Scooter in the Sticks

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

Transition: Vespa to Triumph

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5:30 AM. Dark and raining. My destination 58 miles away. An appropriate start for the transition from my Vespa GTS 250ie to a 2008 Triumph America. I agreed to shuttle the Triumph back to town for a friend of my father-in-law for maintenance at our local Triumph dealer. I’ll have the Triumph for a week and the chance for an extended demo ride was too much to pass up.  A temporary assignment to a Triumph.

Riding in the Dark

For me, the combination of darkness and rain is a weather challenge only exceeded by snow. Empty rural roads and slow speeds would dominate the trip until dawn. And I was hoping the rain kept the deer on the ground until the weather cleared a bit. Riding through the countryside and watching the road ahead lit solely by my headlight I was reminded of how small the area of illumination is and slow I have to ride to be able to stop within the area I can see. Even if I wanted to go faster there really was no way to manage it safely.

I sat a while at an on ramp of Interstate 99 gauging traffic for one leg of my trip. An endless series of tractor-trailers roaring along in a cloud of spray made the decision not to venture onto the freeway simple.
The sky showed the first signs of light in Tyrone and the rain was nothing more than mist. I stopped to dry my visor and make sure my digital camera wasn’t getting too wet in my pocket.
Nearing Altoona I stopped to watch the fog move along the mountainside. Apart from a heavy surf breaking on a rocky shore I can think of few things whose appearance brings me such quiet pleasure.

The Triumph America

My first thought on seeing the motorcycle in my father-in-law’s garage was that all that chrome was going to get dirty. And indeed it did. The switch from the Vespa to something the size of the America demands some changes in thought and approach. The additional weight is managed differently. The feet forward cruiser pegs and added tasks of shifting and foot braking are not on the regular riding menu. For the first few miles I reprogrammed myself with a bit of conscious practice and the old muscle memories returned from a long vacation.
More empty roads gave me the chance to practice some hard braking, swerving and other actions specific to the weight of the Triumph. The bike performed nicely and it became quite comfortable to handle.
By the time I got home I felt relaxed on the America. It’s two-cylinder engine thumped along like a champ and I could see how someone might enjoy one. It’s not for me though.

The Triumph is too big, too powerful, and too clumsy for the eclectic riding I do. There would be no quick u-turns or pushing through deep gravel and grass for a picture. It’s size and weight just takes too long to manage. Even the few times I stopped for pictures I watched that kickstand carefully to see if it would support the weight on the surfaces I was on. And I passed up many picture locations I just didn’t think I could get the bike to safely or easily like I could with the Vespa. Still, it is a nice motorcycle.

If I had any complaints at all it was with the loud exhaust. Aftermarket pipes made the America nothing short of obnoxious to my ears. When I left Altoona I had my earplugs in when I started it up and while had quite a rumble it wasn’t until I got home and started it for Kim without the plugs that I realized how really loud it was. On a long trip I can’t imagine having to listen to it thundering in my brain. I suspect returning the factory pipes would fix that problem. Still, it is a nice motorcycle.

I’ll probably get the motorcycle back from the Triumph dealer on Tuesday and be able to ride it the rest of the week before going back to Altoona to retrieve my Vespa. We’ll see how things go until then…

The Road Devours All Concerns

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With the Vespa parked across from the Cafe on the Park I sat outside in the cool air with a cup of tea and watched the world go by. Moments like these remind me why I ride alone. But they don’t always come easy.

Checking the scooter over in the driveway this morning I had no idea where to go. I’ve not ridden much apart from my commute to work. Thinking about the road ahead made me anxious. Nervous. A soft melancholy flow squeezed me and my gut was whispering to stay home. Backpacker and author Colin Fletcher describes the feeling in “The Complete Walker”. Something that happens to him before a backpacking trip the he refers to as “Fletcherititis”. An unexplained and sudden onset of physical and emotional symptoms striving to keep him at home.

But the road devours all concerns.

The cafe is not on my mental riding stop list. Somehow I forget about it despite nothing but exceptional morning meals. This morning was no exception. I’ll have to reprogram.

The ride home was like a kid wandering through the neighborhood after school. (Do parents actually let their kids still do that?) No road was too small, no track too difficult. My only goal was slow and empty.

Riding off the beaten path always reminds of things. This gravel road freshened thoughts of more aggressive Kenda K 761 tires to run this winter. They are more akin to those you see on a Honda Ruckus.

Cotton candy clouds and blue skies, riding along towards home, the tires, winter, and everything else faded. All that was left was the road…

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.