Scooter in the Sticks

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

Dream the Triumph Scrambler

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Triumph ScramblerI want the Triumph Scrambler in my driveway. It’s been the subject of more than a few riding fantasies. Not long ago I had the chance to test my desire.

Next to my bed is an Orvis catalog. Their marketing and creative staff seem to have worked over time to push into my subconscious and trigger desire for canvas field coats, twill and flannel shirts, and an assortment of leather belts and boots, all to embrace the coming fall, all part of a design sensibility rooted deep in tradition and experience growing up, the outdoor style of my father, the look and feel before the advent of hi-tech fabric and construction.

Triumph has managed the same thing with the Scrambler. They’ve electrified my imagination by bringing this modern machine before me while triggering dreams of desert sleds and Baja adventure from my youth. It’s a potent combination.

 

While my personal fascination with traditional, timeless clothing style may be perfectly functional when it turns towards more mechanical iconography those items often wither under the bright light of daily use. Doesn’t matter if it’s a camera, car or motorcycle, the fantasy never lives up to my expectations when I attempt to put them to daily use.

This is a story of dreams.

Two people have a role in this tale — Craig Kissell, owner of Kissell Motorsports and granter of magical wishes by putting a Scrambler in my hands, and Jonathan Ziegler (JZ), creative director, designer, sometimes author of Two-Lane Blacktop, and rider of a 1977 BMW R75/6.

Craig has maintained that my riding and writing about his motorcycles helps his business and my slow, scooter perspective on the motorcycle experience doesn’t seem to hurt and I have the chance to walk on the wild side.

JZ is the kind of rider suited for a vintage airhead—attentive to detail, driven by style, and possessing the requisite patience needed to own and sometimes actually ride a vintage motorcycle.

I have no business owning a vintage motorcycle. While I can be seduced by the look and style of many older machines my lack of patience makes me a poor candidate to join the crowd of vintage airhead riders, BSA and Norton aficionados, or those poor souls who surrender their sanity to finicky vintage Triumphs, Vespas, and Harleys. I expect the bike to start when I press the starter button. Every time, regardless of weather, time of day, tide or phase of the moon. I find no romance in side of the road repairs regardless of how many riding stories they might inspire. I want to ride.

The desire for the Scrambler is based on anything but actual need and reflects a definition of a motorcycle in my head developed in my youth from movies, television and the infrequent motojournalism to which I encountered. I believe almost every rider, in a quiet moment of honest reflection, will find their choice of rides are based on a manipulation of desire based on style, tradition, perception and fear of being different. Choices based on actual need are tricks of the mind.

So I don’t often kid myself into thinking I actually need much. I do want a lot though.

A Saturday morning and I pull up to JZ’s garage, hoping his machine will actually start and we can take advantage of a lovely morning to ride. And get breakfast.


I’m drawn to simplicity of style and function. A look at the instrument cluster on the Scrambler reveals a Spartan collection of information:

A speedometer to tell you when you’re at risk of a speeding ticket.
An odometer, useful to keep track of mileage since there is no fuel gauge.
A green light indicating the turn signals are on – but not which one.
A blue light to let you know your high beam is on.
A small orange check engine diode informing you of, most likely, some incomplete product of combustion. Or maybe the engine is ready to blow up.
And another diode informing you that soon you will run out of gas.

Nothing else. No gear indicator, RPMs, ambient temperature readout (I’ll miss that one) or anything else. And certainly no stereo, GPS, heated seats or grips, and no windscreen. Just a straightforward motorcycle to safely and efficiently get you from point A to B.

In style.

The two motorcycles look good together and are completely at home on the backroads of central Pennsylvania. Looking at pictures like this makes me wonder why I don’t make more time to ride.

We headed south down the valley towards Petersburg and the Route 22 Diner, a small, unassuming establishment along US22 just east of Water Street. It serves a fine hearty breakfast without pretense or fuss.

