Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
A clear, sunny morning after fresh snow clouds my judgment. The cold and snow seem light and a mere trifle to deal with. It’s that thinking that leads me to underestimate the cold and wander out of the house unprepared for what nature has in store. Every year I step into the same trap after the first snow. And because I usually decide to take a ride on the Vespa scooter, I have to get reacquainted with winter riding.
Continue Reading
I’ve never “stored” my Vespa scooter for the winter — draining fuel, adding stabilizer, or pushing the machine to the corner of the garage to wait for warm weather again in the spring. Riding had become too much fun, too important, an obsession that I wasn’t willing to surrender because of winter. So I rode when the roads were clear, piled on protective gear and tools to stay warm, and pushed against the elements in ways that may have been a stretch in terms of risk.
So now I’m looking at how to manage “winterizing my BMW K75 motorcycle.”
Continue Reading
At times I wonder if it makes much sense to call what I do riding. I strain for a better, more accurate term to describe what I do but have found nothing. Riding. It’s what I do. Those first miles on the Vespa LX150 were so enthralling, my spirit which was long immersed in the thick, syrupy depths of adult life, was suddenly and unexpectedly hurled backwards into the unbridled ignorance and joy of childhood as I guided this new machine through a world suddenly alive with sights, sounds and fragrances that I would not understand how I had not experienced before.
Freedom, That word has been so thoroughly perverted by politics and commerce that I hesitate to invoke it now. But that is what I felt when I started to ride. A freedom from the weight of adulthood, from task and responsibility, from the slow drain of life that I was surely aware. The flight of the Vespa with me on its back was a new creature, free and thrilled to be alive on this earth.
Is it any wonder that I refused to surrender it to the cold and winter? What man or woman who experienced what I had would let it go, even for a few days let alone an entire season. And so I ventured forth and found the solitude of snow.
Continue Reading
A strong beam of sunlight sweeps across the landscape. The Vespa is paused along the road, engine running, heated grips growing warmer in the sub-freezing chill. Frost crunches underfoot as I walk across a pasture searching for the right composition for another portrait of my Vespa GTS scooter. Pulling off leather gloves to use the camera puts bare flesh to the cold metal body of my Canon G15 camera. Hands chill quickly until the composition and exposure are right and I make a photograph that feels like that morning on the road.
Scooter porn. I’ve become what my mother pleaded with me not to do when I told her when I dropped out of college that I was going to be a photographer — someone who shoots porn. And now it seems I’ve become a producer and purveyor of scooter porn.
I’d decided the previous evening that I was going for a ride in the morning because the weather forecast promised a high of 40 degrees. A fine day for a winter ride. But just a few miles from home I was already wondering when the bright sunshine would drive away the sub-freezing air.
Continue Reading
Motorcycle riding in Pennsylvania is great. Lots of roads. Lots of places to eat. And doesn’t take long to find the traffic has fallen off yielding a relatively relaxed environment in which to lose yourself. Unless you live near Pittsburgh or Philadelphia. Then it make take more time to find those lonely paths.
When I rolled the BMW K75 out of the garage I felt it appropriate to take advantage of the dry roads and reasonably warm air. With temperatures in the mid-30s I didn’t have a care in the world. Once I was on the road it didn’t take long to realize my choice to ride, especially the BMW, may have been a bit shy in assessment.
The roads splitting off in the above picture are in the heart of Amish country at the far end of Penns Valley between Aaronsburg and Woodward. I knew they would be dry. I knew they wound through pretty countryside. But I forgot they would still be chock full of gravel, sand, grit and salt. Why since we’ve had next to no snow? I have no idea. And any guesses I might voice would be stupid, petty or both.
Continue Reading