Scooter in the Sticks

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

Top Ten Reasons Why There Are No Motorcycles on the Road

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Last Thursday evening I rode into State College, Pennsylvania.  The sky was clear with a few wispy clouds made pink by the lowering sun and the temperature was hovering near 50F.  Perfect conditions for riding after a miserable winter.  Here’s the scene at the motorcycle parking spaces across from Schlow Library — three Vespa scooters.  So far this year the motorcycle riders are scarce to non-existent.  As I was riding home I knew there had to be a reason.  Maybe a helpful motorcycle rider can indicate the right choice.
10. Earth Day is approaching and I want to do my part for fuel conservation by staying off the road.
9. My Roadcrafter suit is at the dry cleaners.
8. Didn’t want to risk a breakdown and miss The Office because my Tivo is on the fritz.
7. I just hate waving to all those scooters on the road.
6. Fifty degrees is too cold to dress like a pirate.
5. The battery is dead on my GPS.
4. My wife says I’m not allowed to go out.
3. My husband whines like a little baby whenever I go for a ride in the evening.
2. I thought only scooters were allowed on the road until June 1.
1. Fifty degrees???  Are you nuts???
Maybe there are other reasons.  But I know as soon as the temperature hits 70F motorcycles appear like flies.
And just so you don’t think all scooter riders are tough or something.  I saw this Honda Ruckus at work yesterday with a rain coat.  Isn’t it just wrong to cover your machine when it’s not at home?  I think the BMW MOA rescinds membership rights if someone does that with a BMW.

Riding and the Curious Toddler

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Of all the names ascribed to me Curious Toddler might be the best. Or at least I’ve convinced myself of this after a long weekend. Stacy Bolty, author of Bolty.net for some reason chose me to bookend a wide range of riders as a curious toddler. Cool – my 15 minutes of fame promised by Warhol. He never said it would be a heroic or magnificent 15 minutes.

Curious Toddler. Curious.

By the end of the first evening I was talking to myself and standing in front of the mirror flexing my biceps. At least until I remembered being called Weenie Arms Williams in second grade. Pouring through websites for BMW, Ducati, Triumph and Ducati and commenting out loud, “I could ride that. Oh yeah, that one too, piece of cake.” And on and on until it occurs to me that I might need to renew my subscription to Guns and Ammo. I let it lapse in ninth grade.

Part of the evening is spent dusting off the free weight set in the basement. Hairballs from the last three dogs we’ve owned encase them under a workbench. Back in the living room I busy myself designing appropriate tattoos that utilize flames, lightning bolts, and mythical creatures. By bedtime Kim is stroking my hand and whispering, “You’re my man…”

Curious. Is that a polite way of saying odd? Or weird, strange, eccentric? The mind plays tricks with the ego. And toddler. Does that make me an infant, a big baby, or is it code for infantile? Or stupid. By midnight I’m standing outside with Junior peering up at the heavens asking, “Why?”

And the answer strikes deep inside – I am a curious toddler.


Ice water sparkles in a red plastic glass, a welcome hydration after several hours on the road. The narrow, white Formica counter top flecked with gold transports me back to dinner with my mom and dad at Danny’s Restaurant on Neville Island fifty years earlier where I marveled at the riches spread out before me.

Diner 22 just outside Alexandria, Pennsylvania on US 22, a stop for breakfast and a chance for my toes to warm. No riders here. None seen anywhere during the morning – the chill air still keeping most motorcycles and scooters at home. A few old men sit to my right lapping up chicken parmesan, the daily lunch special — $6.25. Overhead is a sign, “J-EET-YET”. Soon my predictable plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast will make the answer yes.

That meal is probably more dangerous than anything I encounter on the road.

I work methodically through my breakfast presented neatly on a heavy white plate. Taped to the glass door on the refrigerator in front of me is a hand-lettered sign on peach colored paper announcing fresh baked cinnamon rolls for $1.75. The crisp bacon looses flavor as I contemplate the snaps on my Tourmaster Overpants. A cinnamon roll sitting close to the door whispers my name just as a harmonica begins to wail on the overhead speakers. The waitress crashes two of the red plastic glasses into the ice chest. The Vespa keys are lying on the counter. I look up and catch her eye. It’s over, I’ve lost. I close my mouth tightly for fear drool might escape.

Defying reason I stand up and pay my bill and escape without the unnecessary weight of a cinnamon roll.

The ride started hours earlier as I explained to Junior that any long walk would have to wait until I got home. The sight of fog on the mountain coupled with a strong desire to ride the Vespa overcame the dog’s insistent suggestions of taking a ride in the truck to all his favorite destinations.

