Scooter in the Sticks

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

First Signs of Fall

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The days are already noticeably shorter and the corn is tall and ready to turn. The first signs of Fall are subtle, a few leaves turn color early, field crops ready themselves for harvest, apples get ready to pick, and around here signs of Penn State Football become apparent.

Riding through some back roads the other day I found another sign of Fall that could have multiple meanings. Literally. The hickory nuts (I think) that have begun to fall off the trees here.

In addition to giving the squirrels an opportunity to hoard for the winter they give the less attentive rider an opportunity to fall. Rounding a bend I came across about twenty feet of these hard round nuts that masquerade as marbles and give the Vespa tires fits. They are hard and keep the tire up and off the ground doing wonders for traction. These seasonal drops (nuts not riders) are common when roads run under hickory, walnut, and oaks loaded with acorns. One more innocent little natural hazard to add to the mental library along with manure drops, wet leaves, whitetail deer, groundhogs, springs, birds and bears.

Life in the sticks has its own unique set of riding requirements.

Fog Sweet Fog

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It was purely a coincidence when I read Gary Charpentier’s post on Rush Hour Rambling referencing the differences between my fog and his fog just minutes before departing to ride in some of that charming atmospheric effect. And I can’t agree more with the fog differential between us.

I took the day off and when I saw fog on Tussey Mountain I figured it would be a good day to explore the forest roads in Rothrock State Forest. All gravel and dirt but I’m much more adept with the scooter on these surfaces now and besides—there was fog!

Before going further I have to express how different it is to ride in the fog here versus what Gary has to deal with. While I have to pay close attention to the road the shear lack of volume of other vehicles where I ride creates a completely different environment. I saw one other vehicle the entire time I was in the fog. One. I suspect Gary came near to thousands on his commute to work. In my mind heavy fog with heavy traffic is right up there with snowstorms. He is “One rugged sumbitch!.

Riding towards the mountain I could see clouds shrouding the upper two-thirds promising some magical scenery. Starting up the road to Little Flat takes me through a tunnel of trees all the way to the top of the ridge.

The fog becomes heavier as I cross over the ridge and up the next one on Bear Gap Road. The trees are even closer to the edge of the road and the sides of the road are much steeper and rock covered.

While most of the rocks are limestone there are occasional outcroppings of white sandstone that glow in the fog. About this time I notice I am dripping wet in part because of the fog but mostly I think because it is hot outside even at 7 AM. And it just got worse as the day went on though being a smart man I spent it at home in air-conditioned comfort with a good book. But I digress…

I stopped a lot to look at things, probably even more times than I normally do because of the fog and what it does to a place. I suspect on a sunny morning I would never have noticed the spider web on these thistles.

Riding further I come to the edge of one of the many wilderness areas in Pennsylvania and a place that is especially rich for reptiles and amphibians—read that rattlesnakes and turtles.

While padding around a bit I noticed a red newt crossing the road. Again, something you won’t see riding or driving. The drogue I call a camera affords many special views.

My stomach got the better of me and caused the Vespa to turn towards home even as the fog seemed to get heavier. I could not help but think of the battle Gary has to endure to travel on two-wheels through this stuff. There is no rambling in that kind of environment. Fog is what the place makes of it. It’s dumb luck I find myself where I am.

Pre-Dawn Departure

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After almost a week of having to take the Ford Ranger to work I was ready to ride. Friday evening I exchanged the dark Iridium Visor on my Fulmer helmet for the clear one paving the way for a pre-dawn departure. I rolled the Vespa GTS out of the garage at 5:30 AM to a clear, star filled sky with the temperature a mild 53° F. After so much hot weather I forgot what that means on two-wheels.

Riding along through the agricultural areas where cornfields and woodlots that grow right to the edge of the roads meant I would need to manage the risk of encountering Whitetail deer. Since it was still dark and the deer would be moving at this time of day the only real option would be to slow down. I hadn’t gotten three miles until I had to stop to put on another shirt. I made a big mistake not wearing my insulated First Gear Kilimanjaro IV jacket. I looked at the weather report and saw that the temperature would hit the low 70’s. That did happen but not until almost 1 PM. Three layers under the vented jacket kept me functional if not comfortable. The bigger problem was my hands that remained numb or near numb until almost noon. For the first 105 miles the temperature never got above 55° F.

I was on the road 20 minutes before I saw another vehicle. The solitude of riding is magnified on the road near dawn. I’ve not tired of watching the sky begin to brighten and change color during those minutes before the sun breaches the horizon.

I missed the actual sunrise while crossing Nittany Mountain near Rebersburg; the heavily forested area masking any direct light from the low sun. Riding along I could feel my spirits begin to soar and an electric thrill moves through me just because I am riding. I keep asking myself why I didn’t start riding again a long time ago.

I enter Sugar Valley and turn east into the sun right over the road. Almost 15 miles of shielding my eyes from the direct sun with my left hand relaxing only when the road was shielded by trees. Without doing so the shadows were jet black and who knows what would be waiting for me. I was grateful when I finally turned north and on towards Pine Creek Gorge.

At Waterville I had to stop and warm up my hands. Even though I was wearing windproof and insulated gloves they were not heavy enough to do the jog. I know better than to head out unprepared but I allowed myself to be lulled by the idea that it was summer.

