Scooter in the Sticks

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

A Good Ride

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abstract art paintingSometimes life chaotic, hard to read, wildly colored.  Just the sort of situation that begs a person to step out from under the wheel.  At least that’s what I was thinking while looking at this painting in the cafe I stopped for tea this afternoon.  The past week was on that canvas.

Vespa GTS scooter and Mt. NittanyWith a half-day vacation and no where to be and nothing pressing needing done I just wandered a bit.  It’s easy for me to know when I’m not enslaved to a schedule — the speedometer seldom passes 25mph.  Often slower.

Puffy clouds and a blue sky drifted over Mt. Nittany as I meandered along.  A fine day for a good ride.

manequin at Cafe LemontCafe Lemont was quiet with the other patrons lost in whatever they were doing.  This young woman wouldn’t give me the time of day so I opened my journal and began outlining a few writing projects, explored a couple thoughts and sketched and image I had been thinking about.  My cup of tea grew cold before I finished, a signal it was time to ride on.

Vespa GTS scooter along rural roadI’ve been down this road dozens if not hundreds of times and still I’ve not seen it all.  The shadows along the double yellow line — what’s making those patterns?  Something to explore next time I ride through.  If I remember.

Vespa GTS scooter parked alongside a Harley Davidson motorcycle at Duffy's tavern in Boalsburg, PALast stop before heading home — Duffy’s Tavern in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania.  Parked my dirty Vespa next to a shiny Harley Davidson motorcycle while I sat on the patio, again with my journal but this time with a cheeseburger.  The first one since my heart attack.

I know how important riding is to calming a day.  I had forgotten the seductive power of writing in a journal.  Somehow I’ve gotten out of the habit.  At times I think writing in this blog has been a replacement but journal writing is an entirely different animal.  One I am going to engage again.

Didn’t go far or overcome any challenges save those between my ears.

Maybe it was a good ride.

Doom of the Warm-Skinned

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Yamaha Vino scooter in Rothrock State Forest

No matter what lies I tell myself, how well I prepare, or how much gear I put on, I feel the burn of cold and ice, the doom of the warm-skinned man.  Another cold morning ride with the thermometer just below the freezing mark.  Without heated gear my behavior changes with each action weighed against the potential exposure to the elements, a tedious ritual at times but essential to keep doom at bay.

By the time I was wandering in Rothrock State Forest I felt the slow chill of my right thumb as the frigid air relentlessly attacked my Black Diamond Expedition mittens.  A little patience when I stop would allow my hands to regain heat organically but I made the mistake of taking pictures, a decidedly mitten-free activity.  The Canon G15 body gets cold on bare fingers, even for a few moments.

I tell myself something warm awaits down the road and depart before hands rewarm. The rest of my body is warm, toasty, making the beginning-to-ache hands emerge as a loud complaint.

Yamaha Vino 125 scooter on the road

More miles on the Yamaha Vino 125 reveals a solid machine.  Nothing fancy, just “little engine that could” performance.  Just stay away from busy freeways or pavement full of maniacal road warriors.

Yamaha Vino 125 scooter sightseeing

I was mainly a sightseer this morning, wandering familiar territory exploring the changes brought by time and season.  An unexpected advantage of the Vino came to me while making this picture — the kick starter.  The Vespa GTS 250ie electric start has failed a couple times due to battery issues leaving me waiting for another vehicle for a jump.  Those rare experiences have left an indelible mark on my brain, especially in cold weather when batteries are stressed.  No cares at all with the Vino — the little kickstarter really works.

Open road and Yamaha Vino 125 scooterThe Vino can ply the same open road as the larger Vespa requiring just a few more pullovers to let traffic flow by — traffic that remains rare most of the time.  This time of year attention is focused more on scanning the road surface than the rear-view mirrors.  And managing body heat reserves and flesh exposures to avoid the doom of the warm-skinned.