Traveling towards weather makes route choices easier. The temperature display indicated 35F as I rolled out of the driveway towards Rothrock State Forest and a maze of dirt and gravel roads. Eight miles from home and I’ve already stopped six times to take pictures. Curious Toddler comes to mind as I wander around the roadside looking for treasure. It begins to seem an appropriate title.

I can’t help being swept away by the gloomy landscape, as if walking through a Charlotte Bronte landscape.

Climbing towards the top of Thickhead Mountain, another stop, more wandering around, searching for a rock for the garden. Winter hasn’t been harsh on the road. Gravel still mostly in place and very little mud to deal with.

Despite the greater risk of riding in fog I am mesmerized by how things look. It’s hard not to give up riding and just make pictures. And there are no bad pictures when fog is involved.

The road and landscape merge to form a continuous picture that compels me to stop despite oaths to ride onward and allow the passing scenes to fade into memory.

Fog.

Standing in the road I see possibility, recall memories from youth, scenes of Barnabas Collins or passages from Edgar Allen Poe. Twelve miles now and I’ve stopped nine times to make pictures. Riding has become incidental, a means to another end. I am the Curious Toddler.

Proceeding down the mountain reveals a shortcoming of a scooter with an automatic transmission. A constant velocity transmission (CVT) for engineers or the mechanically minded. What this means is there is little engine braking available. Roll off the throttle, the RPMS drop and before you know it you’re freewheeling at increasing speed. Braking requires a sensitive touch and complete understanding of what is about to happen when the throttle is twisted. Applying power suddenly engages the powertrain and, depending on speed and road surface, can yield a sudden lurch as the transmission is engaged. On snow it can be a catastrophe. On loose gravel or mud it’s a wait and see thing. Motorcycle riders have it much easier with their endless features and capabilities.

Lichen covered rocks in a woodland setting. Gleaning ideas for a Japanese garden installation. Distant, almost insignificant in the photo, the Ves pa asks if I want to ride. At times I feel it deserves a better home. I keep promising to leave the camera and iPhone at home and just ride, explore on the road and not on foot. An attempt to rein in the Curious Toddler.

If you find yourself wandering in a similar environment make a note – those damp rocks are slippery. Crashing down on your head slippery.

 Earthly magnetism. I’m drawn to the edge of landscapes where one place ends and another begins – a canyon rim, seashore, overlook. Places to peer into infinity. Places found on rides. The road surface here is mostly sand and clay, damp, and prone to make the tires track sideways as times. The Heidenau winter tires perform well in this environment.

White pines suffocate the road. Descending towards pavement and civilization I stop to make a few photographs. The scent of pine and decaying needles fill the air. It’s hard to see more than 50 yards in any direction. Even the sky is cut off from view. I can begin to appreciate the terrible challenge European settlers had when they traversed these mountains in the early 1700s.

A few miles further; more toddling, more curiosity in play. Lost in a dark wood, the big bad wolf can’t be far off.

The moment the front wheel touches pavement I swear an oath that’s I’ll not stop for another picture until after breakfast. A twist of the throttle, I begin humming Sugar Mountain, the landscape sweeps by in an endless series of images. This is the freedom of riding.

Jane Stewart was born not long after the American Revolution and now rests with her husband James near Saulsburg, Pennsylvania. Each time I visit a cemetery I leave with a renewed sense of time and a reminder to make use of it.

The old graveyard and church stand in disrepair. Decaying forms of wrought iron fence and gates offer ideas for home. Kim and I both embrace the subtle grace of things being overtaken by nature. A quiet growl beneath my riding jacket reminds me of my mission.

On long smooth roads the Vespa is completely at home and can run all day at whatever legal speed I choose. Or some illegal ones as well. Roads lead south to Maryland, Virginia and beyond. Or north through New York and New England. When anyone asks about a scooter make sure you remind them that you can travel as far and wide as your time and resources allow.

What is it about train tracks vanishing into the horizon that’s so alluring? I stood here a long time before leaving. Not a care in the world; just the Vespa and the road. Everything else burned away.

Breakfast at Diner 22 marks the beginning of the end of my ride as I turn towards home.

The open landscape along PA Route 453 near Water Street. Thirty more miles until I’m home, relaxed, smiling, a curious toddler.

Another track leads off through a farm field that I have to explore. I’m tired and don’t fully pursue the opportunity.

The Vespa is silent as I pull in the driveway. Junior doesn’t wake and I walk up to the window to see Kim working in her studio. It’s good to be home.

