Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.
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.
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.
The time has arrived to check out one of the new BMW motorcycles at Kissell Motorsports. I was going to wait until the weather was a bit warmer but when Craig Kissell send an email asking when I was going to take a GS for a ride what could I do? So I am starting with a BMW F 650 GS. This one is brand new. Zero miles on the odometer. I get nervous being the first one to take something out on the road. But who am I to complain? A quick check of the bike and the controls revealed a big difference from the usual tools on my Vespa. This bike has ABS brakes, heated grips, built in port for electrics, and a lot more.
I didn’t really have time for any riding today. Just a less than direct ride home from work with a few stops to check out the motorcycle. The turn signals took a couple of practice runs to reprogram my brain from the one button all function switch on the Vespa to the three button self canceling function of the BMW. A smarter person could make the adjustment on the road. I had to pull over and look at the controls for everything to make sense. A little side trip up a gravel road did the trick. This motorcycle is smooth, quiet, and seems to pull no matter what speed I’m traveling or what gear I’m in. My kind of performance.
Home appeared too quickly. I stopped the motorcycle at the end of the driveway being cautious with this shiny new machine. On the Vespa I would have zipped right between our cars and on to the garage.
I’m planning an early departure tomorrow despite the weather forecast calling for 20F at daybreak. And since my Gerbing electric gloves have the wrong connector I won’t be able to plug them in. So I will have a chance to try out heated grips. And if all else fails I can cozy up to the big shiny muffler.
I’m excited. I can tell. For the next few days I am a BMW rider.
Ideas and attitudes towards scooters are wide ranging. One common notion is scooters aren’t suitable for serious riding. Beginner bikes. Glorified toys to play with in the neighborhood. Perhaps even ride to work if it’s not too far. My guess is that most of these ideas come from a lack of direct experience riding scooters or a nervousness surrounding perceptions associated with scooters. Standing along a slightly misty Linden Hall Road surveying the Vespa most recently on loan from Kissell Motorsports I thought how perfect it is for the meandering secondary roads found throughout central Pennsylvania. Like all the Vespa scooters I’ve ridden it is solid, stylish and easy to ride. For a beginner it’s a great way to hone the skills necessary to manage yourself on the road. And once you’re on one you’ll realize it’s capable of a lot more than you think. Like riding with the big dogs.
That’s what a Vespa GTS300 Super can do if given the chance. A couple months ago I was at Kissell Motorsports talking to a gentleman who was looking at a Can-Am Spyder, one of those big three wheeled motorcycles. He explained he was looking at the 100 plus horsepower machine for his wife. “She’s never ridden before and I’m not sure she’ll be able to manage on two-wheels.” Thinking that the Spyder may be a bit imposing for a first time rider I inquired about a Vespa. With a concerned look and shake of his head he uttered, “I’m a BMW rider.”. There were a lot of ways to read our brief interaction but I think what he was getting at was he needed his wife to have something to keep up with his motorcycle. After three days with the new Vespa GTS300 Super I can attest to it’s ability to keep up with anything at any posted speed limit in Pennsylvania if need be. Or in the surrounding states for that matter. While not anyone’s first choice for a long distance cruiser the Vespa is an excellent road companion for any rider interested in weekend rides through the countryside. Add to it’s utterly useful functionality as a commuter vehicle and an around town errand transport the scooter is pretty amazing.
I’ve been riding a Vespa GTS250 for a couple years now and was anxious to see how the bigger machine compared. Looking at both the casual observer would have trouble telling them apart without the nameplates or knowledge of some of the color components specific to the 300. The engine sounds slightly deeper in tone but hardly noticeable considering how quiet all the Vespa scooters are. On the road it only took a few miles to know where the real difference lies — the Vespa GTS300 Super has more pulling power through its entire speed range. Twist the throttle and it accelerates whether you are standing still or going 50mph. The extra 50cc’s makes a difference. It was particularly noticeable on hills. The 250 is no slouch but the 300 gives a useful bit of extra power.