Yamaha Vino 125 scooter with icy road sign“Watch for Ice” — a visual warning that cannot be overlooked when you’re on two wheels.  Those signs are not randomly placed as I once thought — little polite reminders for the motoring public.  They are deliberate placements because of known issues.  Not far from this sign is a place where water routinely runs across the road in wet weather and continues for awhile in dry.  When it freezes, well, you can imagine.

No ice today but I have seen it here many times and conduct myself accordingly.  I recall one trip where I had to come to a complete stop and gingerly footpad my way across a six foot span of shiny, slippery nastiness.

All in a day’s work for winter riders north of the Mason-Dixon Line.

Just a few miles ahead I found food and hot chocolate and the chance to reflect on the cold.  I’ve begun adjusting to it, my resistance to exposure has diminished and it’s easier to venture out.  And I have to say I love the feeling of coming in from the cold — invigorating, exhilarating.

It’s great to be alive and walking (and riding) on the earth.

 

 

A Perfectly Ordinary Ride

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Every route into town is familiar, intimate.  Mental notes on every jarring pothole and road seam, trees dropping walnuts and osage oranges, hiding places for police cars and intersections known for drivers running stops signs and traffic lights.  If you ride long enough.

Ride even longer and the characters along the road come to life as well.  Like this Belgian draft horse at Oak Hall Farm.  Trotting over each time I stop to take a picture — a bit unnerving to have 2000 pounds of horse giving you the once over with only a few strands of wire between us. If we were properly introduced and the owner approved I would offer a slice of the Honeycrisp apple stowed in my topcase.  Few words exchanged between us aside from a soft, “Hey bud, why the long face?”.

A moment more to consider the fog, make a few more images, and then off towards town and Saint’s Cafe. A perfectly ordinary ride until I take a moment to look a little closer and say hello to a horse.

Fog offers one of the few reliable environments to experiences something too strange to believe.  Like seeing spirits or ghosts, aliens or Big Foot.  If there is magic in the world it will surely involve fog.

Imagination forges doorways in perception that allow imagination to burn forth and transform a perfectly ordinary ride into something special.

Off in the distance, at the foot of Mount Nittany, I can almost see a mountain lion cross the road and disappear into the forest.  Some believe they still prowl the Pennsylvania forests.  If they do then surely their existence will be confirmed on a foggy day.

Photographically speaking fog strips away much of the tonal and color experiences of life leaving behind form, shape, composition and the hint of something more beyond perception.  I’ve ridden past these gravel piles a hundred times, maybe a thousand.  And each time I stop and look I imagine something new, like a kid laying in the grass on a summer day looking at clouds and seeing giants.

The new front rack looks good in this dream on a perfectly ordinary ride.

Can’t help but think of scenes from The Walking Dead.  Empty roads disappearing into the unknown. The story would be different in the sunshine, a different perfectly ordinary ride.

Sunday morning at Saint’s Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania — a destination for, by now, hundreds of perfectly ordinary rides to meet my friend Gordon, talk about photography, teaching and the work and world we construct.

The morning started with a whisper today, the world spinning up slowly giving me time to take it in.  As it was on the Vespa during a perfectly ordinary ride.

 Finished watching “Long Way Down” and thought about my own experience in light of that film.  Adventure lies close and circumstance dictates the rides I make.  That’s ok.

I don’t believe I’ve yet scratched the surface in terms of seeing and experiencing the world just outside my door. And that’s why a perfectly ordinary ride is still so rich.

I’ll Go Honey!

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I refuse to believe I’m the only rider who secretly leaps at the chance to go for a ride while feigning resignation and sacrifice in taking on an errand to a grateful spouse.  This can’t be a deception.

This evening my ears pricked at the sound, “We’re almost out of coconut water”.

Sure, no concerned, loving, caring husband would ever, under any circumstance, allow their wife to run out of an essential element of a full life.  From that noble and lofty place I stepped forward and proclaimed, “I’ll go honey!’

A few minutes later I was chasing the sun to the horizon dashing along the freeway towards Trader Joe’s.

