Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

Distant Reflections on the BMW F 800 GS (Part 1)

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This is the first of three installments on the BMW F800GS.

I’d call it a review but enough time has passed since riding the motorcycle that I’m sure what I’m sharing are feelings and memories transformed by time into heroic feats against impossible circumstance. I have this vague recollection of hurdling through snow and over the Grossglockner Pass. Climbing up under an overpass is almost the same thing isn’t it?

The motorcycle didn’t make it home easily. Like a lot of things in my life I resisted this bike. At least until Craig Kissell, owner of Kissell Motorsports and the local BMW dealer, explained how this was one of his favorite bikes – ever. After offering some strong arguments and a final “what do you have to lose?” I relented and took the keys.

I should explain my reluctance to ride certain motorcycles (you’ve seen no reviews of sport bikes for instance) has little to do with the machines and a lot to do with ideas stuck in my head. To date, each resistant idea related to motorcycles has crumbled through experience.

My aesthetic taste runs towards plain. Aside from my yellow and black riding jacket I find comfort in shades of gray. A bright orange motorcycle with large GS lettering doesn’t fit well for a guy who has a black truck and asked the dealer to reverse the tires so the white lettering wouldn’t show. Standing in the middle of the road and sizing up the bike it just seemed out of step with my riding tastes.

Too much power, too much sound, too much flash.

Sitting on the bike in the parking lot at Kissell Motorsports I had my first meaningful reaction – the BMW F 800 GS is tall. While I can flat foot the bike, barely, I silently gave thanks for those few extra potato chip fueled pounds that allowed the shock absorbers to compress enough to make sitting astride comfortable. Be forewarned that it is not a good idea to come to a stop and casually put your foot down into a pothole.

The instant the engine sprang to life my ideas of power were confirmed. I remembered the first time a sat on a tall quarter horse and the thrill of recognition that comes being connected to something powerful.

The first order of riding business is familiarizing myself with the motorcycle. Particularly brakes, clutch, shifter action, throttle and general handling. Some slow speed turns and maneuvers and enough experimentation to believe I won’t completely muck things up in a panic. Winding through the countryside on the way home offered many opportunities to practice.

Getting on and off a tall motorcycle repeatedly to make pictures can be physically demanding for someone used to the step through set up of a Vespa. Each new motorcycle has me making notes in my journal…. Exercise, stretch, get in shape. So far I have a lot of notes.

The light was starting to fade and I really wanted to ride a bit more before dark. A few errands interrupted that plan but not enough to diminish the thrill of the F800GS. Even parked along a concrete wall it looks like fun.

Getting the bike late in the day meant parking it in the garage after a short ride or riding at night. I chose the latter and departed into a mild evening under clear skies. Riding just after sunset is something I enjoy, especially the slow changing of light. Watching for Bambi is something I can do without though. Stopping at a nearby park to make a picture in the fading light triggered a few fantasies about the proverbial trip into the sunset. You could ride a long way on the BMW F 800 GS.

Craig and his staff made a few modifications to the bike including the addition of a set of Touratech lights up front. A flip of a toggle switch on the handlebars caused the two side mounted lights to illuminate the world. For riding at night in deer country these things allow you to see far to the left and right making any four-legged motion easier to detect.

The BMW F 800 GS is noticeably more powerful than the F 650 GS even though they share the same engine displacement. Reaction to the throttle is direct, positive, and you have the sense that whatever you would want will be there. The riding position is almost perfect for me – upright and comfortable.

A stop under lights in a parking lot for a few pictures.

Pacing around the bike, assessing angles for photos, the lines of the motorcycle become apparent. A beautiful machine, one that will over a few days of riding reveal its functionality as well.

Near midnight I turn towards home and a good night’s sleep before riding the next day.

Rain. Not a lot but enough that I momentarily consider leaving the BMW in the garage. But only momentarily. With a mist falling I headed down the road. While stopped to take a picture I have the chance to try my boots on the wet pavement, a nervous tic I’ve developed as part of a personal weather evaluation system.

