Scooter in the Sticks

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

Squirrels and Riders

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We’re the same at some level. Perhaps it’s the common DNA we share. Standing in the garden this morning while the dog patrolled the premises the 59-degree air triggered a reaction not dissimilar from those going through the heads of the squirrels racing overhead in the spruce trees. Or so I imagine.

Cold air means winter is coming. Time to prepare. I don’t gather acorns but do think about NikWax for my riding clothes to hold the foul weather from my tender boyish flesh. Locate electric gloves, wonder about the condition of the Vespa’s battery. That sort of thing. Winter riding sorts of things.

The ride to work on Monday morning beneath heavy, gray clouds reminded me of fall. And winter. A feeling in my gut manufactured by ancient genetic coding that once kept my ancestors alive. And I suppose it’s still working that way.

What troubles isn’t that I might be like a squirrel. What really bothers me is where did the summer go?

Balance: On the Road and in Life

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Looking out over a quiet morning landscape reminds me of the possibility of balance. What it means and what it takes to achieve.

One of the reasons I ride so early in the morning is the world is still a simple place. Returning my father-in-law’s Vespa ET4 on a 60 mile ride at dawn swept everything away but the balance of the moment.

Waiting at traffic lights I try to balance the scooter. Feet up at a dead stop I count the seconds before balance evaporates. One, two, three seconds and the Vespa begins to travel towards the pavement. A 350-pound scooter is easy to manage and keep upright. That’s probably why I don’t see Harley and Goldwing riders playing the same game. This practice has done wonders for my own slow speed balance. Not sure how others practice.

Balance. A simple word with many implications. More than the obvious riding needs to keep the rubber side down. Riding home from work in the ends of a heavy rain called for another form of balance as I worked to manage my position on the road, with other vehicles and water lying randomly in my path. Speed, lane position, my intentions, suspicion of others, everything working together in an intuitive balance that manages risk.

Inputs affecting balance seem endless. When the dance on the road becomes too frenetic an alternative is always available. Stop, slow down, take another route. As long as my brain doesn’t interfere with my willingness to depart from a preconceived plan. Stubborn. Stupid.

Sitting this morning in the Boalsburg Griddle having breakfast I was struck by a sign from the Pennsylvania Liquor Control Board outlining their attempt to exert balance in the beer consumption arena. You can’t walk out with more than 192 ounces of beer. The need to balance is everywhere.

On the road it is a model of simplicity compared to the choices faced everyday in living. At least for me. Choices are more varied, their impact subtle, gray, and uncertain. As are the motives. Little wonder the struggle for balance rages from eyes open in the morning until I drift into oblivion at night. During that time though is the real juice of living.

It’s been almost a month since my last post. This one has been in my head simmering and blocking the way. Wrestling with balance at home, at work, it’s held my attention. Letting these words finally spill out in my Moleskine journal has brought balance. All is right in my world and the road ahead is now clear…

Riding at Dawn

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There is no better time to ride than at dawn. To be present to watch the genesis of a new day. To be happy and alive and riding on the earth. Those minutes between the glow of light and the first rays of sunlight are magical regardless of how I experience them. Looking out across the landscape at a group of trees in the fog reminds me of how simple things are.

At dawn the roads are empty. I watch more for deer than for vehicles. The temperature was 62 degrees and chilly as it poured through my vented jacket and t-shirt. Stopping for pictures gave me a moment to warm. On this day the sun was scheduled to arrive at 5:50 and since I didn’t get on the road until 5:40 I didn’t have much time.

On Saturday morning I was off for a 60-mile ride to meet my father-in-law Bob and swap my Vespa GTS for his Vespa ET4. I was bringing the ET4 back for service at the local Vespa dealer Kissell Motor Sports. I was only 12 miles from home as the sun swept out across the landscape.

Patches of fog diminished the full force of sunlight and a few times disappeared as I rode through some areas of dense fog. Fog is challenging. My scanning behind me becomes as intense as ahead. Pre-planning exit strategies for things fore and aft are appropriate in these conditions. The fog didn’t last long and the day was upon me.

Aside from a brief stop to inspect some water slides I rode directly to the meeting place and breakfast. Part of me wants to go back to those water slides when they’re open. Seems wrong that they are wasted on kids. They can have fun with a cardboard box. I require a more refined experience.

The switch from the GTS to the ET4 was noticeable both in size of the machine and in performance. Acceleration was noticeably less, stability was reduced, and a comfortable cruising speed was lower. The human brain is a wonderful thing though and by the time I stopped at Gardners Candies in Tyrone for a treat the ET4 felt pretty much like the GTS.

I didn’t stop much to shoot pictures on the way home. It was getting hot and the light was boring. I was reminded though of how easily the smaller scooter handles the road and can easily eat up miles all day long.

I’ll make the trip again after the ET4 is serviced. At breakfast I met a friend of Bob’s who has a new Triumph Bonneville that needs service. The next ride I may be shuttling a motorcycle instead of a scooter.

Rider in the Mirror

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Most riders pay close attention to their machines; inspecting, checking, making sure everything is working as it should. But how often do we look in the mirror and make the same critical assessment of our riding expertise?

