Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
Watch the temperature drop below 60 degrees and all the riders disappear. It’s just the scooters at work. At least today. The leaves are falling and autumn is coming on with a vengeance. I’ve been busy at work and at home and time seems to evaporate.
For now I have to be content with my commute to work.
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.
It felt like I getting in a clown car. The tiny scooter. I could hardly believe I was thinking that when I got back on the Vespa minutes after returning a Kawasaki KLR 650. The nature of the KLR kept my shoulders spread and my legs extended more fully while riding. The close, compact riding position of the GTS seemed almost shocking and a rush of thoughts appeared in my head that scooter riding was finished, spoiled by the recent riding of motorcycles. For a few moment scooter innocence and simplicity abandoned me as I rode towards home.
It didn’t take long to find my place on the Vespa. A few rides to work, a few errands and the he earnest utility of the scooter becomes apparent. By Thursday morning I was back in the groove as I headed south of town towards Rock Springs.
Still can’t pass up an interesting path. A photographic treasure could lurk that way. With corn over eight feet tall there are a lot of mysterious farm lanes around. The scooter readily runs along the gravel lanes at slow, explorer speeds. I sacrifice a few extra minutes to check around a few bends in the corn.
Another quick stop at Gate D of the Penn State Ag Research Center to survey the for for pictures. It had become a uniform grey with little subject matter to give the fog any personality. Disappointed I ride on towards my morning work assignment.
Ag Progress Days begin next week and 40-50 thousand people will arrive to check out the latest agricultural innovations in machines, management, livestock and more. I’ve ridden out to help set lights for one of the exhibit buildings. A day of physical labor will remind me of the current status of my body.
I admire how you can get away with far more parking options with a scooter than you can with a motorcycle. I see them around town parked in little places behind utility poles, odd spaces in parking lots, next to bike racks, etc. One definite advantage of the smaller scooters. My Vespa GTS250 is right on the edge of being too big to play invisible.
The Vespa has returned to my riding life and the clown car has reappeared as a real machine capable of real travel. And it delivers more fun than I have a right to expect. If my scooter had a name I think I would owe it an apology…
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.
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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.
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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.
I remain photographically constricted because of my belief that dramatic light is an essential ingredient for a good photograph. In practice I photograph in all kinds of light and in the rainbow picture I made last week on a ride into town I see evidence that dramatic light does not make a dramatic picture. My brain tells me that good pictures are everywhere and do not require any formula of essential elements. But whispering deeper is some stilted, stunted core level belief in dramatic light. Perhaps it is a result of early exposure to Ansel Adams and Edward Weston. Wherever it came from it has an effect on my decision making. I am a prisoner of my own beliefs.
On clear days I often leave early to catch the low light which can render objects and landscapes in more dramatic fashion than the middle part of the day. I’m certain this plays a partial role in my habit of riding at dawn. Even if I am not making pictures I want to see the world change. Color and texture change rapidly in the morning. Spaces are more clearly defined. Last Saturday morning I put my Mamiya 7 camera in the Vespa and headed towards the mountains to make photographs. Not far from home I stopped to look at the road and the brightness beginning to consume it. The little point and shoot Canon camera makes recording these moments simply as my own visual sketching.
The transition from motorcycle back to scooter was invisible. The ride of the Vespa is plush; even on gravel. I’ve become more accustomed to riding on these forest roads and always find a sense of quiet satisfaction being able to move beneath the trees. And it didn’t matter if I was not inclined to bring out the film camera.
Those of you familiar with Rothrock State Forest may recognize the switchbacks on the road to Little Flat. It’s narrow and can be unnerving when the inattentive driver comes barreling down the hill in a truck or SUV. I would not want to attempt any off-road riding here.
Several stops to search for non-scooter pictures didn’t reveal anything I cared to spend film on. The process was underway and by the next day had finished a new roll of Ilford black and white film. After digging through my desk I now have a total of four rolls awaiting the darkroom treatment. On this day though my thoughts turned (as always) to food. The Pump Station Cafe was only a few miles away.
Riding a scooter tends to offer some parking alternatives that a motorcycle does not. My Vespa is small enough to park right in front of the cafe on a little sidewalk. It looks like it belongs there. At least that’s what I tell myself. While eating I jot notes on an index card about my troubles getting my head back into shooting pictures. I don’t count the things I do for Scooter in the Sticks or at work. I judge myself, perhaps wrongly, by the photographs I make solely for myself. I hit these dry spells now and again and I just need to wade through them. Get past my thinking and get closer to doing.
And quit being a prisoner of light.