Scooter in the Sticks

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

Vespa GTS 250ie Off-Pavement Riding Review

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While the Vespa GTS 250ie and I may look at home off the pavement at least one of us is not. This post is more a commentary on my riding skill than any inherent capacity or deficiency of the scooter. And it’s probably fair to say that the word Vespa is not often uttered in the company of words like Husqvarna, Dakar, KTM, Baja, and others synonymous with off-road racing and riding. A lot of things working against us.

Devils Elbow Road winds down from the Appalachian Plateau, a narrow, loosely packed gravel road with lots of washboard areas on the steeper sections. The Vespa feels like one or both of the tires could slip out at any moment as I proceed along the smoother sections at 25 MPH. I have to fight the urge to put my feet out as outriggers like I do in the snow. I keep telling myself to keep my head up and throttle even. The wheels still feel as if they are sliding around.

While trying not to picture the paint after a drop I throttle back to 20 MPH, which turns out to be a comfortable speed for me. I try hard to remember what my old Kawasaki dirt bike felt like on similar roads but my memory isn’t that sharp.

I tempt fate by throttling up for short periods or stop suddenly to gauge the traction the tires have in the gravel. None of this affords any additional riding confidence. I’m running the stock Sava tires and 3000 miles has squared the back one off making it a candidate for replacement. A more aggressive tread might help but I wonder how much of this riding I would actually be doing and why 20 MPH isn’t just fine. Then I picture a 40 mile stretch of this sort of gravel.

The Pennsylvania Bureau of Forestry is big on crushed limestone road surfaces. Sometimes they feel unstable when I walk on them so I guess I should be happy with the progress the Vespa and I are making. At one point the road is just packed clay and dirt and I am able to easily move at 40 MPH making me wonder how well a KLR would perform on the loose and at times deep gravel. (Gary, this is your cue.)

The jury is still out on the Vespa’s off-road capability. I can say it’s not and off-road racer in it’s stock setup and judging by it’s performance on the washboard surfaces I would not want to challenge the suspension on anything rough at speeds beyond a crawl. But I was able to travel and get where I was going. At a leisurely pace it will go all day. Perhaps with a bit more practice the Vespa (or me) will become a reasonable traveler off the pavement.

Helmets and Style

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Anyone who knows me will tell you style is not the first thing that comes to mind when my name is mentioned. That’s not to say there aren’t some style choices going on in my life. My choice of a modern Vespa was made in part because I liked the visual style. Beyond that I am beginning to have trouble. I wear jeans but more because of their utility than style. The riding clothes I wear were chosen for utility as well. I picked a bright yellow riding jacket because I wanted other members of the driving community to be able to see me and perhaps not run me down as readily. That bumblebee look has become of personal style now and I wouldn’t wear anything but black and yellow now. How would anyone know it’s me in pictures?

A helmet for many is a personal style choice, a safety choice, or a personal freedom choice. For me, like with the yellow riding jacket, it was a safety choice. The color of the helmet was a style choice.

So where the hell am I going with this?

Yesterday on the way to work I am riding into town on Atherton Street, a four-lane road with no center divider and many driveways and streets attaching themselves to it. I’m traveling in the right-hand lane at 50 MPH. A colleague from work, Chad, is behind me in his red BMW Z3. A Toyota Land Cruiser is passing on the left and just as it pulls even with me I see in my peripheral vision a large bird sweep out from in front of the Toyota’s windshield. This happens in an instant and my brain has time to acknowledge the flight path of the bird and tighten my neck muscles for impact.

The bird hits squarely in the center of my visor with startling force. It felt like someone took a swing at me with a baseball bat. The bird careens off to the right and I give my head a shake to make sure everything is still working. The Vespa GTS and I maintain a straight line on the road and continue on our merry way.

In the office Chad stops by to remark on the impact and how surprised he was by it. We both agree how nice it was to have a helmet — me so more damage wasn’t done, him because he didn’t have to run me over if I got knocked down.

At lunchtime I had to run an errand and as I was taking off my helmet in a parking lot a beautiful custom painted Harley Davidson Fatboy pulls in. The rider is in commonly seen style – T-shirt, jeans, boots, no gloves, no helmet, no goggles or glasses, no windshield. I can’t help but wonder what that bird impact would do. I remember my cousin was knocked off his Harley by an apple lofted from a passing car.