It’s rare for me to meet a rider who questions their skill or ability. More often I hear stories of feats of speed or disaster averted. Long trips, great rides and recollections of weather, roads and people. Consideration of how good a rider one might be just doesn’t come up. Self-assessment in general is a cloudy and sometimes painful process. A lot of ego is tied up with riding and denial may be easier than honest reflection.

A look in the mirror doesn’t mean much to me unless I have some standard or definition of what it means to be a good rider. One man’s good is another man’s terrible. Looking at myself I see some riding experience – around 17000 miles on a Vespa over the past three years in a wider range of weather and conditions. Two MSF riding classes. And a running pseudo-evaluation of sorts through Scooter in the Sticks. But that’s probably not the level of assessment necessary to really make sure I’m as good as I should be on the road.

I’ve noticed that as time on the scooter increases so does confidence. But that confidence may be unfounded and even dangerous. The once complete feet down stops get replaced by slow rolling stops at an intersection I’ve seen a hundred times. Or riding faster through familiar territory because I know what to expect. The guy in the mirror isn’t too bright. Still, there are things I consider positive.

Dress for the Ride

What does that actually mean? If I pretend to be an outlaw biker does it mean jeans, t-shirt, sunglasses, and boots? And if the need arises for head protection a bandanna neatly tied over the top of my head? Or shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops for a sunny Sunday scooter ride? Both costume choices fit the stylization of some in those riding cultures. I’ve always thought physics trumps culture and make my own choices accordingly. Regardless of your choice of two-wheeled conveyance the physics are the same.

A body falling onto pavement at 45MPH pays the same price whether delivered from a Goldwing or a Vespa. A head meets a curb or tree. A knee or elbow bangs the asphalt. All possible events for any rider. Not inevitable but possible. When I look in the mirror the rider I see always has a yellow and black armored jacket, over the ankle boots, full helmet, gloves, and long pants (and usually armored ones on top of those). Dressed for the possible physics of the ride.


Noticing Stupid Things on the Road

I don’t mean bad spelling on yard sale signs or the price of gas. For me it’s: 1. speeders, 2. tailgaters, and 3. the oblivious driver (usually connected to a cell phone). I always think individuals engaging in those behaviors are just sort of, well, stupid. But what really gets me chuckling is seeing items 1 and 2 performed by a rider. I just don’t have the degree of faith in my fellows on the road to do it and am happy to report the man in the mirror free of those defects.


Strategic vs. Tactical Riding

I’ve always felt there is more to successful riding than good tactical skills – being able to physically manipulate a machine on the road. All that’s important but those skills are like individual puzzle pieces – without them being put together to form a bigger strategic picture they don’t add up to much. Looking in the mirror for a while I realize that I think a lot about the rides I take. Where I am going, the characteristics or the roads I will travel, traffic patterns, road hazards I am aware of and those I could possibly encounter.  Like the dump trucks that zip across the road at the quarry entrance in the picture below. When the weather is bad these considerations are even more intense. Riding may put me “in the moment” but my mind is constantly processing things into a larger picture.

How Do I Get to Carnegie Hall?

Practice, practice, practice. The rider in the mirror practices and experiments and pushes the skills envelop. I still seek out places to practice quick and sudden stops bringing the scooter to a halt right at the edge of skidding. I experiment with balance and slow tight turns. And I test my ability to manage the Vespa on a wide range of dicey surfaces. They keep my mind and body in tune with the machine.

Report Card

The rider in this mirror gets a C. I’m making good progress. I’m doing the things I should be doing to be a safe rider. I’m not trying to bring track skills to the highway or duplicate stunt skills in traffic. I want to continue to learn how to be capable and conscious of the things I can do physically and mentally to reduce risk and enjoy riding.

No Age Limit

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From time to time I wonder how long I’ll be able to ride. It happened today while slogging along a grass road. Grass does a good job hiding ruts, groundhog holes, and other jarring obstacles for little scooter tires and nice taps and twinges to aging joints. It’s during those episodes that I can start feeling old.

This past year I’ve noticed subtle changes that affect riding. An active imagination can easily construct a doomed future. The end of riding and beyond. These changes come in the form of increased hand and wrist pain, reduced tolerance to cold, and increased resistance to riding in adverse conditions. When occupied in this mental arena I search for evidence of continued activity and accomplishment. At an art museum recently I was doing age calculations of the artists – subtracting their birth date from the date of a work’s creation hoping for evidence that good things continue to happen.

When I stumbled upon Piaggio’s marketing project – NO AGE LIMIT – I was thrilled to see two riders in their 70’s riding across America.

Buddy and Bob are riding MP3 500’s from San Francisco to New York. Last time I checked they were in the Midwest. It’s a nice story and they have lots of pictures, maps and information about the trip. For many the ride is the most interesting part of the story but for me it’s the fact that these guys are still out there riding. I’ve always had in the back of my mind that when I got older or less sure on my feet that I would opt for one of those three-wheeled wonders. I guess Piaggio was thinking the same thing.