Scooter in the Sticks

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

The Cold Weather Riding Frame of Mind

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A morning drive, minivan, on the way to pick up my Vespa GTS.  But not until I pick up my daughter who’s agreed to drive the van home.

Not until we have breakfast at the Corner Room in State College, Pennsylvania, a place I’ve been eating at for the past 40 years.  When I find something I like I stick with it.  Training for an upcoming half marathon accounts for her wet hair.  I don’t understand running.

The scooter is home, safe in the driveway again.  The ride home was cold, 25F and windy.  Neglected to plug in the electric gloves and found myself warming my hands on the headlight at each traffic light.  Like the old days.  The pre-Gerbing gloves days.

Riding in the cold takes mental preparation that I’ve not done yet.  It’s more than gear, it’s a frame of mind that a rider has to place themselves in.  And right now it seems a far away place.

Left the scooter in the driveway thinking I would go for a ride later — after I warmed up.  I’ve been warming up for hours and am no closer to a ride.  In another hour it will be dark and even colder.  Maybe a good night’s sleep will help me enter the cold weather frame of mind.

A Sunday Afternoon Ride

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Despite the cold it was good to get out for a ride this afternoon.  I don’t watch enough sunsets; my life can be filled with chores and tasks.  On this ride I stopped to smell the roses.

An hour earlier I stopped for another reason — to search for a view of a local landmark.  I rode the 2005 BMW F650 GS I had on loan from Kissell Motorsports up a winding, muddy path through a small patch of woods and stopped as it led into an expansive hayfield.  Less than a minute after arriving the farmer who owned the property sped towards me on an ATV with a look of displeasure on his face.

After an apology for trespassing and explaining what I was doing we determined that I had photographed him before.  Back in 1984.  He said he still has the picture of he and his dog in his home.  Just one of the serendipitous moments on the road.

Later in the ride I crossed through land owned my Penn State as I searched for light sweeping out of the sky in what I like to call “God light” — those instances when the light is drawn in beams from the heavens.  Never did find the right spot but was impressed by the performance of the BMW.  First bike I’ve ridden in years with real knobby tires.  Makes a world of difference in gravel.  And mud.
I’ve put some time on this bike and will post more about it later in the week.  A lot of good values in the pre-owned category with this being one of them.  Liked it a lot.
Junior is barking outside so I can’t write more.  Tired and drained.  No stories or words left for today.  Just a few pleasant memories of a Sunday afternoon ride…

The Aging Rider

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My father used to tell me “It’s hell to get old”. I’m beginning to understand and move that comment from the joke category in my brain to the section reserved for current events. My friend Gordon recently made this picture of me at one of our Sunday morning print meetings and I see my father. And I’m saying to myself “It’s hell to get old”.

Standing at the kitchen sink last night with a handful of Methotrexate I realized something had changed. Almost overnight I’ve traveled from oblivious through denial and on into acceptance that I’ve become an aging rider and with it all the rights and responsibilities attendant to a change in physical ability.

A week ago I was standing in a hospital gown with my back to a wall while two rheumatologists at Johns Hopkins Medical Center recorded measurements of joint flexibility, pain and range of motion, and finally confirming the diagnosis of my family doctor — “You have psoriatic arthritis Mr. Williams.”

Great.

Aging is a natural, nearly invisible process until it isn’t. And one day a light is turned on and you realize some new limitation has formed, some new element to be managed. And it reaches out to every detail and aspect of living and informs a new life. It branded me an aging rider.

Men live in denial though.  I can’t speak for women.

Two months ago I was deep in it, telling myself that my arthritis would have no effect on my riding. Sitting astride the Vespa was easy and I could ride all day but stopping was another story. The joints in my toes were on fire and walking was a problem. Pushing the scooter onto the centerstand was a challenge. And walking to make a photograph along this winding gravel road in Rothrock State Forest was near torture.

But I ignored it and pushed onwards in the rain.

I see pictures when I ride and especially ones where the scooter plays a role. Standing some distance away from the Vespa, thinking about this shot, I was regretting wandering so far from the seated comfort of my ride. Not yet thinking of myself as an aging rider I rode on.

Fear of aging generates denial. It takes time to acknowledge the fear and more time to understand what the march of time means. Personal dishonesty in this area can lead to bad decisions. An acquaintance comes to mind — a fellow in his early 70’s who purchased his first motorcycle two years ago — a Harley Davidson Ultra Glide. He had never ridden before but was persuaded by a friend that he would love riding.

