Scooter in the Sticks

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

The Pleasure of Being Lost

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This past Sunday morning was remarkably clear — bright, crisp, the world a surreal stage on which my friend Paul Ruby and I were riding our scooters. Abandoning our normal meeting at Saint’s Cafe we veered north towards Beech Creek, Pennsylvania, a 30 mile ride for our breakfast.

Easy riding through the broad Bald Eagle valley and along the lake at Bald Eagle State Park was a quiet reminder of how simple life can feel on my Vespa.  Paul abandoned his BMW K1200 in favor of a Piaggio Fly 150.  Sometimes less is much more.

After donning a liner to my jacket — the air temperature was hovering at 62F — it was time to eat.  Or so demanded my stomach.

I don’t come to Beech Creek often and when I do it’s just to pass through on the way to somewhere else.  The Furst Corner Restaurant deserves more allegiance.  How many places can I say serves more bacon than I can eat?

After breakfast a decision was made to take a scenic route home and I suggested a road along the west side of the valley that would wind the 15 miles to Milesburg.  Turning right towards Orviston would lead us to the road I thought I knew.

A few words about Orviston…

My knowledge is limited of the place which is nestled in the far northern end of Centre County seemingly lost at the end of a road far from anything.  I remember stopping there over 10 years ago at a little store which was part of the livingroom of a house to get something to drink.  All they had was chocolate milk.  More than a few of the houses had padlocks on the front doors. I thought it odd then and expected the same now.

Perhaps it was the light or things had changed but Orviston seemed a fine little town of 95 people.

On this day I never planned to be in Orviston but rather turn off towards home on some other road.

My cartographic memory failed me at Orviston.  I neither found the road or knew which way to go.  After a momentary pause to consider returning the way we came or to head up a little dirt track marked only by a sign “No Winter Maintenance” I motioned to Paul towards the path less traveled.

As the trail climbed up the mountain and the ride rougher I had absolutely no idea where I was or where we were going.  For someone who’s life is full of planning and careful consideration of strategy and tactics it was an absolutely electric feeling to be disconnected from everything.

The pleasure of being lost is rare in Central Pennsylvania, at least for me.  As Paul and I raced our scooters along a path more suited for a dirt bike I remembered why I have little interest in a GPS.  There is little primitive or wild available easily to me and a GPS would obliterate any chance like the one presented on this ride.

A view looking down the mountain road.  Steep and not the easiest to negotiate with a CVT transmission.  Loose gravel and unexpected washboard and rocks made several miles of riding that was outside the norm for the Vespa.

Emerging onto pavement on the other side of the mountain near Polecat Road I passed Paul who was riding standing up in what I could only assume was a gesture of triumph.  A half mile up the road, still unsure or where I was, a came upon a coyote standing in the middle of the road, a tall animal, lank, staring and glittering a warm brown in the sun.  As I slowed he walked off the road into a thicket of scrub trees.

And me, lost and seeing that coyote — how could I ask anything more of the world?

The pleasure of being lost…

Rebirth

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Morning, a fine ride tarnished by the familiar nagging that something isn’t right, something important forgotten or ignored — like waking from a dream that I forgot to go to a class for an entire semester.

I was searching for something along the narrow lane — an idea, a thought, perhaps a feeling. Listening to a red-winged blackbird’s sharp note and trill as the sun burned through the fog altered a mental path, a welcome release from an obstinate mix of thought and emotion.

I could enjoy being alive.

Later, looking at this picture I thought about how powerful a morning can be — visually, psychically, emotionally.  And then I remembered this quote:

“Each night, when I go to sleep, I die. And the next morning, when I wake up, I am reborn.” ― Mahatma Gandhi

And so the road rolls on…

The Vespa 946 — the new Vespa Experience

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I have to admit that this new Vespa 946 is a marvel of design if not utility. And with a price tag in the United States of nearly $11K I have to wonder who will buy them. Still, Piaggio does a fine job of building the Vespa mystique with this ad…

Perseverance, Weakness and the Question of Riding

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Vespa GTS scooter along wet rural road

The sound of rain falling as sleep fades and the day takes form draws pictures in my head — of mystical worlds shrouded in sheets of water and mist on some mornings, and others, like today, of toil and drudgery as I drag my mind and body through the relentless discomfort the weather presents.

Today I awoke to the latter.  Standing along the road with my little camera, happy and recognizing the fragile nature of being alive, how could I let a little rain move my mind into a state of reluctance at donning some riding gear for a handsome journey to work?

Vespa GTS scooter on farm road in the rain

The rain was fell lightly during the ride as the clouds thinned across the valley.  An hour earlier the only reasonable choice for commuting was the van and it’s steel and glass encasement isolating me from the world.

In 10 months I’ll commence my sixth decade on earth and the event gives rise to questions of age and waning strength and perseverance in the face of resistance.  I take comfort in the example set by a neighborhood bicyclist who pedals into town daily throughout the year — and he must be in his 90s.

Vespa GTS scooter on rural farm landscape in rain

So I managed another ride to work with a few detours and diversions and the inevitable whispering of “take the day off and ride…”.

Instead a last picture of a round bale in the lane and onward towards Penn State’s Beaver Stadium and the office.

It was a good day to ride.

Surrendering to the Experts

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After some gentle but direct nudging from an bass fishing expert on the West coast I rode my Vespa to Kissell Motorsports in State College, Pennsylvania and surrendered it into the care of the capable service staff to replace the broken centerstand.

This bass fishing expert (who never posts here) sent me an email reminding me of the obvious — that I ride, not repair.  He’s right of course but I got the idea into my head that I wanted to do all the work.  I have no doubt I could do it but history indicates I would take my good old time getting around to it.  At the end of the day I’m more interested in riding.

So here’s the GTS leaning against a shed with a bungee cord holding up the center stand which now prefers to drag on the ground.

While there I had the chance to covet this yellow and black (a favorite combination) BMW R1200 GS parked outside of Kissell Motorsports.  The thought occurred to me that it would be nice to have two machines so that if one was in for repair I would still have something to ride.  I had some plans for this weekend but those are out the window now.  No Vespa, no ride.  My dog Junior will try and pencil something into my schedule.

Parts will have to be ordered but I should see the Vespa again next week.  In addition to all the other things outlined in the previous post I also suggested they do the valve lash adjustment.  So things should be in pretty good shape by next week.