The F 800 GS is completely at ease on the narrow, winding secondary roads of central Pennsylvania, especially at the sightseeing speeds at which I often proceed to allow for quick stops for pictures. It’s definitely the kind of machine that makes it easy to experience the landscape without leaving the impression that it’s only happy bombing down the road at breakneck speed. The rain had stopped leaving wet roads and a gray light to make pictures in.

An absolutely comfortable ride, at least at tourist speeds through the bucolic countryside. I know I should be pushing harder but my wandering eye and camera get the best of me and I force the BMW into service as my photo vehicle. Certainly not what its Bavarian designers envisioned. I promise to push the bike hard.

Later.

Across the valley and into Rothrock State Forest. I realize that I am more at risk climbing up the rocky hillside to take a picture than I am on the road. Being a good Boy Scout I check my cell coverage in case I break a leg.

Thirty miles later I’m winding along empty roads like the BMW and I have been friends our whole life. Granted, neither of us is pushing the performance or skill envelope but the union of rider and machine is close to perfect. I find myself wondering which part of the garage I would dedicate to this motorcycle.

And I really grew to love those Touratech lights.

This part of Pennsylvania is traced with small roads, paths and lanes that lead through field and forest, between gaps and watersheds into places that are seldom trafficked by mainstream riders. Many hours curled up with my worn copy of the Pennsylvania Atlas Gazetteer tells me this road is more than a farm lane and will wind over the mountain in the distance.

Riding time passes quickly. Aimless wandering and enjoying the sights maintains a seductive power. Standing by the sign covered garage I realize another day has evaporated. And I’ve not experienced the BMW F 800 GS. I’ve just forced it to conform to my riding habits.

With the motorcycle tucked safely away in the garage and I vow to let the BMW lead the way tomorrow, ride the way it wants to ride. Perhaps then I can produce a few insightful words about this lovely machine.

Stay tuned for part two on the BMW F 800 GS.

Motorcycles as Experienced by a Vespa Rider

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Thanks to a wonderful opportunity extended by Craig Kissell of Kissell Motorsports I’ve been able to share my experiences riding the latest BMW, Triumph, Ducati, Vespa and Piaggio motorcycles and scooters from the perspective of a committed scooter rider. If you’re currently riding a scooter or small motorcycle and plan to move up to something bigger maybe these will help.

The BMW F650 GS: A Crisis of Confidence

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I feel guilty. It’s been over a month since I returned this BMW to Kissell Motorsports. It’s taken equally long to write this post. I knew I had to put something down here, so I began with an image I remembered: stopping, pulling off my gloves and walking across the road to take this picture. I was uncomfortable. Like Wayne and Garth from Wayne’s World when they meet Aerosmith in their basement, I could hear my mind crying, “I’m not worthy.” I looked at this brand new BMW and felt like an imposter.

A mini-crisis of faith flickered to life.

I’d been warned. More than one dedicated BMW rider suggested something would happen if I rode one. A slight smile and oblique reference to some strange BMW voodoo. Hints that, once I put some miles on one of these machines, I’d be hooked. Thoughts of my friend Alex joining the Hare Krishna in 1973 came to mind. The usual music that plays in my head when I ride wasn’t there. All was quiet on the riding front.

I’m still not sure I can adequately describe what transpired, but I need to get past this post.

The BMW F650 GS looks at home in the central Pennsylvania landscape. On this bike, I began to think about the hierarchy of riders I’ve closeted away in some small place in my head. At the bottom, minibikes, mopeds and electric bicycles. At the top, those riders who regularly transverse countries and continents. The movie Long Way Round, with Charlie Boorman and Ewan McGregor circling the planet on their BMWs.

Was this really what I believed?