About 20 minutes in the sun with a cup of hot chocolate cheered my spirits and thawed my hands enough to continue on towards my next mistake.

When I can’t ride I look at maps and imagine riding. My route this morning was to follow PA 44 to PA 414 along Pine Creek into Pennsylvania’s Grand Canyon – the Pine Creek Gorge. A mental mix-up of the map in my head has me follow PA 44 up onto the mountain top rather than remain along the creek and take me far West of my objective. To make matters worse the state has kindly tarred and chipped the road on top of the mountain treating me to almost 25 miles of gravel and 25 MPH speeds.

Thank god the scenery was enjoyable and I stopped often to look out across the many vistas.

When the road finally cleared my mind moved from managing the changing surface to my stomach and breakfast. A big banner proclaiming “BREAKFAST” on the front porch of the Carter Camp Lodge was all I needed to stop for food, water, and warmth.

I could not have found a better and more relaxed place to eat and the gentleman cooking my breakfast took an interest in the Vespa. Not enough to dissuade him from his BMW R90 though.

And it did not keep him from making one great hearty breakfast either. The Carter Camp Lodge will be on my list of stops next time I pass this way.

The Vespa and I are moving down the road again around 11AM. I’ve been on the road for over 5 hours and have gone 105 miles. I’ve stopped over a dozen times to take pictures, had breakfast, adjusted clothing, and traveled slowly for deer and gravel. So I suppose I’m not doing too badly.

I hit the famous US Route 6 at Galeton and decide it’s time to head home without back tracking to the canyon or seeing the sights. With another 120 miles ahead of me I crank the throttle and cruise along.

My plan was to head to Wellsboro and south on PA 287 and on home. Postcard weather and fine roads through some of the prettiest places in the state promised a fine ride until the scooter and my brain conspired against me. First I noticed the exhaust sounded louder than normal. A quick check of the infamous Vespa GTS exhaust system gasket confirmed that it was beginning to fail. Luckily I made it home before it blew out. The scooter is now with the dealer for a new gasket that is part of a manufacturer recall. During the trip home though I began to wonder if the kind of riding I have been doing is too much for the scooter, if I should really be riding something bigger, more powerful, more durable. All this while cruising along comfortably at 60 MPH on a machine that has proven to be nothing short of exceptional.

But my mind wanders to the fact that I didn’t pass a scooter all day or a motorcycle under 1000cc’s. Those thoughts pass quickly though as I absorb the scenery and amazing roads that I have to ride on.

Sunday Jaunt

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Not every ride can be long and filled with adventure. This past Sunday’s ride was a quiet, easy 80 miles under clear skies. Paul suggested we meet at Saints, one of the local coffee shops at the crack of dawn. For me that would normally mean 5:30 AM but for Paul that means 8 AM, the first opportunity to buy the Sunday edition of the New York Times. My own mental planning didn’t go beyond finding somewhere new to have breakfast.

During one of our stops to look for pictures I share with Paul my interest in riding to Georgetown South Carolina to visit an aunt and uncle and invite him along. He’s mildly interested though concerned about the durability of his back for a multiple day ride especially if it means long days with me lollygagging along on back roads taking pictures.

Riding a new route that parallels Interstate 80 through bucolic Amish farmland we head towards Mill Hall. It’s pretty easy picking out the Amish farms — no power lines to the buildings and teams of horses or mules in the pastures. On a Sunday the horses get the day off save for the one powering the buggy going to church.

By accident we come across the Train Station Restaurant. It’s in an old train station and still has an old caboose out back. A sign on the door indicates they will be closing their doors in a few weeks to move to a new location. I heard chatter that the entire station would be moved down the road a half mile. That seemed a little over the top for a little mom and pop restaurant but I’ll check back.

After breakfast I heard the siren song of the lawnmower so we made our way home without further photography or stops. Some days riding just has to take a backseat to other more pressing personal responsibilities. Seems like an indication of personal failure.

Then Came Bronson

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Of everything I have ever watched on television the short opening to Then Came Bronson has resonated with me since first seeing it in 1969. It reflects the riding mythology that lies within me and affects my ideas and choices as I ride today.

The interchange between Bronson and the tired commuter sets up freedom that riding can offer and it just grows from there. Despite the physical gap between the Sportster than Bronson rides and the Vespa GTS that moves me through the world the there is an undeniable parallel for me.

This replica of the Sportster used in the show appears on a Then Came Bronson fan site. Its worth a look.

I suspect the themes in Then Came Bronson are not universal in riding. I’ve spoken to enough owners of motorcycles now to know that riding is not always first on their agenda. The thought of riding along through a saltwater surf and sand would be a horror only a few steps away from the gates of hell for some and a pointless exercise for others interested in speed and cornering.

And I am not sure whether the idea of riding away from the burden of the mundane is uniquely an American story or not. I certainly see parallels with Hermann Hesse’s Knulp though without the Harley.

I posted this because I can’t get the image out of my head. I can still see myself on that Sportster. Even when riding my Vespa. Last night on my way to the grocery store I was thinking about it. The machine and the road stretching out in front of me.

I’ve posted before about this and the youTube videos go away fast. I can only suspect that someone owning the rights to the show are exerting some influence. Someone told me about a place I could purchase the series on DVD but they are no longer available. Someday I will be surprised though and see them available on Netflix.