Scooter in the Sticks

Exploring life on a Vespa Scooter and Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle.

Rain

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This morning I decided to ride in the rain to Saint’s Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania.  Watching the Weather.com radar map on my iPhone I postulated that I could make it into town before the orange and red blobs arrived.

I was wrong.

By the time I was on the road the rain started falling faster.  By the traffic light at the end of the street my gloves were soaked and water was pouring through my vented riding pants.

A half mile farther and I could see rivers of water pouring down the right side of the road with occasional tributaries crossing my path.  Another mile and the rain begins to slow slightly as I pull off the road to make this photograph.  The stream snaking through the pasture isn’t a stream.  It’ one of those ephemeral waterways only coming to life during particularly hard, fast, heavy downpours.

Probably not the best day to ride.

An hour later the sky was blue and the sun was shining.  I was mostly dry save for my gloves and I was thinking I really need to get a rainsuit for riding.  The foul weather sailing gear I use just isn’t designed to deal with a helmet.

It was a great ride though rain and all…

Vespalogy: Animated Retrospective of the Vespa

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Received an email this morning from Don Barletta with a link to this animated film produced by the French graphic design studio NOMOON. It’s a labor of love on their part and a visual love affair with Vespa for anyone like me who has it in their veins.
Yes, despite the many and varied motorcycles I have ridden, I remain a committed Vespa rider.  
For more on this video and the Vespa story you can check the link at motorcycle.com where Don directed me.

Pushing Asphalt, Pushing Steel

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A morning ride several weeks ago — pushing, pushing through air, through space, pushing, gritting, standing, riding through the chill air, spine straight, neck extended, seeking, reaching, grasping for the day.  Now, then, tomorrow.  The Vespa pushes the asphalt, slicing through space towards a destination.

At 65mph at 35F the air feels cold.  The Vespa provides little protection without a windshield or hand guards.  With heated gloves at home I am having the naked riding experience.  Armored against the cold as best I can it’s always waiting, restlessly searching for an opening to make me uncomfortable.

Below an overpass on Interstate 99, boots scratching at frozen gravel, eyes scanning the lines of steel and concrete overhead, making a picture and postponing for a few moments having blood drained from my arm.  That’s my first destination — blood tests at the hospital.

Face raised towards the sun I stood for a long moment on a gravel lane leading from Mount Nittany Medical Center towards Beaver Stadium. An elastic bandage on my squeezed my left arm, holding in place a small square of gauze protecting a hole where a phlebotomist pushed a fine steel needle into a vein.  Thick, dark red liquid filled one glass vial then another as I provided evidence for my doctor to manage my psoriatic arthritis, monitor the chemicals in my body used to counter an aggressive immune system that’s declared war on the body it’s supposed to protect.

I feel like I’m in the middle.

People gather at the statue of Joe Paterno leaving cards and flowers and other tokens of recognition. His legacy is still unfolding, his grand experiment unique and probably never to be repeated.

Anywhere.

Another stop at the library bearing the Paterno name.  Not sure if any other large university had a coach who built a library.  After picking up a book more errands lay ahead.  The Vespa has proven itself over and over as a near perfect vehicle for my eclectic journeys.

Steam rises in small, turbulent swirls as I stare at the Starbucks on the table.  Watching, looking, remembering lazy summer days laying on a grassy field as white, cotton candy clouds passed overhead.  Alone with a cup of tea, a few moments to pause and think and just enjoy the moment.

Towards home, detoured once, twice, three times to extend the ride, expand the sights, and drink in the world.  Even the short trips like these, filled with duty and task, can be exquisite.  Fun.  Free.

For me at least.

One last stop at the Boalsburg Chocolate Company for a few confections to enjoy later with another cup of tea and then across the street to Bella di Vita, a small shop selling soap and other conveyances of fragrances. There’s always something there that Kim will love — this time a new Eau de toilette by Cote Bastides.
Seems an appropriate way to end a ride on an Italian Vespa.  I guess I won’t ever graduate to a Harley…

A Gerbing Heated Gloves Night

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Gerbing is as good as their word — a brand new pair of leather, G3 heated gloves.  My old ones failed and they replaced them.  I’m a confirmed Gerbing rider.  And when I got home from work tonight I had to try them out during a trip into town.  While the Vespa was idling in the driveway I plugged the new gloves in and felt warmth almost instantly.  Really warm.  And the new gloves have heated palms.

I knew there would be some ice to experiment with nearby and I wanted to give the snow tires a little more testing in a controlled setting.  I’m always interested in what the limits of equipment are to factor into my own limitations.  As the temperature dropped to 27F I figured I better head into town.

You don’t see boots are cars very often around here. Finding one on a Yamaha Vino scooter must be a first.  The fines for this rider have to be rough.

Walking down Beaver Avenue in State College, Pennsylvania I saw a poster of James Dean and Marilyn Monroe (I think) in the window of Uncle Eli’s.  Couldn’t resist taking a picture but it’s the kind of vision I would expect on Twisted Roads rather than here.

I had been thinking about heated grips for the past few weeks while my dead electric gloves were in Tumwater.  But I can say without reservation that these new Gerbing heated gloves work so well that I won’t be looking at anything else.

The Sartorialist

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I didn’t shoot this picture.  It appeared on the Sartorialist, a blog about fashion by Scott Schuman. Schuman is a photographer who writes and has a tremendous following in the fashion industry. Seen as one of the most influential men in fashion it’s no wonder considering he measures visitors to his blog each month in the millions.

New York Magazine had a great story about the Sartorialist, Schuman and his blogger wife, Garance Dore.

His photography attracted me, his ability to see, approach and document an aspect of life that he’s passionately connected to. Motorcycles and scooters make their way into his posts on ocassion and when I saw this one I thought it might be time to share.  One of my photographic goals is to make portraits of some of the riders I see on the road.  If I ever get around to doing it the Sartorialist will be something I try and emulate.

I admit feeling a bit ruffled and unkempt when I look at his photographs of people, found on the street, wearing what they wear. Not often making my way to Paris, New York or Milan, chances are you won’t see me appear on The Sartorialist any time soon.

Still, it’s worth a look.