None of this would have occurred if the F650 GS wasn’t a fine, elegant machine. From the moment I heard the engine turn over to the moment I put down the kickstand, returning it to Kissell’s, I was impressed. This bike was well-designed, functional, powerful and smooth. I had nothing to complain about.

Well, almost nothing.

Starting out on a test ride with the thermometer reading 20 degrees Fahrenheit may not be the best way to critique a motorcycle. I’ve convinced myself that cold is a state of mind, and if attired correctly and focused properly on the task at hand (riding this shiny new motorcycle), the cold will melt away. So confident I was that I dismissed the need for my electric gloves (Gerbing plug wouldn’t fit the BMW port) in favor of the BMW’s heated grips.

A mile from home I feel a knife push on the side of my neck where the air found a gap between my helmet and ski mask. Another flow of frigid air inflates my one-piece Olympia riding suit, as air sneaks past the top of my left boot and on up my leg. The sun is out and I tell myself this is temporary. The instrument display still reads 20F. I switch on the heated grips.

Smooth comes to mind as I move down the road at 60mph. From the sound of the starter to the tires rolling on the highway, everything is really smooth. Shifting, cornering, braking. As if this BMW was designed purely to carry a rider along with a minimum of reminders of mechanical intrusion. I could focus on the experience rather than the machine. I think I was smiling.

Then my first minor complaint. An adjustment, really. I have to make a right turn and my left thumb automatically searches for the turn signal button. Returning to mechanical reality, my mind overcomes muscle memory and pushes the right-hand signal paddle next to the throttle. Unlike other motorcycles I’ve driven, which have one switch that operates the signal for both right and left turns, BMW’s are unique in having separate switches for each side. But by the end of that first hour of riding, the turn signal system is set in muscle memory, and it’s no longer an issue. That was the only mechanical stumble I had.

Well, almost.

Fifteen miles from home, it’s still 20F and my hands are getting cold. I am really disappointed with the heated grips. No help at all. I pull off the road to park so I can warm my hands on the exhaust system. I put my hands next to the muffler and see it is well-shielded and gives off no heat. The headlights are recessed a bit and hard to get your hands on, so no relief there either. So I just wait awhile for my hands to warm a bit inside my gloves. The sun is shining so it seems fine.

This BMW is quick. With little effort it seems to be instantly traveling 75mph. I slow down and before long notice a farm lane, more my style and speed. Ice still covers waterholes and I make a mental note so the bright sun and dry roads don’t surprise me.

The ground in this field is hard. Frozen. If this wasn’t a brand-new motorcycle belonging to someone else, I’d ride across this big field to see where I’d end up. The F650 GS seems as if it would be just as comfortable off-the-pavement.

Cold hands force another stop by a red barn. Or maybe I stopped because I wanted a picture. While sitting on the motorcycle, pondering the switch for the heated grips, it occurs to me I’m not the sharpest crayon in the box. Apologies to BMW for any adverse inference about their technology. It was a minor miracle when I realized I had never actually switched the grips on. On maximum my hands were toasty in a matter of minutes. Verdict: Heated grips coupled with a pair of insulated leather or windproof gloves would probably be all I’d need for temperatures down to the mid-20s.

The BMW eats up the road. It’s no wonder so many BMW riders pile on so many miles. It’s just so easy. Pennsylvania has a lot of roads that reach out ahead with little traffic and endless sights. I’ve spent my whole life wandering in one manner or another, and I’m still in love with this landscape.

Back to the crisis of faith. Last Saturday morning, my friend Paul and I went for a ride. This time on my Vespa. The usual excuse to have breakfast somewhere other than home. We made a stop at the Amish harness shop in Madisonburg. While there, a guy pulled in on a motorcycle obviously configured for travel. You know the look – big Pelican waterproof cases on both sides and top, all those little extras that say “I’m headed somewhere.” And in riding clothes that reflect a lot of time on the road. In the back of my head, I’m already thinking I’m not really a rider, but an enthusiastic dilettante with a scooter.