On the way home last evening I was aware of how little warning you really get for some things like a bird, a darting cat, dog, groundhog or deer. A rock thrown up by a passing truck. There is no time for evasive action in some of these cases. Just enough time to recognize the impending event.

I will have to seek some advice from those of you with more experience on what one actually does in these situations. All I can come up with is to brace myself for the collision and hope everything stays together and upright. And I suppose it is a reminder to slow down in certain situations and have some protective gear.

And there comes the personal decision. Style, safety, freedom. We each are responsible for ourselves.

UPDATE

Frank Armstrong aka pitchertaker posted a link in the comments section that deals with bird collisions of another sort. If you are a timid flier you may not want to watch this.

Mayday Thomson 757

Lazy Bastard or Reasonable Rider

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I already had my earplugs in, helmet on, and ready to thumb the starter when I realized I still had my low work shoes on. Normally I ride with over-the-ankle leather Wolverine boots but I forgot to change before leaving my office. I sat a moment pondering what to do.

Riding home here in rush hour traffic is not the battle that urban commuters face on a daily basis. There is definitely more traffic but it only adds five minutes to the non-rush hour travel time.

I’ll also admit to not wearing the armored pants either. Haven’t been wearing them consistently since the weather warmed up. Even so I can’t say the heat is the reason since temperatures still hover in the low to mid 40’s in the morning. I’ve convinced myself I’m dressing for the ride. A reasonable thought. I might even believe it if it weren’t for the fact that I have been letting the pre-ride tire pressure checks slide to weekly ones. And let’s not talk about oil and fluid level checks. I suppose as my skill in manipulating the scooter have improved so much that there is really no need to put my feet down at stop signs. Perhaps the mental energy I am burning to consider these changes is merely a way to avoid thinking about more important topics. Or not.

On this ride home I feel unexpectedly exposed and vulnerable on the Vespa. I notice a tire-eating opening in the pavement that I hadn’t seen before. Waiting at a traffic light I see two T-short clad, tennis shoe wearing, sportbike riders scream around a Greyhound bus and I marvel at their faith in what might be in front of that bus.

Farther along I try to convince myself that riders competing in the Tour De France travel at speeds comparable to what I’m doing. A look in my rear-view mirror at a couple arguing in the cab of a Ford F250 truck two car lengths behind me highlighted one difference between Lance Armstrong and myself.

I did go back into my office to change shoes. I have consistently been wearing full-helmet, earplugs, armored jacket, gloves, long pants, and boots. But not wearing the armored pants has bugged me for some reason. Commuting in jeans and running errands without the Tourmaster Overpants feels nice. I’ve gotten down on my knees often enough in the driveway to do something and felt the electric pain when a sharp pebble drives itself into my knee to realize that armored pants offer more than skin protection.

On the way home I stopped to look at some trees in bloom at a local cemetery that claims to be the birthplace of Memorial Day.

There is a large bronze statue there of three women laying flowers at the grave of a soldier fallen during the Civil War. I arrived home safe but without resolution of my personal concerns.

This morning I road to work fully geared because it was raining. The ride home was even worse in a torrential downpour. I don’t know what the heck is up with my gear but by the time I got home I was drenched from the waist down. Time to look at some changes. Wet at 75 degrees on a short ride isn’t bad though. Just made me feel like I accomplished something!

Riding Safely Doesn’t Come Naturally

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I saw this video on Bikes in the Fast Lane Motorcycle News. It highlights the thought process that an experienced rider might go through in a similar situation. It also begs the question if an experienced rider would ever get into this situation in the first place. And things happen very, very quickly on the road.

Either way it reminded me that buying a motorcycle and getting a license in no way prepares a rider to manage risk safely on the road. It doesn’t even prompt a person to ask the right questions.

As a daily commuter and year round rider I realize my skills are limited and that I not only don’t have all the riding answers, I don’t even know what all the questions are. So I try and continue to practice and learn every time I get on the Vespa.

I have a lot of fun riding but I have a responsibility to myself, to my family, and to the other drivers and riders on the road to know what I’m doing. I want to be a rider — not an owner who happens to take the machine out on the road.

Dan Bateman’s Musings of an Intrepid Commuter blog is loaded with posts that help a person embrace intelligent action. He is a master – teaching or riding.