The Scrambler is not a good choice for anyone requiring the like-minded support of others. You’re not going to find crowds of Scrambler riders at the local diner. This is a unique motorcycle for the rider heading in a different direction. Where Harley talks about the lone rider on the road in their marketing, Triumph actually delivers with the Scrambler. I have never seen another on the road.

Esquire magazine says every man in America needs a Triumph Scrambler. They’re seeing it as a statement of style. I see the Scrambler as a key to unlock insight, imagination, and the first steps towards spiritual freedom. Spoken like a true Vespa rider.

Fifteen miles from breakfast we’re buying fuel at the Sheetz in Huntingdon. The lot is packed with cars and motorcycles. At the next pump is a bright red Ducati MultiStrada ridden by Doug Roeshot, orthopedic surgeon and Ducatista. After a brief conversation about plans he invites us to join himself and another Ducati rider for a ride. Not wanting to reveal my fear that Ducati riders believe the throttle only has one position — wide open, I infer while JZ is in the store that his BMW is having problems and we wouldn’t want to be a burden. Thinking back, as I was feeling some aches and pains from the ride, and watching Doug labor to get his leg over the topcase on the Ducati, I realize that neither of us will probably do anything scary on the road.

But you have to keep up appearances.

The ride home was uneventful. Just he kind of ride you need sometimes. The Scrambler performed flawlessly and the BMW exhibited the kind of eccentric behavior I associate with vintage machines — turn it off in the heat and the thing will not want to start again. At this point all of you serious vintage airhead readers should weigh in and criticize Ziegler for not learning to tune his bike correctly. He’s a designer. He is used to criticism.

I had long admired the Triumph Scramblers at Kissell Motorsports. When opportunity arrived to take one for a ride I was pleased but hesitant because you never really know how you will respond to a motorcycle until you have the chance to ride it. Heading home that first evening I was all smiles.

Each jump from Vespa to motorcycle requires a physical adjustment due to riding position, handlebar width, how much I have to struggle to get my feet to make friends with the shifter and brake levers – that sort of thing. Making those adjustments with my 57 year old body are, well, aggravating. During the time I had the Scrambler I made note on the burning across my shoulders from the wider handlebars, and was grumbling under my breath from time to time about an assortment of aches and pains. By the end of the second day I was completely acclimated and ready to do 800 mile days.

Well, maybe 400 mile days.

All that was left was to test the off-pavement capabilities since a big part of my fantasy for this motorcycle involved going places where others dare not tread. The run across one of Penn State’s gravel roads is much smoother on the Triumph than my Vespa.  Go figure.

Being an adult I mediated fantasy with a healthy dose of reality and stayed on some reasonably tame pathways. 

Verdict: the stock tires aren’t exactly what the doctor ordered for off the pavement action. I was pleasantly surprised at how nimble and smooth the bike was. While I didn’t take any spine jarring hits from ruts or rocks it was fine on the kind of forest and mountain roads that crisscross this part of Pennsylvania.

I want one of these motorcycles. It looks good at the end of the driveway in the morning light.  Kim, if you are reading this, you should push me to buy one.

My desire was strong enough that I avoided visiting Kissell Motorsports for fear I would buy it. Craig probably wonders what happened to me. He sold the Scramblers. It safe to visit now. Until the next shipment arrives.

Reflections on the Triumph Sprint GT1050

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“Is that the Batcycle?” asked Bonnie, looking out the café window at Barnes and Noble to the location usually occupied by my Vespa. I’m on my Sunday morning ride and all smiles. Bonnie and her husband exchanged words, differentiating Adam West’s Batcycle from 1966 from the one Christian Bale rides in the latest motion picture. I could sort of see echoes of West’s futuristic motorcycle in the Triumph Sprint GT1050.

Rewind: three days.

I hate this motorcycle. I’ve barely left the parking lot at Kissell Motorsports when both hips twisted into painful knots, just from working to get my feet onto the pegs. I’m not used to the riding position of a sport bike, and maneuvering my body into position seems to trigger one cramp after another.