Thinking about the gentleman seeking something for his wife I could not help but think again that a scooter like this would be a great choice for a first ride. Less likelihood of a big motorcycle sitting unused in the garage because a new rider never really gets comfortable with something too big. Introducing a spouse to the riding life for the first time may yield more positive results with a Vespa.
Morning fog was in the forecast. I like to know what to expect when I depart on Saturday morning. An early departure allowed for some time to experiment with the new Vespa’s handling. Familiar, frequently territory still beckons for one more photograph. The white Vespa makes a fine subject with classic lines.
I made plans to ride with my friend Paul — he on his Harley and me on the Vespa.
Not far from the University Park Airport we pulled off the road to make a few pictures. I’m grateful that Paul will still ride with me considering how often I stop to take pictures. If he was not a serious photographer himself I suspect our riding friendship would have ended a long time ago. I’ve found a Vespa to be a near perfect photography platform. Easy to pull over almost anywhere and put it up on the centerstand or make sudden and narrow U-turns.
I write a lot about the joys of riding alone. But I do appreciate sharing unexpected turns on the road with someone at times. Looking through the viewfinder the empty road needed something. I asked Paul if he needed to stretch his back.
The Vespa GTS 300’s power shows going up hills. Acceleration is improved over my GTS250 as well as power throughout the speed range. After taking my pictures the Vespa raced up the winding road over the mountain and into the Bald Eagle Valley.
Everyone knows that food is an important part of riding. A goal and an excuse. This morning was no different and Paul and I found ourselves breakfast at the Unionville Cafe.
Without any genes to energize culinary adventure tendencies I order my usual hearty breakfast. Having such simple tastes means I am seldom disappointed almost guaranteeing an enjoyable ride.
Near the top of the Allegheny Plateau in the Moshannon State Forest under bright sunlight I could look across the fog filled valley towards home. Reaching this point brough the Vespa GTS300 through miles of twisting roads. The steering is tighter and the scooter feels more sure footed than the 250 I normally ride. That combined with the extra power made for an easy ride in this terrain.
Along the lake at Black Moshannon State Park. Paul is trying to get me to ride off into the woods for a picture or park the scooter at the end of a small wooden dock. In both cases I see a phone call to Kissell Motorsports explaining why I was off-road with the Vespa or asking how to get water out of the crankcase. Besides, I didn’t see Paul pushing his Harley out on the dock.
One last stop moving back across the plateau towards home. The Vespa performs well and I think about what it can’t do. Not much really. It’s more a matter of degree of specialty than not actually being able to do anything. I’ve ridden my smaller Vespa on the freeway for hundreds of miles. I’ve travelled in cities and throughout the countryside. In 100 degree heat and at -15 degree cold. On dry pavement, wet pavement, dirt, gravel, snow and ice. The Vespa is a great machine for a beginner and will allow for lots of growth. It’s a gem around town but can run with the big dogs too if invited. And the expertise acquired on the scooter translates fine to a bigger, more powerful motorcycle if that’s where your path goes.
I’m not sure if that fellow got his wife the Can-Am Spyder or not but I really think the Vespa would have been the better choice. Get your husband or wife a scooter. Ride with them. Show them the ropes. Who knows where it will take you.
I’m not adventurous and my habit of pre-judging tends to torpedo new experiences. During the past 35 years at Penn State I can probably count on two hands the number of times I have not ordered chocolate ice cream at the world famous Berkey Creamery. I find something I like and I stick to it. And I draw a lot of conclusions from limited information and experience. It explains why my heart sunk last week when Craig Kissell suggested I try the Triumph Street Triple. I don’t ride motorcycles like that. I hate that feet back riding position and I’m not interested in a machine that’s described as a streetfighter or referenced along with smoking rear tires and sirens. In my head I knew exactly what this bike was and had no interest in riding one. I know what I like and this wasn’t it. While my brain scanned Kissell Motorsports for alternative suggestions what came out of my mouth was, “Sure, I’ll take it for a ride.”.