Junior soon demands some action himself and we take a walk to the park where he and Buddy chase tennis balls.

Thinking about the ride later as I worked on this post I understand more fully the meaning of being a curious toddler. It fits, it works, and I think I will have a T-shirt made…

The Vespa and the Zeppelin

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After work I rode over to Kissell Motorsports to pick up the Piaggio MP3 with the sidecar. I remembered Jack Riepe’s comment about wanting to ride a Zeppelin, an erudite way of wagging an accusing finger at the eclectic connection of sidecar to MP3.

When I saw the actual Zeppelin in the parking lot the iPhone appeared and documented the occurrence. The Zeppelin, common name Victory, was very large, very shiny, and looking like something from Blade Runner. What I was about to ride looked like something more likely to appear in Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.

A Saturday Morning Ride

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Winter clings stubbornly to the day and the driveway. Moving the Vespa from garage to street remains a short adventure through ice and snow. With part of the day above freezing the frozen coating retreated. Still, I think the clairvoyance of the groundhog is in doubt. Seeing the Vespa reflected my my truck reminded me of the grimness of winter. At least in my mind. As Orin O’Neill suggests on his blog Scootin’ Old Skool, “Enough already.”

A ride would likely vanquish the gloomy thoughts.

Riding at 33F feels absolutely balmy after weeks and months of more frigid air. But even at this temperature the donning of riding gear can appear a near overwhelming obstacle. Woe to the rider who puts everything on only to realize they forgot to insert the wiring into their jacket for their electric gloves. More than once have I found myself grumbling over such an oversight, wires, ski mask, and decide to proceed without.

Always a mistake.

Mostly I meandered today relishing the complete disconnection from the world — just me, the Vespa, and a landscape indifferent to my presence. Without fail, a few miles and the gloom and cares evaporate. A thought passes of purchasing a Triumph. I remember something I have to do at work. My stomach growls. All is right in the world.

Standing in the middle of the field, looking at the scooter, thinking about longer rides, I wish the temperature would rise just a little. At 40F I can ride all day in luxurious comfort.

There are times when I walk as much as I ride, exploring streams and roadsides, just looking around, thinking of nothing.

Parked the Vespa on the bridge in the distance being careful to leave room for a manure spreader I passed a mile down the road. Nothing ruins a good ride faster than an unfortunate run in with a manure spreader.

Walmart parking lot. My first destination. The 3 Prints Project is still going but we’ve put film on hiatus for awhile, likely a gloom motivated decision, and are working exclusively in digital. Since I don’t have one of those fancy Epson 3880 Photo printers I have been sending my digital files to MPIX.com. They do good work, inexpensive, and fast. Not as good as a person could do making their own inkjet prints but I have no interest. Fine printing in the digital world is a bridge too far. At least today.

Anyways, I figured I would give Walmart a try. With four files on a USB jump drive I made a beeline to the photo center. Ten minutes later I walked out of the store with prints in hand, every bit as good as MPIX. Some more experimentation is in order.

No ride is complete without a stop somewhere for food. Or something. Cafe Lemont was on the way home so a cup of tea, an amazing cookie, and a small notebook is all it takes to keep me happy. At one point I look up and make a picture, drawn to the color, light and umbrellas hanging from the ceiling. I try and imagine Jack Riepe of Twisted Roads sitting here. Then I try to imagine world peace. Coming up empty on both counts I return to my writing.

Ran into a local physician and Ducati rider. He and his wife were enjoying the atmosphere though did not arrive on two wheels. His Streetfighter and her Monster are waiting for warmer days.

Toward the end of the ride, early afternoon, the thermometer hovering in the mid-30s and the sun trying to burn through the clouds made the Vespa sparkle for just a moment. Long enough for me to make a picture and smile at my good fortune to be on the road.

Thoughts turned towards home, an afternoon with Kim, a walk with Junior, dinner, and the finale of season eight of Project Runway courtesy of Netflix.

That doesn’t sound too macho. Maybe it explains the Vespa.

All content, text and images, copyright 2010 by Steve Williams.
All Rights Reserved.

All content, text and images, copyright 2010 by Steve Williams.
All Rights Reserved.

Business: Riding, Writing, Photography and Explaining

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Let’s get down to business. So there’s no confusion.

This is Scooter in the Sticks. The main blog. The only blog.

Some might be confused because I have been posting all these daily images and changed the Blogger template yesterday. Say goodbye to the original blue version. I’ve moved on to my favorite color – gray. Other than the design change everything else is the same. I think.

Change is our friend.