Mathematicians have proven the shortest distance between two point is a straight line.  Seems obvious that they weren’t riders.  If they were the idea of the shortest distance wouldn’t have occurred to them.

Only 9 miles as the crow flies lay between my couch and the coconut water at TJs.  Through careful planning and deep thought I could easily triple the distance.  I refer to the conversion effect as Steve’s Third Rule of Enlightened Riding.  Included in the rule is the postulation that level of physical, emotional and spiritual well being is directly proportional to distance traveled.

I’m too tired to write the equation.

Any little dirt track leading into the distance merits investigation.  This stretch of pseudo-road reminded me of a question another Vespa rider asked me last week — is it ok to ride a Vespa on dirt and gravel?  The rider was concerned with comments related to the location of the air intake and fear that a rider could take in a lot of dirt and possibly damage the engine.

All I could offer in response is that I have ridden a lot of miles on dirt and gravel.  Hundreds of miles.  Perhaps thousands.  And no problems so far…

The weather at this time of year, and this evening in particular, is exceptional.  The temperature dipping to 60F and below in the evening under clear skies and falling sun create a magnificent palette of color and tone in which to ride which makes it a little easier to deal with the heavy burdens of running errands.

More small tracks through the woods.  This one ended at a locked gate.  Fortunately the Vespa is agile and thin enough to pass through a human sized opening and continue or towards Trader Joe’s.  The mushy forest soils that make up this part made me think again of how nice it would be to try out some knobby tires and the Vespa.

Mission almost accomplished.  Groceries fill the topcase, the underseat area, are hanging from the incredibly masculine purse hook, and my newly installed front rack is loaded as well.  The Vespa and I are beasts of burden, plodding relentlessly to fill need and bring sustenance to those we love.
Give me a reason to ride…

Triumph Thunderbird Conversion

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In my dreams the road goes on forever.

I gravitate towards empty roads and places off the beaten path. Standing in the middle of old Route 220, once a place of pandemonium and aggressive drivers, I feel at home. And also a bit surprised at how A few weeks ago I sat on a motorcycle outside Kissell Motorsports. I found myself at the beginning of an unexpected conversion. A dedicated Vespa rider enthralled with a big cruising bike. The Triumph Thunderbird.

It’s been almost a month since I had the Thunderbird. Enough time to sort out feelings and reactions to the biggest, heaviest motorcycle I’ve ridden in a long time. I expected a slow, lumbering, unresponsive ride. What I found was a remarkably nimble and easy to handle machine. The engineers at Triumph would probably cringe to read what I am about to say — I found myself thinking more than once “This feels like my Vespa.”. With the Triumph Thunderbird sitting along the road while I try and figure out the best angles for photographs it looks nothing like a Vespa.

I left early one morning for what would become a hundred mile short ride. Patches of fog were scattered through the valley producing areas of limited visibility and wet pavement. While making this picture I noticed the prominence of the exhaust system. Big pipes for the big almost 100 cubic inch parallel twin engine produce a deep rumble. Not too loud and not at all obnoxious. Something I can’t say about most of the big cruisers that pass through my neighborhood, especially the ones that operate between 2am and 7am. Moving mechanical obnoxious alarm clocks. But I digress.

The exhaust tone of the Thunderbird reminds me of the growl of a big, mean dog. You know he’s big and he does too. No need for any barking.

I confess limited experience on big cruisers. Or anything with two wheels weighing close to 750 pounds. Call me crazy but I always take new bikes to some empty parking lot for some experimentation. Not to see what the bike can do but to determine how little I know. The Mount Nittany Middle School has a nice big lot that supports all sorts of turns, swerves, quick braking, U-turns and anything else you might want to try. In less than 30 minutes imagined myself comfortable and at home on the Triumph. A quick stop for a picture in the fog and I was off to meet my friend Larry for breakfast.