Despite being narrow minded about choices I am quick to admit when I’m wrong. Not even a mile down the road I was smiling and telling myself that the Triumph Street Triple was fun. The riding position was different and my big clunky Wolverine boots weren’t ideal for the shift level but those were merely minor adjustments waiting to be made. Even though it was fun to ride I was uncertain how it would hold up for a longer ride. By the time the motorcycle was parked in the driveway I was making plans for the next morning.
My body isn’t as limber as it once was so before departing the next morning I spent 15 minutes stretching my legs and hips to help me adapt to the riding position which is decidedly more restricted than my Vespa. I was skeptical about how far I could ride comfortably. Since the Street Triple placed me in new, transformational territory, I figured I would add another element to the trip — I would keep photography to a minimum. No frequents stops to look around and explore. This time I would just ride, chew up miles and have fun solely with the motorcycle. And I managed to spend a minimal amount of time on pictures, usually just making a quick shot when I had to stop to stretch or get gas. The ride was a no frills adventure.
2009 Triumph Street Triple
Departure time put me on the road just after sunrise on a clear, mild morning. The first stop was just outside of Centre Hall, Pennsylvania to tie my shoe. And make a quick photo. At this point I was intrigued by the engine and transmission performance. The power was smooth, positive and relentless in any of the six gears available. I was able to manage at slow speeds when necessary and a twist of throttle transformed the Triumph into nothing short of a monster on the road. It’s clear this motorcycle is made to move fast and hard down the road. The tires seemed to stick to the road and I could see why some riders may succumb to temptation and enter the riding realm of interest to the State Police.
On PA Route 192 east of Livonia I decide to stop and stretch my legs. I’ve only gone 32 miles but I’m still concerned that I’m suddenly going to cramp up in the still odd to me riding position. While stopped making the picture a young man in a pickup truck slows to inquire if I require assistance. I’m reminded of how often people have stopped to offer help over the years when I am out in the middle of nowhere making pictures. I guess motorcycles and scooters should be moving, especially so far from town. I give him the thumbs up and he returns the gesture and motors on as I continue on my way east towards the Susquehanna River.
My just ride and not take a lot of pictures plan wasn’t perfect. I did putt around (if you call moving slow on the Street Triple putting) R.B. Winter State Park a bit and just had to make a photo as we entered the forest with the morning light streaming in. I’m a sucker for these pictures. Besides, it gave me another chance to see the instrument cluster on the Triumph come to life when I turn on the power— the fuel system pressurizing and a futuristic sweep of blue lights around the tachometer make me smile as the bike says, “lets go.”.
I planned to have breakfast at some yet undiscovered diner along the way. I passed several options in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania preferring to keep riding. I finally pulled off the road at a Pennsylvania Fish Commission launch area on the east side of the Susquehanna River. I needed to sit for a few minutes to to sort out some competing noise in my head. Breakfast was loud, fuel was quiet but persistent, and where I was going was just annoying. Undecided I sat on the Triumph looking for a sign of which way to go as two Harley-Davidson Road Kings roared by. While normally oblivious to other motorcycles on the highway save for offering a friendly wave in passing a light flickered in my head and I pulled onto the road in the direction of the Harleys. Working fast through the gears I closed the distance between us quickly and rode behind them until we reached an intersection where I paused to allow them to regain their independence and privacy. It was an unusual action on my part to chase someone down and I can only attribute it to the power available on this machine. As I sat at the intersection I reevaluated my behavior and made a note that I don’t have to act on impulses — especially on the road.