During the ensuing conversation, the rider relates his plans to leave in a few weeks for a trip to Alaska with a friend. Sixteen thousand miles and six weeks on the road. Listening to him describe his trip, I’m simultaneously calculating vacation days at work and conversations with Kim that contain the phrase “I’ll be gone for six weeks.”

I can’t picture that trip. I’m not sure I would even want to make that trip. The F650 GS could easily make that trip. Before leaving, the guys says he put 97K miles on his other bike in the last four years. And his friend has 240K miles on his bike. I was too embarassed to make a picture.

I’m not worthy.

Looking around in the woods for morel mushrooms, I can’t help but wonder who these people are that ride so much. Don’t they have jobs? Families? Responsibilities? I wonder if I’m jealous. Mostly I’m perplexed about my own riding life. And this BMW I have to play with.

I love riding alone and this motorcycle embraces it perfectly. Riding through the mountains here I’m reminded of scenes from Then Came Bronson. He rode a Harley, but what mattered is a person on a bike, alone, and on the road. This is why I ride. How far is of less importance. There are myriad paths for a rider to follow, literally and figuratively, and my challenge is to figure out how riding fits into my life. Riding is part of my life. A quiet time-out. A meditation. But it isn’t my life.

There were a lot of paths I would have liked to choose, but time and good sense got in the way. I really wanted to ride across this bridge and up into the woods on the other side. I knew, like a faithful horse, the F650 GS would take me.

The crisis of faith triggered by this motorcycle stirred up all the stories, lies, and marketing messages I have consumed over the years. If I wasn’t crossing Mongolia or screaming through an Alpine pass, I was somehow missing something important. I was forgetting who I am as a rider, in favor of some idealized notion.

The BMW was at home in town as well, which is something I can’t say for every motorcycle I’ve ridden. The bike is nimble and easily navigates the streets, alleys and parking spaces around here. Well, I suppose you don’t have to be all that nimble in a small town.

Add side bags or a topcase and this bike would be an excellent commuter. BMWs are allowed to be commuter bikes during the week aren’t they?

So, here I am, at the end of this post. I wish I’d kept the bike longer. I considered telling Craig Kissell I lost it but that seemed wrong. If I had more time I would have gone on a real ride. Far. Take a trip. I could go anywhere on this motorcycle. Alaska didn’t seem unreasonable for a few moments.

But for now, I’m satisfied with the choices I’ve made and the riding I do. This BMW will adapt to my style, or for someone who wants to ride around the world.

I bet there is space in my garage for one of these.

Transition: Vespa to Triumph

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5:30 AM. Dark and raining. My destination 58 miles away. An appropriate start for the transition from my Vespa GTS 250ie to a 2008 Triumph America. I agreed to shuttle the Triumph back to town for a friend of my father-in-law for maintenance at our local Triumph dealer. I’ll have the Triumph for a week and the chance for an extended demo ride was too much to pass up.  A temporary assignment to a Triumph.

Riding in the Dark

For me, the combination of darkness and rain is a weather challenge only exceeded by snow. Empty rural roads and slow speeds would dominate the trip until dawn. And I was hoping the rain kept the deer on the ground until the weather cleared a bit. Riding through the countryside and watching the road ahead lit solely by my headlight I was reminded of how small the area of illumination is and slow I have to ride to be able to stop within the area I can see. Even if I wanted to go faster there really was no way to manage it safely.

I sat a while at an on ramp of Interstate 99 gauging traffic for one leg of my trip. An endless series of tractor-trailers roaring along in a cloud of spray made the decision not to venture onto the freeway simple.
The sky showed the first signs of light in Tyrone and the rain was nothing more than mist. I stopped to dry my visor and make sure my digital camera wasn’t getting too wet in my pocket.
Nearing Altoona I stopped to watch the fog move along the mountainside. Apart from a heavy surf breaking on a rocky shore I can think of few things whose appearance brings me such quiet pleasure.