Whenever I run into him I ask if he still has the Harley. His face lights up and he responds with a bright “Sure do!”. What I’m careful not to ask is if he rides it (which I’m sure he doesn’t) Not long after his purchase he discovered that riding a big motorcycle is not an innate skill and after a few scary moments on the road he parked it in the garage for good.

Denial is a wonderful thing and is helpful in making irrational decisions. I’m not saying a 70 year old can’t ride but I might suggest a different path to the road for a first time rider of any age. The accumulation of years (and wisdom) will quickly raise its case in these kinds of situations.

Back on the road I continued to ride and find opportunities for more pictures. Picking my way through the rocks on sore feet finally illuminated my limitations. I was going to have to change the way I think about my capabilities.

The Death Equation.

I like to think that I’m not the only one doing death mathmatics in their head — calculating the difference in years between your current age and the age of your father or grandfather when they died. I can’t remember when I started doing this but it’s definitely related to aging and a growing awareness of the finite number of days at my disposal. I should add that it’s not depressing or obsessive but a result of an awareness and acceptance of my mortality. And fueled by my latest medical adventure.

Right now the only thing keeping me from riding to work is the fact that the Vespa is in for service. I postponed the work until a time I can meet with the technician to photograph him for a blog post. But soon the scooter will be parked again outside my office like it is in this picture expect the sportbikes will cease to appear as winter descends.

In the meantime Junior continues to keep me busy though our walks have diminished in favor of drives to the part where I can stand in one place and heave the ball across the field for him. He’s a potent reminder of the mobility that I have lost for now. He’s always in motion. I’m always…. not.

The change is something new to manage. Like rain or snow or darkness. As I assess routes and weather I now have to assess my physical state. Reading the current issue of the BMW Owners News I’m impressed by the number of aged riders piling up tens of thousands of miles every year. During murky thoughts it helps remind me that the passing of years doesn’t have to relegate me to the rocking chair, or worse, a trike. Actually, I’ve never ridden a trike. Experience has shown me that I really need to try something before judging it harshly.

A shiver of excitement swept over me as I stood in the road with the Leica. Despite any current physical ailments the road still rolled on ahead. There are more rides to make and things to see. And I’ll view these rides through a new filter…

…as an aging rider.

How to Get Your Head Around Cold Weather Riding

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How often do you stop along the road to look.  To see.   I ride a lot but I look a lot too.  The fog hanging over the hills, the color of the leaves in the early morning light, the puddles of water that glow at my feet. It’s quiet and I’m the only one stirring.

There’s too much to see (and photograph) and experience for me to stop riding when it gets cold.  While many, if not most, riders hand up their jacket when the thermometer dips below 60F, or worse, because the calendar page turns to September and a programmed response occurs to drain fuel and get out the Battery Tender.  With a little work a rider can question all the missives about motorcycles and cold weather and perhaps find new magic a cold day.

Let’s get the most important point out of the way first — with cold weather riding comes more risk.  Risk of falling due to loss of traction for all kinds of reasons, risk of bad decision making due to being cold, and generally a risk related to applying all those warm weather skills and habits to an environment that is genuinely different.

All of these things can be managed IF you accept them.  And take steps to deal with them. 

This past Sunday morning was the first cold day of the riding season for me when I rolled out of bed and saw the temperature was 31F.  As much as I ride in cold weather you would think this is all automatic, that I would have a pilot checklist in my head, or better yet on paper.  But I don’t. 

I’m not an organized man.  Yet.

While Junior is munching his Purina Pro Plan I’m thinking about riding gear, whether I need the electric gloves for the short ride I plan, time for the ski mask yet.  In general I’m trying to remember what 31F feels like.

By the time I’m on the road the temperature indicator on the Vespa says 33F.  I don’t know how accurate it is but I do know from experience that the temperature changes drastically in the area as cold air flows in rivers from the mountains down through the valleys.  You can feel it change as the air flows through your helmet or seeps inside your riding gear to touch unprotected skin.  On mornings like this you have to accept the possibility of ice and adjust your attitude and riding style accordingly.

If you have only one riding style, or if you don’t understand why the possibility of ice requires an adjustment, or if you are adherent to the “I ride the way I want and let the world stay out of my way” style of riding, well perhaps you shouldn’t rush right out in cold weather.  Not until you have some time to re-evaluate things a bit.