After adding several gallons of premium fuel to the tank I made a decision to follow the river south towards Harrisburg, a route I’ve not ridden before, and take the ferry across the river at Millersburg. I acted on impulse again, this time to make an unnecessary photograph of the Triumph outside an abandoned factory in Sunbury. It’s how I imagine a Triumph, born in the industrial areas of England where red brick is king. A homage to my idea of a streetfighter.
Another picture, another required stop. This time to replace my gloves for a lighter, cooler, mesh pair of Triumph gloves. With absolutely no luggage space on the Street Triple I carry everything in my pockets — camera, notebook, pen, extra gloves, cell phone, wallet, and extra ear plugs. Looking down the road at the absence of traffic I am again struck by thoughts of increasing speed. I’ve reached the breakin mileage point where I can add another 1000 rpms. Then I remember all the deer crossing signs I’ve passed and the knowledge that Pennsylvania holds the North American record for vehicle deer strikes. As pretty as Bambi is I don’t want to run into her. Or him. Managing risk I continue on my way at legal speeds. And still smiling. Any objections I had about this motorcycle have evaporated and I am just enjoying the ride.
No excuses. I just wanted to make a picture. At this point I had ridden almost 90 miles and no longer had any concerns about riding position or seat comfort. Check and check. And I was losing a bit of my will to not make pictures. The photographer in me remains stronger than the rider. So I needed to look at the old Conrail car that someone had gone to the trouble of placing on their property. Couldn’t figure out why they would go to such lengths to get it there and then let it decay. Photographically though it was a fine subject.
It was only 8 more miles to Millersburg and the Millersburg Ferry, the only remaining paddle wheel ferry crossing the river. The last time I made use of it was in the 1980s while working on a documentary film about water. On this day the ride across would be purely for pleasure.
The ferry sits along the shore at the bottom of a step dirt drive. I was hoping that the boat would be on my side of the river so I wouldn’t have to wait too long to cross. All hope was dashed for a quick crossing when I pulled up and saw a hand written note “Not Working Today”. I suppose I should be grateful. The deck looked a little more rickety than I remember and certainly was uneven to park a motorcycle. That sign saved me the unpleasant phone call to Craig Kissell, “You’ll never guess where your brand new Triumph is. In the Susquehanna River. Yeah, that’s right, the Susquehanna. Can I still have the Scrambler???”.
Looking down river towards Harrisburg and the closest bridge at Clarks Ferry I had to make a decision of whether to head south or turn back and go the way I came. Without a map handy I chose to continue south to what had to be a closer crossing. The ferry would have to wait for another day.
Traffic increased as I traveled south and my stomach was making more frequent reminders about breakfast. Without the ferry crossing my time table was a wreck and I wanted to be home before 1pm. The next day was my daughter’s wedding and I had some things to think about. So I abandoned plans for a sit down hearty breakfast and opted for the continental cuisine of a Sheetz cheese dog and a bottle of water. Enough fuel for me to get home.
On the road home to State College via US322.
If I had more time I would have chosen a leisurely route home to site see and make more pictures. With the press of time and schedule I chose to follow US Route 322 and see how the Street Triple performed on the 70 mile trip home. The route would provide a limited access busy highway for all but about 7 miles of the trip. While the bike had no problems flowing along with traffic it certainly wasn’t at its best being buffeted about with neither fairing or windshield to help diffuse the air disruptions of a steady stream of eighteen wheelers on the road. The bike held it’s own but the combination of wind and turbulence demanded a lot of attention at times. It was nice to know that a twist of the throttle would leap the bike forward and beyond things if required.
When I got home I had put just under 200 miles on the Triumph Street Triple, a machine that 24 hours earlier I had no interest in at all. It was a minor transformation and another lesson learned on the road, this one about judging books by their covers. The Street Triple obviously has the power and design to live up to its streetfighter reputation. But I found that it is just as accommodating to a non-streetfighting rider. And it is fun, really fun to ride. It may not be the all-around bike for my daily riding requirements but it may be for someone else who has no interest in farm lanes and forest roads. On the street, it’s in its element.
