Scooter in the Sticks

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

Learning Via Boneheaded Moves

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A 2001 Kawasaki W650 on a motorcycle trailer.
Evidence of a boneheaded move.

A Chain of Unfortunate Coincidence

My poor Kawasaki W650, tied down to the ambulance on its way to Bestline Powersports for surgery. Many thanks to my friend Dave for driving the bus.

How awful it is to be saddled with an aging man as a riding partner. A guy who can strike a blow to the motorcycle twice in a week. The first a careless drop onto the driveway. And now something worse and more expensive to fix. It’s obvious that there are a few lessons to be learned.

The day started at 6 AM so there was time to ready myself and the motorcycle for a long ride to breakfast. I was trying to speed things up before departure by multitasking. I was never good at it, worse now, but still I forge ahead and start all the plates spinning. It’s never good to feel rushed by the clock. Decision making becomes muddy and choices questionable.

I push the bike out to the driveway and then get the dogs breakfast. Everything is beginning to hum. I attach the battery operated air pump to the front tire and then move it to the back while I rush inside to put on my riding boots. I pull the choke on the bike and start it up, letting it warm while I put on my Merlin jacket. Back inside to make sure the dogs have water and the windows and doors are closed and locked. Back to the bike, push the choke in and listen to the engine purr. Pull the front door shut, put on my helmet and gloves and am ready to go. I’ll be on time. Barely. But I have beaten the clock.

I’m thrilled at the ride to come as I back the bike towards the street. And suddenly I feel a pressure. “Is the chain jammed?” I think. And suddenly it’s free. Strange but I’m late as I continue backing up. I’m not sure what came first, the recognition in my brain of what I did or the lump in the pit of my stomach.

Do you know what I did???

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An Ordinary, Mundane Ride

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A 2022 Royal Enfield Himalayan motorcycle on a gravel forest road.
Familiar, frequently traveled road near home.

I’ve Been Here Many Times Before

Expectations can trip me up if I cling to them too strongly. Thinking a ride has to be some sort of exceptional adventure is the sort of thinking that can rob me of opportunities that are anything but an adventure. Those days when I only have an hour to ride can seem not worth the effort to gear and and go. Especially if I am just going to retrace roads that I’ve literally ridden a hundred times before.

Recently I forced myself out of the house and onto the road on the Royal Enfield Himalayan for an, ordinary, mundane ride.

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Call Me Mr. Bonehead

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A 2001 Kawasaki W650 motorcycle parked in a driveway.
It still looks pretty despite being owned by a bonehead.

An Unfortunate Incident

The 2001 Kawasaki W650 still looks pretty despite an unfortunate fall in the driveway. Clearly a result of a misstep on my part though I am still a little perplexed at the chain of events. The bike was idling on the side stand, choke out for the initial start, and I was putting earplugs in, zipping up my KLIM jacket, and was pulling on my helmet when I saw the bike fall over, still running, and in a surreal pose that was a little shocking.

I had parked the bike at a place in the driveway that had a slight slope. I remember checking the stability because it seemed a little more upright than its normal lean on the kick stand. Probably because I had been rolling it around so the valve stems were in a position where I could check the tire pressure. With the tire pressures ok, I pulled the choke, started the bike, adjusted the RPMs, and started putting on my gear. Another morning in paradise as I got ready to ride to breakfast to meet a friend.

And then it happened.

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Riding and the Meaning of Life

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A 2001 Kawasaki W650 motorcycle parked along a highway.
Alone on the road, I don’t often know where my thoughts will lead.

Why We Ride

A fine marketing slogan that swept through the Moto-world a few years ago with the predictable declarations of freedom and escape. I don’t deny those things for they are certainly present, but there is something larger at work as I ride.

On the surface, I rolled the Kawasaki W650 motorcycle out the door to ride to breakfast. Alone, on a hot day, by myself. A simple act with nothing much on my mind as I pulled the choke and thumbed the machine to life.

And almost instantly I was climbing up the Allegheny Front on a road I generally avoid.

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Riding in the Shimmering Heat

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A hot tea and big chocolate chip cookie sitting on a counter with a motorcycle parked outside the window.
Elements of a reprieve from the heat.

Don’t Tell Me I Can’t Ride

It was already pushing 90 degrees when I rolled the W650 out of the garage this morning. The National Weather Service has been in full panic mode, warning everyone to stay inside like the world is ending. I almost took the car.

I had every excuse ready: It’s too hot. I’m getting older. I should be more careful. Then I caught myself. I spent summers welding inside steel barges in heat like this. Now I’m supposed to be too delicate to ride a motorcycle because it’s 90 degrees? Please. So I geared up, hit the starter, and rode anyway.

The heat was real, but so was the smile on my face the entire time.

I ran my errands, stopped for tea and a cookie, and sat there watching the heat shimmer off the pavement, feeling more alive than I have in weeks.

I’m 72 years old. I still know my limits. And I’m nowhere near ready for the rocking chair. If that makes me stubborn, so be it.

That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.