There is a lot of water flowing around this part of Pennsylvania and in many instances it flows across the road creating hazards for cars and nightmares for motorcycle and scooter riders.  The Commonwealth does a good job with signs for a lot of known occurrences of water on the road but they can’t sign them all.  That leaves each of us with some decisions — park the bike for the duration, or learn how to manage this stuff.  And assume the heightened risk that you may miss something and you will need to know how to respond to the sudden appearance of ice on the road.

I simple terms it means slowing down, particularly on curves so that you have enough time to stop within you visual range of sight.  Most riders don’t know how slow this actually is on little country roads.  I only lean hard when I can see a long way off when the temperature is near or below freezing. 

And you have to remember that even on absolutely dry roads the low temperature affects your tires and the amount of friction available to keep the machine tracking along nicely.  Straight lines aren’t much of a problem unless you need to stop fast and you find out your summer stopping distance computer between your ears doesn’t apply to these new circumstances. 

And if you are under dressed, teeth chattering, hands numb, and the response time from seeing a hazard, convincing your body to move, and then actually executing a maneuver has diminished, well, that’s not a good thing either.

All of these things can be managed.  Takes some thought, some humility, and ultimately desire.  And desire is the fuel that keeps me going. 

I keep riding because I love the experience, the sights, the places that appear on the road.  My Sunday morning trip into town is long enough for me to get lost in the magic of the ride — present, aware, mindful.  Almost a spiritual place.

Stopping on another gravel road to watch the sun rising over the fields and being happy to be alive and walking on the earth.  It’s a simple feeling but one that isn’t easily gained.

Every rider is different but I particularly relish the transition from cold to warmth, in this instance a cup of hot cocoa in a warm cafe.  I’m not sure why but when I repeat this simple trip in a car I don’t stop, don’t see much, and just wolf down the cocoa.  If I even stop to have it. 

There’s no magic in a car ride.

As my hands start to warm and I’m sitting at the table staring at a bagel it seems special.  Special enough to make a photograph and important enough to share here.
 

There are a lot of cold days where the road is dry save for those places where it isn’t.  It’s worth it for me to learn how to deal with the cold and keep riding.  On some days it takes work for me to get my head around it all but when I do I am pleased with the results.

It’s won’t be too much longer until I put the winter tires on the Vespa.

Fall Skies and Motorcycle and Scooter Magic

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Riding under a strong, dramatic sky on a fall day lends offers a certain je ne sais quoi.  I feel something different in my blood, an excitement shimmer through my bones just being on the road and moving.  Scenes that pass with vague indifference in a car ignite my imagination on the Vespa.  Or any motorcycle I have ridden in fact.  Those skies don’t favor one machine over another.

This time of year, with bigger shifts in temperature and light, I find a rolling unfolding of aerial tapestry that threaten to cut my rides short as I stop and watch shafts of light sweep across a field, clouds pass overhead in a collage of shapes and forms rekindling memories of childhood spent lazing on a hilltop just watching the sky, free of worries beyond being home in time for dinner.

 On days I can’t ride to work I often find myself rolling the Vespa from the garage and heading down the road “just for a short ride” I promise Kim.  An unwinding of the strangling energy of a busy day, the quick thrill of flying over the pavement, the momentary fantasy of freedom that a ride can bring.  And then, an image of something so ordinary and familiar beckons for attention.  Standing along the road, not far from home I look and wonder and make a picture.

The Vespa is elegant in its mechanical simplicity and continues to surprise me with its faithful performance and willingness to tackle anything I’ve asked of it, from smooth pavement to gravel paths to snow covered roads.  I would be lying to say I have not considered other machines, imagined different rides in different ways on motorcycles that have caught my attention.  But I continue to be glamoured by the Vespa, it’s magical hold clouding my mind, calling me back, over and over again to the silver scooter. 

The important thing is to ride. Even for just a few minutes — that’s all it takes.  Here I stopped to look back towards home, watch the sun go down, and express some gratitude for being alive and walking on the earth.

I never do that when I’m driving.

So I keep riding. For fellow riders keep riding.  For those would be riders reading and dreaming, take the leap, assume the risk, and find some magic.

Especially now, under those hypnotic fall skies, cool days and fast changing colors.