Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
I came across this video on Twitter and thought it did a good job reflecting what off the pavement riding is like with those big BMW GS and GS Adventure bikes. And a smattering of the smaller BMW dual sport bikes like the F800 GS.
I remember riding a 1970 Kawasaki dirt bike in far more serious terrain and places that I would never attempt with one of the big BMWs. Even so, this video makes riding off the pavement look great.
Ran across a video of a motorcycle ride reflecting how I feel on the back of the Vespa when I venture out into the night. As a full moon approaches and the Perseids meteor shower nears its peak I think it’s time for some rides in the darkness.
Found this video on the Motogirona blog.
Ride long enough and you’ll eventually find yourself on the road, drenched and dreaming of home. Ride longer and you may find yourself dreaming of being drenched. This morning I rode away from the dry comfort of home into uncertain weather, a welcome break from endless days of sunshine and heat. The gray, dim morning– a reminder of cooler days ahead.
The forecast predicted scattered showers, at times heavy, for most of the morning. Knowing I would not be riding far I left the raingear in the garage and opted for the more casual comfort of once water resistant riding jacket and pants. And if things really got bad I could breakout the waterproof rain jacket stored in the top case. In six years I have used it twice.
I have a few rules when riding in the rain.
The first is to become one with the road surface so I don’t become one with the road surface in a physical sense.
Every rain is different and so is the character of the pavement. With so little rain in the past couple months there is a lot of stuff on the road that gets slippery when mixed with water. A few stops to walk on the road, test the friction with my boots, I can get a sense of what to expect in terms of traction. It’s not perfect but does provide clues to how to behave.
Another rule is to slow down.
I’ve talked to more than a few riders who search for tires who offer perfect performance on wet pavement, preferring a technological fix for the weather rather than make mindful adjustments themselves. My personal belief is that no tire available will allow you to ride on wet roads like you do on dry ones. You just need to slow down, replace the desire to lean hard and power out of turns with one built around keeping the rubber side down.
Visibility – my own and my appearance to others.
I’ll stay on the road until the torrents interfere with my ability to see the road ahead. If visibility drops below a hundred yards or so I pull over and wait. And if I feel things are too hectic, or traffic too congested to place myself in a visible position, I’ll pull over and wait for conditions to improve.
The last rule I have is comfort.
I’ll ride wet but not cold. The moment I feel myself begin to focus on my body, the effect the weather is having on me, it’s time to stop and regroup. And I’ll stop as often as I need to. One of the advantages of riding alone—no one’s ego is in play dragging others on beyond their limits.
Anyways, I wasn’t going far. Breakfast was first on the agenda followed by finishing a post titled, Heat, Courage and the Jack Riepe Show. The breakfast part went without a hitch but the writing was delayed.
Superman won out over Riepe. I don’t often see comic books but when I do all bets are off. Someone left a nice one at Café Lemont that I could not pass up. It’s nice to sit with a comic book when a hard rain falls outside.
Just a slight drizzle was falling as I left Lemont on a looping ride around town. A short cut across some of Penn State’s pastureland always provides some amazing views of Mt. Nittany and the valley. Rain and mist make things magical.
Watching the clouds pass, darkness in the distance, I wonder what brings me out on days that most riders choose to avoid. There was a time when I needed to prove something to myself. But now, I’m looking for something else. Maybe a more intense experience. A friend once suggested I’m a minor adrenaline junkie but my careful, deliberate approach tends to rule that out. Standing here, noticing all the details, I feel alive and on the earth. Maybe it’s as simple as that.
The rain begins to fall hard on the way home. Water is pooled on my lap where the riding jacket forms a basin. Pelting water droplets feel like hundreds of little bee stings on my chest at 45mph. The jacket and pants are soaked through and water is running down my back. When I stop to make this picture I can barely see the LCD screen. Rain soaks the camera and I leave it on when I put it under the seat so the water on the lens barrel doesn’t migrate to the inside.
Almost home I stop for one last picture, a reminder of rain and light and wet rides. The risk and discomfort are far exceeded by the rewards of the ride.