First, I’ve decided not to post the #DailyRider and #MyDogJunior pictures everyday. I’ll consolidate them once a week in a post. The nearly 1500 people who subscribed to Scooter in the Sticks via Feedburner will continue to receive text and pictures as usual in an email. Everyone should be happy. I’ll be happy. That guy in Key West might even be happy. If you want to see them right away subscribe to my Twitter feed or view them on Flickr. I put them there as I go.

Since I have those pictures ready I will post them as sort of a change gift.

The Daily Rider: February 23, 2011.

Made this image with the iPhone this morning. I neglected to shovel the wet snow and slush a couple days ago in the morning and upon returning after work everything was frozen. So I will have to brave the snow covered driveway until the weather warms a bit.

My Dog Junior.

This morning at the vet. Junior had to get his first round of the Lyme Disease vaccine. He was bored. Made this image with the iPhone and the Lo-Mob app.

It’s been good to be on the road again despite the salt, cold, and occasional ice and snow. The motorcycle parking spaces at my office have been slowly disappearing with the recent snow. Thankfully there was a space I could hide the Vespa in. In a few weeks there will be flowers and warm air. I do remember one mid-March around 1995 that we had 28 inches of snow. I probably shouldn’t get too attached to the idea of spring just yet.

Kissell Motorsports and I have some plans for spring. The first being to do some riding on the Ducati Diavel and the new Triumph Tigers. Craig Kissell and I have talked about riding together and comparing notes on the bikes. Look for those after the roads are clear and the salt has been washed away. Until then I will look over the books Craig gave me. I can see myself on the Tigers. The Ducati is a bit harder to picture.

Last Friday night I attended Midnight Madness at Kissell Motorsports. A big sale from 10pm to midnight. Lots of people turned out and found some great prices on helmets, gear, gloves, motorcycles, and such. I almost bought a new pair of Rev It pants but decided all I really needed was a new Triumph sweatshirt.

It was getting close to midnight when I got back on the Vespa for the 12-mile ride home. It was cold (around 35F) with wind gusts hitting 45mph. Interesting night ride. I couldn’t figure out why no one else rode to the event.

Not everything is fun and games though. I still have to find time for the 3 Prints Project. Time is less of an issue. Motivation is my problem. Gordon and I show up faithfully at a local coffee shop on Sunday morning to share work. Being a regular now you begin to notice the other regulars.

And coffee shops seem to be one of the last bastions of unfettered photography (except for those corporate ones with rule books). I figure the day will come that someone will complain and we will be politely asked to put our cameras away lest we be branded as terrorists.

Photography is not a crime.

Not yet.

This past Sunday Gordon had some nice digital prints. Both of us have recently agreed to abandon film and the darkroom for a while. I already miss it. This image is of his wife.

Gordon has a dog named Laika. I think my Junior photography was inspired by his pictures of his dogs. I’m a follower. Except when it comes to riding. Then I’m a loner.

Riding buddy Paul Ruby made an appearance. I’m not sure if he wanted to see us or just needed a muffin. He recently purchased a Ducati 1198 to share space in the garage with his Kawasaki Concurs, Harley Davidson something or other, and a nice, 1964 Vespa. And his 1962 (?) Mercedes and 1976 Ferrari. He thinks they are all chick magnets.

He needs to talk with Dr. Riepe. Besides, that sweater demagnetizes pretty much anything.

Made this picture on the way home from work this evening. Despite the cold and snow I’m glad to be out. Some days when I walk into the house Kim remarks on the smile. Riding has a way of doing that. Even on cold days like today, riding to work without my ski mask and the cold cut into my throat like a knife, I was smiling and happy when I arrived.

Go figure. Things like that don’t happen in warm climates like you might find in Key West.

I do have some good news to report. A while back Jack Riepe of Twisted Roads posted some good information on how to handle Valentine’s Day. He made a recommendation for Big Jim’s Cookies. I bought two-dozen immediately. And Jim called the house because of a snowstorm seeking permission to ship the cookies a couple days later so they would not get hung up somewhere in shipping. He bakes these things fresh and they are GOOD. Yum. I wish I had some right now.

Jack Riepe may not know much about motorcycles or women but he does know chocolate chip cookies.

Since I can’t have a constant supply of Big Jim’s Cookies I can always stop at the candy store down the street for my beloved Figaros.

So I think I am all caught up with the news from the sticks. It’s good to have friends, interests, a loving wife, kids, family, a dog, camera and Vespa. Can’t ask for much more. Well I can but I won’t right now.

As the weather warms and I cast off the weight of winter I hope to provide a little more interesting fare.