking. Then photography, and now riding. I’d like to tell that young man he is unlikely to find friends at bars, playing video games, dabbling in crypto, and placing bets with Draft Kings. I won’t offer advice unless he specifically asks for it.

My friend Paul recently gave me a photograph he made of the two of us at a local diner. It immediately struck a chord — that’s my friend Paul, always making photos, always sharing a ride.

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A 150cc Vespa Scooter: Grateful for the Little Things

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A 2005 Vespa ET4 scooter on a rural road.
A perfect morning for a perfect little ride.

Mistaken Thinking

In my brief and seldom views into the social and marketing realms of the Moto-world I’m always shocked at how overwhelming the size, weight, power, and tech can be. It feels a lot like going into a hotel and turning on the TV and feeling it’s all commercials and pitches with very little content.

A 150cc Vespa scooter seems a lost and forgotten machine amidst the din of macho claims and excitement of real motorcycles. Scooters are dismissed for a variety of reasons. “Real” riders dismiss them for lack of everything. Some find them embarrassing, common I think in a world of giant SUVs and trucks where size reinforces myriad weaknesses in self image. And probably the most egregious view of scooters is their inability to deliver on the road. Simply put, they’re toys for the beach and not much more.

Taking my ET4 for a ride always reminds me of how capable it is, and how grateful I am to ride one. For a week our hot water heater was dead and awaiting replacement. That first hot shower, something easily taken for granted, was suddenly an amazing experience. How grateful I am to have a hot shower. It’s the same with my 150cc Vespa scooter.

Out on a backroad on my way to breakfast and taking in the beautiful central Pennsylvania landscape in which I get to ride. I’m a lucky man.

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Frustration and Gratitude

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A 2022 Royal Enfield Himalayan parked along a road.
A substitute for my injured Kawasaki W650.

The Mental Merry-Go-Round

Over and over I’m reminded that there’s little profit in holding too tightly to my plans. It was demonstrated again as I prepared for a long ride with my friend Paul and proceeded to rip the tire valve from a rear tire of my W650 before even leaving the driveway. Hugely frustrating because I had planned so carefully, visualized the map, and imagined how it would feel to be on the road with a friend on a leisurely ride to breakfast.

The frustration was strong and dominating my thoughts which in turn robs me of some of the riding experience as I replay events in my head, continually kicking myself for the stupid mistakes I made leading up to having to replace the W650 with my Himalayan. Gratitude was nowhere to be found despite the gift of having an alternative machine to ride.

Frustration was ruling the moment and blinding me to anything good or positive. A sad way to leave on a ride.

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