Scooter in the Sticks

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

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.

Little Rides on a Fall Day

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Last Sunday morning arrived cool and foggy, the kind of day I relish as photographer and rider.  The falling leaves signal a change in days, a shortness of light and warmth and the arrival of the official Vespa riding season.

Just down the street I pull over to ponder the ride.  The painted white arrows echo the conversation in my head, the uncertainty of which direction I should go.  Eventually I decide to ride directly to my Sunday morning meeting with Gordon to talk photography and drink tea.  But until I get there, I savor the ride, no matter how ordinary or short.

Scooter riders become familiar with the liberal interpretation of parking rules, especially when applied to spaces beyond the reach of the four-wheeled world.  I’m not sure if it’s legal to park here but so far I’ve not attracted the interest of the local parking constabulary.  It is after all, a moped.

Vespa riders are badasses.  We sit in a dark corner of the room, back to the wall, and survey the world that’s ours to explore.  With tea cup in one hand and my Canon G9 (I seem to have lost it somewhere) in the other, I record the view at Saint’s Cafe on a Sunday morning.

The ride home under a clear morning sky offers a different experience.  After nearly dumping the Vespa on a steep drop from pavement to gravel caused by hasty decision to explore I stop to admire the landscape and admonish myself for being a careless rider.  I suppose it’s always good to look in the mirror and remind yourself of those inner weaknesses.

Later that day, the sun on the other side of the horizon, I ride back to town to an appointment.  Another little ride, another reminder of how satisfying even the little rides on a fall day can be.
No reason to wait for extreme adventures to enjoy the satisfaction of riding.

Embracing Failure, Return of the iPhone

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Waking to fog still excites me.  Duty and responsibility take a back seat as I scheme to find a way to explore a world half shrouded, half hidden by fog.  This past weekend was no exception and after a rush to get Junior exercised, fed, watered and Milkboned I was off to make photographs and eventually meet my friend Gordon at Starbucks.

The world was perfect.  Even the occasional draw of my glove across my visor to clear condensation could not interfere with the moment.  As I walked into position to make a photograph along Spring Creek I was presented with a wonderful opportunity for personal growth in the form of acceptance — the SD card for my digital camera was missing. 

 Obviously all was not lost.  My recently revived iPhone (not long ago I abandoned it for a Trac Phone.  That was a bad plan professionally.) was in my pocket and I surrendered to the reality that photography on this morning would be different than I planned. The fog was subtle and that ephemeral nature would easily be lost without the more powerful rendering of my Canon G9.  The iPhone is closing in though.  Riding on along the creek I was surprised how angry I was with myself for being so irresponsible.  Again.  I could tell you about all the pictures that got away.  Instead, I embraced the failure and made the most of the situation.

And I still could ride.

 Earlier in the week I did the same thing on another evening ride.  No card in the camera.  So I had to resort to the iPhone.  It’s not that the pictures are bad, they just aren’t what I planned.  And again, my expectations struggled against me seeking to ruin a lovely evening on the road.

The roads here are sublime.  While there are times when I wait for vehicles to leave a scene for the most part these roads are empty on a Sunday morning.  I could have had breakfast here without concern. 

One last detour at a tract of land managed by the Pennsylvania Game Commission.  Kim and I used to rent a farm bordering these lands and could walk out our door and walk for hours without seeing another person.  Those were pre-Vespa days.  Standing here a flood of memories swept over me like ghosts from the past.  For those of you who know where this is (of for the Game Warden reading this) I did not motor into this position.  I dutifully pushed the Vespa around the gate and posed it for this picture.  There is no outlaw biker in me and I was not about to intrude on this place with my scooter.

Well, I thought about it for a second or two.

By the time I arrived at Starbucks I had moved beyond embracing my failure to bring along a working camera to deciding I should reward myself for making the most of a situation I could not change.  Two of these cookies died in the process.

I’ll post the black and white prints for the 3 Prints Project when I get a moment to make some scans.  Right now I would rather ride.  It’s only 9:30pm.  Perhaps a run to the store for some chocolate to go along with a cup of tea is in order.

Evening Patrol by Vespa

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One evening ride, one quiet trip, no different than the ones before.  The road moves by, my eyes absorb the the passing landscape as light slowly fades and leads to moonlight glimmer.  At least that’s how I think about it now as I write, a reminder of riding and the quiet transformation that occurs on the road.

Standing before Mount Nittany, a hill in the valley where I live, after so many years the experience has grown sublime.  In all weathers and times I find myself here.

All is not necessarily quiet in the physical world.  Behind me the din of traffic gnaws and chews at the mental hush that the Vespa can bestow.

Bright orange earplugs can’t diminish the thunder of a passing truck and it’s easily to lose myself to the noise.  Still, with a bit of practice, the thoughts inside my helmeted head can remain quiet and relaxed, the wandering pace of the ride bringing order to the mental chaos of the day.

A gift of riding.

A hundred times I’ve stood beside a road as the day fades, no house or car on person in sight, and here I confront the moment and a life unfolding.  Beyond enjoyment, past relaxation, these evening rides move towards a kind of active meditation.  For a moment I think about a loud motorcycle I’ve ridden and the impossibility of entering this place.

There is no plan or route or destination.  Just the movement of the Vespa over the road, the track it follows over well paved road with little to interrupt a slow change in outlook and attitude during the evening patrol.

As day surrenders to night I know why I ride — beyond fun and enjoyment, adventure or challenge, the deflation of noise and jagged energy made possible by this scooter brings me back, over and over again, to the road and ride.  A few miles, a handful of minutes, it doesn’t take long to find my way.

At least on some days it’s why i’m on the evening patrol…