In front of Kissell’s, I pulled to the curb, 50 feet from the traffic light. I stretched, feet down, trying to act cool because I imagined everyone inside watching, wondering what ritual I was engaged in. The light changed and I raced across the road into a neighborhood, out of sight of motorcycle professionals, hips already cramped again. I stopped the bike, put down the kickstand, and struggled to get off the machine.

Pacing for a few minutes, I think I need to return the Triumph and get the pretty yellow BMW GS1200 I had my eye on. Conservative, comfortable, plush, with an upright riding position. No need to push the envelope. Then I’m telling myself it’s too early to quit and climb back on the Sprint. I can’t imagine any excuse that would disguise the fact that I’m a wimp and can’t handle this sport-touring offering from Triumph. I only have to stop three more times in the nine miles home to reset the muscles in my hips.

The next morning was cold enough to wear my Olympia winter riding suit. The bulk and insulation made it even harder to get my feet up on the pegs.

If it seems I’ve reduced this motorcycle to a riding position, you aren’t far from the truth. I’m 6’2” and my reach to the handlebars seemed extreme. I was leaning so far forward I had to crank my neck back just to see the road. For the first time, I really noticed the helmet on my head. My wrists ached from all the extra pressure. Traveling west on Route 45, I was cold, sore, aching and grumbling. I begin fantasizing about my Vespa.

A stop at Pennsylvania Furnace to survey the landscape allowed me to forget about the motorcycle. I’m certain the lone tree in the field has been photographed ten thousand times if it’s been photographed once. After a few stretches I feel limber and climb back on the Sprint.

To be fair, the Triumph does some things really well. The small windscreen and fairing do a good job keeping the sub-freezing air from making life miserable. And riding through turns and curves is a pleasure.

Moving out of Spruce Creek, about a half hour later, I notice I’m no longer having trouble with my hips and have adapted to the riding position. At speed, through winding roads, my body merges with the machine.

On the scooter and other motorcycles, I’m just sitting. On the Sprint, with my entire body so close to the machine, I become part of it.

Ice along the road reminds me of potential hazards this time of year. It’s the little stuff that gets you.

The Sprint has plenty of power. It’s fast, smooth, and ready to respond. After 30 miles on Interstate 99 I stop to make this picture and realize this bike performs as well on freeways as it does on winding state roads.

I think I’m starting to like this motorcycle. Or at least have a lot of respect for what it can deliver.

Ever the explorer, I take the Sprint off-road to arrive at this lovely view. Too much weight and too little strength. Maneuvering the motorcycle on uneven ground is a challenge. It’s not designed for excursions off the beaten track, at least for me.

I understand the attraction to this kind of machine. The riding position merges body with bike, and we move over the road like a gliding bird – smooth, fluid, responsive. Add an ample supply of torque and horsepower, and it’s easy to see why some riders flock in this direction.

In the end, I know this isn’t the bike for me. My desire to sit up, look at the world, and take pictures is seriously hampered with the Triumph Sprint. The size and weight make stops and starts, U-turns, and other maneuvers on the sides of roads a challenge. But for a rider looking to travel fast and chew up miles the Sprint could be ideal.

On my last night on the Triumph, we rode in a light rain. My body had adapted to the riding position, and I wished there were time for a few more trips.

The Candy Store

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I like visiting three kinds of establishments — camera shops, stores that sell fountain pens and elegant paper, and motorcycle dealerships. Showing up at Kissell Motorsports brand new facility on Friday afternoon I felt like a kid in a candy store.

I had my eye on a yellow BMW R1200 GS. A big version of the F800 GS I have been writing about. (NOTE: I’ll post part 3, the final installment sometime this week. I have some scooter stuff to share first.) Sitting astride the bike I can’t help but feel a little intimidated by the big boxer engine that seems to swallow you up.