Anyone who’s followed Scooter in the Sticks knows a lot of my riding is slow-paced and riddled with numerous stops for pictures. A motorcycle has to be easy to manuever, run smoothly at slow speeds, and allow for quick on and offs. The Thunderbird engine and transmission produced extremely smooth riding at any speed, was agile at even the slowest speeds, and was simple to park almost anywhere. Stopped to photograph a tunnel of trees in the fog I was wondering if the Triumph and I would be a good fit. With the addition of some saddle bags for my camera and gear I could ride this machine anywhere.

A lot of riders don’t understand the slow traveling part of riding. They want to get somewhere fast, ride along with a group, or just can’t get their head or their hand to agree to speeds that are more akin to bicycle riding. But once the speedometer passes 25mph it is amazing how hard it is to react to things in the landscape. I might just be slow in the head but by the time my brain recognizes something of interest it’s already behind me at higher speeds. And I resist turning around just to look or take a picture. I was sitting on the Thunderbird at about 30mph when I noticed the fog strewn across the farm. I don’t want to miss this stuff.

I was getting hungry but still would stop to examine some odd detail along the road. The road surface was wet from an early fog but the Thunderbird offered no trouble or complaints as I moved along. The riding position on this bike was near perfect for me. An upright seating position, bars that were wide and just right for me, and foot pegs that seemed to be exactly where my body thought they should be. Both rear footbrake and shifter lever were easy to find and use. Something I can’t say for every bike I’ve ridden where they seem small and hard to manage with the standard issue scooter clod hoppers I wear courtesy of Wolverine Boots.

Fog strouded the Sunset West Diner in Pleasant Gap. It looked like something out of Twin Peaks. Very odd. The Triumph looked appropriate in the lot. It is a handsome motorcycle. Triumph does an outstanding job of producing machines with classic lines. For anyone wanting a big cruiser with elegant lines and complete functionality this is worth looking at. Twice.

Fat and happy from my standard breakfast fare it was time to see how the Thunderbird performed in it’s more traditional role as a highway cruiser. Jump on Interstate 99, twist the throttle and watch the needle on the speedometer leap to 80 in no time. All similarities to my Vespa evaporate on the freeway. With so much power, torque, and a smooth, stable ride at any speed I was willing to travel. Even the windblast in my chest seemed stable.

Central Pennsylvania is a beautiful place to ride. The views along the highway can, at times, be breathtaking. Looking at the Triumph I can easily imagine riding it anywhere in America.

The single guage on the tank is a model of simple design and complex function. In addition to the big speedometer a button on the right-hand grip allowed me to toggle through a variety of functions like fuel level, mileage remaining, clock, trip meter and more. And there was a readout for RPMs too but I wasn’t concerned about that. Between the engine sound and it’s ability to pull at any speed in any gear I didn’t pay much attention to how fast things were spinning around. I was just having a fine time riding.

The big gas tank was easy to put fuel in. Not something I would normally notice but for some reason it seemed easier to see what was happening as I added. With all these new bikes I worry about splashing gas all over pristine paint and chrome. Not a worry with this bike.

I stopped to visit with the Nittany Road Riders who were taking part in Chris Kepler’s 7th Annual Pennsylvania Grand Canyon Ride. The Thunderbird was the lone cruiser in the group but I’m certain it would have no problems keeping up. I found myself wishing I could go along but duty called another direction.

Around town the Triumph Thunderbird continues to excel. Up and down alleys, backing into parking spaces, making U-turns — whatever I asked the bike to do it complied without complaint. Or perhaps I should say my skills did. With solid riding skills on a small scooter or motorcycle the transition to the Thunderbird is simple. My limits were apparent and areas to practice more were as well.

I rode the Triumph to work on the last day I had it. Backing through a gap between a pickup truck and another bike and into one of the motorcycle spaces was far easier than I would have expected. Standing there before going to my office I wondered how I could have dismissed any interest in a cruiser style motorcycle. I had ridden them before. I can remember riding a Harley back in the 1970s. Maybe that was the problem. This wasn’t the 70s and this bike was a 2010 Triumph Thunderbird.

I’ve been converted. There is a place in my garage for the Thunderbird. Figuratively speaking.