Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
All Vespa riders experience it, moving through the world, minding your own business when suddenly you realize the Vespa frightens a big segment of the riding world. Most of the BMW riders, some of the sportbike riders, and almost all the Harley-Davidson riders.
At a fuel stop I realized a large contingent were huddled on the far side of the lot awaiting my departure, like nervous Wildebeests waiting for the lion to leave the waterhole.
It’s a sad statement on the riding world…
My youngest daughter recently acquired her motorcycle license and the rights and privileges attendant to it — like having to invest in the global petrochemical cartel. Her Yamaha Vino sips fuel but the tank eventually wants more.
On the bright side, Aleta is experiencing the freedom a scooter can offer. And the food.
Aleta joined Paul Ruby and I on a Saturday morning ritual — riding and eating. Part of the lesson is becoming comfortable on the road whether by yourself, with a big motorcycle, or with other riders. In this case Paul and I were probably the biggest challenge for her.
For a beginning rider one can’t ask for more than what’s available here. Light traffic, reasonable road surfaces, and plenty of twists and turns to practice what you learn in and MSF course.
I suspect Aleta will attain character status on Scooter in the Sticks if she continues to ride. I’ll have to think about a name. Flash doesn’t seem quite right. Neither does Twisty. I suppose Aleta will suffice for now.
Upon arrival in Unionville, Pennsylvania — a 20 mile jaunt from home; just enough time to feel like you had a ride, eat, and get home to take on a day of chores. Pretty good deal in my mind.
Paul and I have eaten breakfast here a few times but it was the first for Aleta. Once she gets the hang of things I expect she’ll be choosing the routes and eateries. There are a lot of vegetarian cookbooks in her house.
Fearful about the future of my bacon and eggs lifestyle…
I refuse to believe I’m the only rider who secretly leaps at the chance to go for a ride while feigning resignation and sacrifice in taking on an errand to a grateful spouse. This can’t be a deception.
This evening my ears pricked at the sound, “We’re almost out of coconut water”.
Sure, no concerned, loving, caring husband would ever, under any circumstance, allow their wife to run out of an essential element of a full life. From that noble and lofty place I stepped forward and proclaimed, “I’ll go honey!’
A few minutes later I was chasing the sun to the horizon dashing along the freeway towards Trader Joe’s.
Mathematicians have proven the shortest distance between two point is a straight line. Seems obvious that they weren’t riders. If they were the idea of the shortest distance wouldn’t have occurred to them.
Only 9 miles as the crow flies lay between my couch and the coconut water at TJs. Through careful planning and deep thought I could easily triple the distance. I refer to the conversion effect as Steve’s Third Rule of Enlightened Riding. Included in the rule is the postulation that level of physical, emotional and spiritual well being is directly proportional to distance traveled.
I’m too tired to write the equation.
Any little dirt track leading into the distance merits investigation. This stretch of pseudo-road reminded me of a question another Vespa rider asked me last week — is it ok to ride a Vespa on dirt and gravel? The rider was concerned with comments related to the location of the air intake and fear that a rider could take in a lot of dirt and possibly damage the engine.
All I could offer in response is that I have ridden a lot of miles on dirt and gravel. Hundreds of miles. Perhaps thousands. And no problems so far…
The weather at this time of year, and this evening in particular, is exceptional. The temperature dipping to 60F and below in the evening under clear skies and falling sun create a magnificent palette of color and tone in which to ride which makes it a little easier to deal with the heavy burdens of running errands.
More small tracks through the woods. This one ended at a locked gate. Fortunately the Vespa is agile and thin enough to pass through a human sized opening and continue or towards Trader Joe’s. The mushy forest soils that make up this part made me think again of how nice it would be to try out some knobby tires and the Vespa.
The familiar route under heavy skies sublime, all cares and worries washed free leaving imagination and wonder as the Vespa rolled along. Objects and places strange, new, and the ride I’ve made hundreds of times
Looking at the looming road sign brought a smile as it faced off with the scooter. A quote sang in my head…
“Wonder is the heaviest element on the periodic table. Even a tiny fleck of it stops time.”
― Diane Ackerman
How lucky the rider who finds a piece of wonderment along the road.
This morning, Mount Nittany, the quiet hill watching over Penn State, Lemont, Boalsburg, Oak Hall, Linden Hall, State College and Houserville — it possesses magic which I never tire of witnessing.
Home.
The first leg of the ritual ride ends across from Schlow Library. Ample free motorcycle parking on a Sunday morning. In fact I have never failed to find a space here, or at least I can’t remember a time.
And off to Saint’s Cafe on foot, a few hundred steps, not quite a walking meditation, but just enough time to recognize a troubling thought or happy memory.
Ah, the small rituals that make life sweet…
If I had a quarter for every time I was asked “Can a scooter ride with a motorcycle?”…
The answer is simple — yes, and no.
On this morning last week my Vespa was an acceptable riding companion to Paul Ruby’s BMW K1200GT despite the gap in size and power. In this case the riding styles of the riders matched making the machines incidental to the ride. No freeway tricks or backroad racing involved, just a leisurely 38 mile tour through the woods on the way to breakfast.
The woodlands and waterways in Black Moshannon State Park are more like the arboreal forests of Maine than the typical Pennsylvania ones. The last flowers are blooming on the lilypads before everything recedes into fall and then the cold of winter.
Speaking of motorcycles and scooters mixing — there’s a reason why the BMW isn’t in this picture. Fine, soft gravel provides uncertain footing for the big bike where the scooter, while no dirt bike, is easier to flog without fear of dumping.
My wife is the naturalist in the house, by temperament, training and love. I know this plant as Doll’s Eyes. She does too but consistently shocks me with her encyclopedic knowledge of scientific names (in Latin) of plants as Actaea Alba flows from her lips. I tell myself I’m smart in other ways.
On rides like this I wish she had a Vespa and we could ride together…
Ruby and I arrive at the Retro Eatery in Philipsburg, Pennsylvania for breakfast — hungry. It’s a great place to eat and not what I would expect to find in P Burg. If you’re out that way it’s worth a visit.
Paul always investigates the menu and engages in a range of culinary evaluations. Regardless of where we are though the end result is the same: waffles and bacon.
I’ve never questioned the choice. Some things are private.
After breakfast we made a quick stop at my entrepreneurial enterprise that promises to make my retirement years profitable and comfortable. I see new socks and underwear in my future.
We took the long way home — a 50 mile trek across the edge of the Allegheny Plateau until we descended into Bald Eagle Valley and the beginning of the ridge and valley section of Pennsylvania. The abrupt changes in natural and geologic landscapes are a pleasure to experience and with the tutelage of my loving wife I see a lot more than I used to.
Just not in Latin.