No surprise that the Ducati collection has a few items of desire. And I can’t ever seem to pass the Vespa without imagining myself on a new scooter. Craig Kissell suggests a look at one of the new Triumph motorcycles.

A Triumph rings the classic motorcycle bells in my head. That’s probably why Craig points me to something outside my fantasy and comfort zone.

After a little discussion I exchange my Vespa GTS 250ie for the Triumph Sprint GT1050. Just for the weekend I’ll try my hand at being the hard charging sport touring man…

The Prowl: Experiences with the Triumph Tiger

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Snow’s falling again and I’m daydreaming about the road and the Triumph Tiger I was riding back in late November. The last motorcycle of the 2009 season with temperatures hovering in the mid 40s the memory of that motorcycle fresh. And tempting. The Tiger story’s been hibernating in my brain all winter. Now may be the right time to revisit the prowl. Thanks to Craig Kissell of Kissell Motorsports I have the opportunity to ride such fine motorcycles.

The Tiger is sleek, powerful, and tall – at least in terms of getting onto the bike. With the hard side cases attached I needed to make a real effort to mount up without scuffing things up with my boots. On dicey terrain I didn’t want to step up on the pegs either. Some flexibility work would definitely be in order before I could bound onto the back of the Triumph. Once onboard the sense of height was gone.

With excellent planning I always seem to ride before breakfast. As much as I wanted to head out into the Moshannon Forest my stomach was making a stronger argument as I headed over the mountain towards Unionville. It doesn’t take long to realize how sweet the Triumph Tiger is. Everything about it is smooth – the ride, the transmission, the brakes. And the torque it puts out allows it to pull hard at just about any speed and any gear. Definitely a plus for a tourist like me who likes to wander and not be overly concerned with the workings of the machine I am riding. Coming down the mountain into Unionville I was pleased at how well the Tiger holds the road in a hairpin turn. I’m no racer but I’m sure this bike could fly through the curves if I made a request.

Railroad tracks strike a wandering chord in me. Looking at them vanish in the distance has me wanting to explore. What’s out there, over the next hill, around the next corner? It’s a big part of what riding is for me. The Triumph would be happy to come along and take me anywhere I want to go.

The Tiger is a nice looking machine. Even in a rush to get breakfast I couldn’t help buy admire it. This bike could take me to a lot of breakfast places. I can see myself in the northern reaches of the Adirondacks, or south along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Or in front of a diner in Utah. Alas, if I only had the time.

The Unionville Café is a good, solid breakfast place. Any riders passing through the area will find a place to relax and eat. It’s always nice to stop when it’s cold outside. There are times when I get warm I don’t feel like climbing back on the motorcycle and facing the elements. This wasn’t one of them.

The road out of Unionville towards Moshannon State Park is a clean, winding road climbing up to the Allegheny Plateau. The Triumph Tiger could race to the top if good sense didn’t govern the throttle. I’ve been up this way many times on a variety of machines. I just never got there quite so fast before.

Central Pennsylvania is blessed with endless miles of roads that no one seems to use much. Concern for other motorist’s fade as I find myself more concerned with bear, deer, and dogs.

Local forest roads come in two varieties – paved and gravel. A path heading off the main road is hard to resist. While more aggressive tires might be a nice addition for some riding the stock tires on the Tiger were easily up to the choices I made. With so much natural gas drilling and timber cutting underway there are a lot of places to explore.

Riding along a road more packed dirt and sand than gravel I began to worry that the heavy, grey sky would begin to release rain. With little desire to return a mud covered bike to the dealership I returned to solid ground. But it was hard to resist the siren’s song of those long, winding, dirt roads.

Many of the smaller roads are uneven, the pavement heaved and twisted from the harsh winters. The suspension of the Tiger doesn’t blink.