Just a few of his riding skills posts:

Aim First, Then Fire — help with negotiating curves.
Braking in a Curve
Part II, Stopping Quickly in a Curve

If you take some time and pour through Dan’s blog you will find a wealth of information that will make you a better and safer rider. And if you post it can be like having your own personal riding coach! I’m hoping Dan doesn’t start a PayPal system for solid advice…. *grin*

Thoughts on Risk and Personal Responsibility

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My last post raised questions about the wisdom and folly of riding home in the snow. Adverse conditions pose technical challenges for a rider but I want to focus more closely on risk assessment and the personal responsibility I assume when I get onto the scooter.

Many assume riding is inherently dangerous and I won’t disagree. I’m never sure how to respond when someone tells me they would never ride a motorcycle because it is too dangerous. Even a brief look at Ride2Die.com is a sober reminder of how things can go terribly wrong. But what’s missing from these cautions is the consideration a rider brings to the ride. In this case my assessment of circumstances and the skills and expertise I bring to the decision making process. An accident or other dangerous encounter is not a certainty and the risk of one can be greatly mitigated by careful and deliberate choices. And this brings me to my choice to ride home in the snow.

When I began riding again less than two years ago I read a lot of motorcycle training books. I remember one warned against riding at night and in the rain. Ever. And it provided strong arguments in support of that position. Riding in the snow was at best a fool’s errand. So how have I arrived at a place where I ride in rain, at night, and in the snow?

I am not indifferent to the risks posed by these conditions and have considered them carefully while sitting in the comfort of my living room, while standing in the doorway making a decision about riding, and while on the back of the scooter. I ask myself if I am up to the ride technically, physically, and mentally. I run through the potential pitfalls. And finally I ask if I am ready to accept the consequences of my decisions.

I don’t want to talk about legal responsibility or the bad habits or missteps of other drivers. I can’t control whitetail deer or objects on the road. I can’t control potholes or gravel. They are part of the roadway landscape and I can either accept them or not ride. So I choose to focus on what I can do as a rider and find there is a wide range of actions at my disposal.

Back to the ride in the snow. Several ideas have been raised about my decision. One is that it was a bad decision. I agree, sort of. For me it was the wrong decision based on my general desire to not have to ride in snow. I don’t like riding in snow and had I known what was ahead I would not have ridden. I don’t accept the idea however that any riding in snow is crazy or ill fated. It all depends.

Another point raised was I should have known better than to get on the scooter and ridden off when snow was already falling. Guilty. In hindsight I should have ridden the bus.

The most interesting comments were when things got bad I should have parked the scooter and gotten home another way. The risk to life and limb being too great. I agree and this is the one I struggle with. I could have parked the scooter almost anywhere along the way home yet I didn’t. It’s not like it didn’t occur to me as an option. I considered the situation and determined I would be able to continue on. I was constantly testing the road surface, minding the traffic levels, mediating my speed to match the limits of the scooter in the snow and my own ability to manage slipping and sliding. I even factored a fall into the equation. Considering these things I determined the risk to be manageable.

I’ve been looking at Tom Brown’s Field Guide to Wilderness Survival where he identifies the mind as the most important tool to survival. And in order to keep the mind functioning smoothly one must have a positive attitude. I suggest the same applies to riding, especially in adverse conditions.

For riders who don’t have experience in foul weather this kind of ride may appear foolhardy. Others may consider I a personal challenge to master, a chance to test skill and mettle and stretch the limits of experience. While I don’t seek out these kinds of situations I know they will present themselves and coping with them have meaning and importance.

The bottom line – as long as I carefully consider what I am doing and make honest evaluations I am comfortable accepting the risk and outcome. I did this last year when I dropped my LX150 in the snow on the way to work, when I destroyed the LX150 while attempting to change the drive belt, and most recently making the ride home in the snow.

I’ll close with a recollection of sailing one morning out of Provincetown, Massachusetts north to Portland, Maine in high winds and a rough sea. As the weather worsened a sudden, strong gust of wind almost knocked the boat down while I was setting a reef in the mainsail. I remember a flash of disaster in my mind but immediately began an assessment of what to do next. My skill and experience was equal to the situation and my friends and I sailed on to our destination. While not an experience for every sailor it was not an unreasonable level of risk for me. And so it was for the Vespa and I in the recent snow.