The Triumph America

My first thought on seeing the motorcycle in my father-in-law’s garage was that all that chrome was going to get dirty. And indeed it did. The switch from the Vespa to something the size of the America demands some changes in thought and approach. The additional weight is managed differently. The feet forward cruiser pegs and added tasks of shifting and foot braking are not on the regular riding menu. For the first few miles I reprogrammed myself with a bit of conscious practice and the old muscle memories returned from a long vacation.
More empty roads gave me the chance to practice some hard braking, swerving and other actions specific to the weight of the Triumph. The bike performed nicely and it became quite comfortable to handle.
By the time I got home I felt relaxed on the America. It’s two-cylinder engine thumped along like a champ and I could see how someone might enjoy one. It’s not for me though.

The Triumph is too big, too powerful, and too clumsy for the eclectic riding I do. There would be no quick u-turns or pushing through deep gravel and grass for a picture. It’s size and weight just takes too long to manage. Even the few times I stopped for pictures I watched that kickstand carefully to see if it would support the weight on the surfaces I was on. And I passed up many picture locations I just didn’t think I could get the bike to safely or easily like I could with the Vespa. Still, it is a nice motorcycle.

If I had any complaints at all it was with the loud exhaust. Aftermarket pipes made the America nothing short of obnoxious to my ears. When I left Altoona I had my earplugs in when I started it up and while had quite a rumble it wasn’t until I got home and started it for Kim without the plugs that I realized how really loud it was. On a long trip I can’t imagine having to listen to it thundering in my brain. I suspect returning the factory pipes would fix that problem. Still, it is a nice motorcycle.

I’ll probably get the motorcycle back from the Triumph dealer on Tuesday and be able to ride it the rest of the week before going back to Altoona to retrieve my Vespa. We’ll see how things go until then…

Vespa Sleeping with Ducati

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Ly LX150 is spending the night with a Ducati GT1000. I hope they’re careful. The unlikely pairing came about after I delivered my non-starting scooter to Kissell Motorsports for diagnosis of the problem and a repair estimate. Over the past week I’ve heard or read a range of horror stories of dealer and repair woes so I thought I would give everyone a chance to follow the unfolding of this particular repair story. I’ll start by saying I’ve always been pleased with the service and support given by Kissell’s and don’t expect this experience to be different. If I have any apprehension it’s with the cost of the repair.

Paul Ruby and I transported the scooter in his truck to Kissell’s brand new facility. I spoke with Casey, their service manager, and asked that they determine what the starting problem is and call me with a repair estimate. I turned the red and blue key over with the suggestion “don’t lose the red key”. He smiled and agreed. The Vespa was brought around back to their service facility – WOW! What a nice place. Brand new, bright light, white walls, new Snap-On tool chests and machinery, wooden butcher block-topped work benches all working together to create the proper stage for shiny new Ducatis and Triumphs to keep my scooter company. This place reminded me of a NASCAR garage I visited. Professional.


Their new showroom is full of things to covet. A special section for Ducati’s that just gleam and sparkle. A long line of Triumphs and a bunch of Vespas. Kawasaki cruisers and sport bikes. To make the experience complete they have an espresso machine. Once can only assume that they’ll have tea for the British bike buyers and chocolate milk for the kids buying Ninjas.

I didn’t ask when the call would come with the repair estimate. I guess I like surprises. With the Vespa gone maybe I’ll organize the garage, put tools away and try and make the place look more like Kissell’s place. I’ll wait out the lack of riding as productively as I can. I’m pretty relaxed about it all.

With all the unseasonably warm weather we’ve been having here (almost 60 today) I’ve started wondering about the wisdom of having a second vehicle. Any suggestions or experience you have in this area and want to share I would appreciate it. Especially the argument you use to convince others of the merits of this sort of plan.