There comes a time in almost every ride I make where I am not sure where I’m going. Riding down through some of the thickest growth of rhodendron I’ve ever seem I thought I might head towards Snow Shoe and a different kind of landscape. By this time I have been crisscrossing the region for most of the morning and was aware of how comfortable the seating position, seat, and handlebar position is on the Triumph Tiger.

A course correction and another little traveled road leads me to lost. The tank has plenty of fuel so I’m not too worried. I can’t remember exactly where this place was or whether I was crossing the West Branch of the Susquehanna River or Red Moshannon Creek. Lost is a gift in my book. And the reason why I’m not too keen on GPS. There ‘s something magical about being lost. And in the East, you seldom get that opportunity.

I eventually passed through Snow Shoe and headed off the plateau towards home. This little red and green building, some sort of remnant of the coal mining in the area just called out for a picture.

I had the option of trying the Tiger on Interstate 80 and see how it prowled along with the 18-wheelers. Passing on the freeway option I found more interesting roads that allowed me the chance to put the Triumph through some performance paces. Acceleration, check. Braking, check. Fun, check.

Tired, cold, and still not ready to take the Tiger home I make one last run along the rolling hills leading up to the Allegheny Plateau. Standing in the corn stubble and looking at the motorcycle and the valleys beyond I feel lucky that I am a rider. Being out here with the day fading and the temperature dropping is not what most riders strive for. But the spirit of adventure is something a lot of riders have in common. It feels good to stand up straight and take in the world. With this motorcycle I could take in a lot of places.

Until those rides come along I had to be content prowling home on the Triumph Tiger and hoping winter would not be too long or severe.

Triumph Thunderbird Conversion

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In my dreams the road goes on forever.

I gravitate towards empty roads and places off the beaten path. Standing in the middle of old Route 220, once a place of pandemonium and aggressive drivers, I feel at home. And also a bit surprised at how A few weeks ago I sat on a motorcycle outside Kissell Motorsports. I found myself at the beginning of an unexpected conversion. A dedicated Vespa rider enthralled with a big cruising bike. The Triumph Thunderbird.

It’s been almost a month since I had the Thunderbird. Enough time to sort out feelings and reactions to the biggest, heaviest motorcycle I’ve ridden in a long time. I expected a slow, lumbering, unresponsive ride. What I found was a remarkably nimble and easy to handle machine. The engineers at Triumph would probably cringe to read what I am about to say — I found myself thinking more than once “This feels like my Vespa.”. With the Triumph Thunderbird sitting along the road while I try and figure out the best angles for photographs it looks nothing like a Vespa.

I left early one morning for what would become a hundred mile short ride. Patches of fog were scattered through the valley producing areas of limited visibility and wet pavement. While making this picture I noticed the prominence of the exhaust system. Big pipes for the big almost 100 cubic inch parallel twin engine produce a deep rumble. Not too loud and not at all obnoxious. Something I can’t say about most of the big cruisers that pass through my neighborhood, especially the ones that operate between 2am and 7am. Moving mechanical obnoxious alarm clocks. But I digress.

The exhaust tone of the Thunderbird reminds me of the growl of a big, mean dog. You know he’s big and he does too. No need for any barking.

I confess limited experience on big cruisers. Or anything with two wheels weighing close to 750 pounds. Call me crazy but I always take new bikes to some empty parking lot for some experimentation. Not to see what the bike can do but to determine how little I know. The Mount Nittany Middle School has a nice big lot that supports all sorts of turns, swerves, quick braking, U-turns and anything else you might want to try. In less than 30 minutes imagined myself comfortable and at home on the Triumph. A quick stop for a picture in the fog and I was off to meet my friend Larry for breakfast.

Anyone who’s followed Scooter in the Sticks knows a lot of my riding is slow-paced and riddled with numerous stops for pictures. A motorcycle has to be easy to manuever, run smoothly at slow speeds, and allow for quick on and offs. The Thunderbird engine and transmission produced extremely smooth riding at any speed, was agile at even the slowest speeds, and was simple to park almost anywhere. Stopped to photograph a tunnel of trees in the fog I was wondering if the Triumph and I would be a good fit. With the addition of some saddle bags for my camera and gear I could ride this machine anywhere.