I’m that dog, quiet, aware, and letting the day wash over me. Except I don’t have to lay on the concrete. And I can enjoy a breakfast sandwich and juice at the local Starbucks. I don’t know this dog, he doesn’t know me, but we passed time quietly this morning in the same space. Not sure how he arrived but I was delivered on a Vespa.
The morning was unplanned and as opportunities presented themselves the Vespa responded. Farm lanes often lead to interesting landscapes, opportunities to observe and wonder.
I’ve photographed this tree many times over the past 35 years — marking time and change. Someday I made walk up to it and introduce myself.
The morning started as usual with Junior and I greeting the day. He’s learned that the scooter signals my departure and a guilt driven presentation of a Milkbone. He seems satisfied with the arrangement.
State College is quiet on Sunday morning. No other motorcycles to deal with and traffic is light. Short trips into town, trips I have been making for decades still intrigue me. There is always something to look at. I still love the way things glow early on a sunny day.
Back on the road, a stop to dream about travel and riding and destinations too far. For today I’m happy with the short ride through the central Pennsylvania landscape. I have plans for the garden today so the Vespa can wait for another time.
Every action has a price. Most of the time the price is small and easy to overlook. At times chance and providence provide enough light to see the bigger costs. Riding, at it’s best, presents me an opportunity to see the world free of the chaos and illusion I create or find myself wading neck deep. On the road, even on a morning ride to work, the wind and the sound of the road can strip away the noise in my head and leave me breathless at the miracle of being alive.
Standing before Mount Nittany, watching the horses graze, tails slapping at the morning flies, watching the warm light lick across the tall corn I’m aware of how fleeting all this is. Behind me the morning commuter traffic roars by on the expressway with cars and trucks bent on getting things done.
Getting Things Done. A war cry in the business world and a phrase of near cult status among aficionados of achievement, success and Stephen Coveyites. I’ve pursued some form of this myself as I struggle to make better and more efficient use of my time and energy at work.
Just a couple weeks ago while riding into work on a particularly quiet, empty morning I could not help but notice how my mind raced around a problem at work, lighting for an instant on a solution before darting to another much as a hummingbird moves from flower to flower.
The idea of getting things done is seductive and the tools to plug in, connect and stay engaged are many. And behold, late in the evening last week, while barely able to keep my eyes open I found myself sitting on the bed, iPhone in hand, answering email, checking my calendar, adding notes to a Google Doc, and Tweeting a picture of my Vespa. I was getting things done. I was also torturing myself in ways I could not fully appreciate.
Nothing like a choppy, impatient brain to reek havoc on one’s ability to focus on complex problems, write, or make sense of chaos. With the iPhone sitting on my desk, bristling with data and information just an arms length away, I knew it had to go.
And so it has as I upgraded to a feature phone that is, well, a phone. And it can receive text messages or create them with mind numbing slowness that only a numeric keypad can engender. No more Camera+ or TweetDeck. No more checking email with addictive frequency or browsing the web at ever spare moment. I’ve taken back my brain so I can use for the things that I am valued for and not apply it to a kind of simulated feeling of accomplishment that can come from being plugged into an endless supply of data and information.
The result has seen the chaos in my head evaporate. And that which does appear is the result of real problems rather than artificially created through the misuse of a device promising convenience but delivering to me something different.
On the road I am careful of my choices as a rider. Seems only right to apply that to the rest of my life.
And perhaps there is a subconscious recognition of the danger of too much information when I recently responded to the familiar inquiry of “If you were going to buy a motorcycle today which one would you get?” with the words “Triumph Scrambler.”
A simple, functional machine that makes my Vespa seem overloaded with data outputs. No tachometer, fuel gauge, or much of anything. I’ve been riding one recently and have fallen in love. I suppose it’s no coincidence that the bike is a model of simplicity.
I know the iPhone and other devices of convenience aren’t a problem for everyone but for me, they hobble my abilities to think, write, photograph or wrap my head around large, complex problems. The price of ownership and use is just too high.
Later today I will purchase a paper calendar to keep in my pocket.