A lot of riders don’t understand the slow traveling part of riding. They want to get somewhere fast, ride along with a group, or just can’t get their head or their hand to agree to speeds that are more akin to bicycle riding. But once the speedometer passes 25mph it is amazing how hard it is to react to things in the landscape. I might just be slow in the head but by the time my brain recognizes something of interest it’s already behind me at higher speeds. And I resist turning around just to look or take a picture. I was sitting on the Thunderbird at about 30mph when I noticed the fog strewn across the farm. I don’t want to miss this stuff.

I was getting hungry but still would stop to examine some odd detail along the road. The road surface was wet from an early fog but the Thunderbird offered no trouble or complaints as I moved along. The riding position on this bike was near perfect for me. An upright seating position, bars that were wide and just right for me, and foot pegs that seemed to be exactly where my body thought they should be. Both rear footbrake and shifter lever were easy to find and use. Something I can’t say for every bike I’ve ridden where they seem small and hard to manage with the standard issue scooter clod hoppers I wear courtesy of Wolverine Boots.

Fog strouded the Sunset West Diner in Pleasant Gap. It looked like something out of Twin Peaks. Very odd. The Triumph looked appropriate in the lot. It is a handsome motorcycle. Triumph does an outstanding job of producing machines with classic lines. For anyone wanting a big cruiser with elegant lines and complete functionality this is worth looking at. Twice.

Fat and happy from my standard breakfast fare it was time to see how the Thunderbird performed in it’s more traditional role as a highway cruiser. Jump on Interstate 99, twist the throttle and watch the needle on the speedometer leap to 80 in no time. All similarities to my Vespa evaporate on the freeway. With so much power, torque, and a smooth, stable ride at any speed I was willing to travel. Even the windblast in my chest seemed stable.

Central Pennsylvania is a beautiful place to ride. The views along the highway can, at times, be breathtaking. Looking at the Triumph I can easily imagine riding it anywhere in America.

The single guage on the tank is a model of simple design and complex function. In addition to the big speedometer a button on the right-hand grip allowed me to toggle through a variety of functions like fuel level, mileage remaining, clock, trip meter and more. And there was a readout for RPMs too but I wasn’t concerned about that. Between the engine sound and it’s ability to pull at any speed in any gear I didn’t pay much attention to how fast things were spinning around. I was just having a fine time riding.

The big gas tank was easy to put fuel in. Not something I would normally notice but for some reason it seemed easier to see what was happening as I added. With all these new bikes I worry about splashing gas all over pristine paint and chrome. Not a worry with this bike.

I stopped to visit with the Nittany Road Riders who were taking part in Chris Kepler’s 7th Annual Pennsylvania Grand Canyon Ride. The Thunderbird was the lone cruiser in the group but I’m certain it would have no problems keeping up. I found myself wishing I could go along but duty called another direction.

Around town the Triumph Thunderbird continues to excel. Up and down alleys, backing into parking spaces, making U-turns — whatever I asked the bike to do it complied without complaint. Or perhaps I should say my skills did. With solid riding skills on a small scooter or motorcycle the transition to the Thunderbird is simple. My limits were apparent and areas to practice more were as well.

I rode the Triumph to work on the last day I had it. Backing through a gap between a pickup truck and another bike and into one of the motorcycle spaces was far easier than I would have expected. Standing there before going to my office I wondered how I could have dismissed any interest in a cruiser style motorcycle. I had ridden them before. I can remember riding a Harley back in the 1970s. Maybe that was the problem. This wasn’t the 70s and this bike was a 2010 Triumph Thunderbird.

I’ve been converted. There is a place in my garage for the Thunderbird. Figuratively speaking.