Scooter in the Sticks

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

Ducati Riding

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That’s me, a dumbstruck tourist with a Ducati.  The Ducati Diavel to be exact.  Fresh off a Vespa pushing 22 horsepower to a power cruiser with an additional 140 horsepower.  That’s 162 horsepower for those of you who ride K bikes.

This was how an evening ride with the owner of Kissell Motorsports began a few months ago.

Actually this ride began many months before that when Craig Kissell announced the new Ducati and suggested he and I should take a ride together and take notes.  Sounded like a plan to me.

We left the shop with Craig on the Multistrada and me on the Diavel. The last time I was on a Ducati was a ride on the Hypermotard. Another experience in the meaning of contrast between a Vespa and something with power far beyond my imagination.  I’d read about the Diavel and forged a healthy respect in my head.  It seemed to be an engine on wheels, and one of those wheels, the rear one, was eight inches wide.

I chose to start with the Diavel figuring I would face my fears and inadequacies right away, and also take advantage of the freeway leg of our ride — smooth pavement with gently sweeping curves.  The easiest landscape to ride.  At some point it occurred to me that Craig might be checking up on me after having woken up in the middle of the night wondering what possessed him to just start giving me motorcycles to ride.  He needed to see first hand that a Vespa rider could handle something that required more than twisting a throttle.  If he did have concerns he never voiced them.

If someone had asked me to describe the Ducati experience at that moment I would have said, “Powerful, finicky, mechanical.”  When you are riding a Ducati you know you are on a machine.  That’s how I felt after the Hypermotard.  And all the Ducati riders I knew would get a faraway look in their eyes when they talked about their motorcycles and the sounds they made.

I expected more of the same with the Diavel.

I was wrong.

Craig Kissell is pretty laid back.  At least he seems that way when you seem him at the shop or out in public.  He seems that way when he rolls an expensive motorcycle out of the showroom, hands me the keys and says to have fun.  I’ve watched him talk with customers in the same easy manner that we talk.  He lets you decide what you like and what you don’t.  I didn’t think I would like the Diavel.  He didn’t care, just said to write whatever I wanted.  I suppose he knows everyone has favorite motorcycles and others they don’t care for.

We had less than two hours to ride.  Not enough time to ride, sit down and share opinions and have me take any kind of notes that would be a rigorous comparison of the two Ducati motorcycles.  So I’ll just share my general response to both.  If you want to know what Craig thinks stop by and see him.

The Diavel was one of the smoothest motorcycles I have ever ridden.  Shockingly so.  And the engine sound and smoothness was definitely un-Ducati like in my estimation, misguided as it is.  And the bike was powerful, fast, comfortable and easy to ride.  After 25 miles I was smiling and pleasantly surprised by the performance.  No bad words from me about this bike though definitely not something that fits into my riding life.

Now it was my turn on the Multistrada, a Ducati that I had my eye on for a long time, one that I felt would definitely fit into my riding life.  A mile down the road and I’m telling myself, “This is a Ducati”.  Touchy power, the mechanical clatter I associate with a Ducati engine, and a harsher suspension than I expected.  Riding a Vespa GTS spoils you when I comes to road comfort.

We got back to Kissell Motorsports at closing time in a rush, a rush that those two motorcycles embraced easily.  Before I pass judgment on the Multistrada I need to ride it a bit longer.  And take a few more pictures.

Until then, all I can say for sure, is that riding a Ducati is fun.

Fall Skies and Motorcycle and Scooter Magic

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Riding under a strong, dramatic sky on a fall day lends offers a certain je ne sais quoi.  I feel something different in my blood, an excitement shimmer through my bones just being on the road and moving.  Scenes that pass with vague indifference in a car ignite my imagination on the Vespa.  Or any motorcycle I have ridden in fact.  Those skies don’t favor one machine over another.

This time of year, with bigger shifts in temperature and light, I find a rolling unfolding of aerial tapestry that threaten to cut my rides short as I stop and watch shafts of light sweep across a field, clouds pass overhead in a collage of shapes and forms rekindling memories of childhood spent lazing on a hilltop just watching the sky, free of worries beyond being home in time for dinner.

 On days I can’t ride to work I often find myself rolling the Vespa from the garage and heading down the road “just for a short ride” I promise Kim.  An unwinding of the strangling energy of a busy day, the quick thrill of flying over the pavement, the momentary fantasy of freedom that a ride can bring.  And then, an image of something so ordinary and familiar beckons for attention.  Standing along the road, not far from home I look and wonder and make a picture.

The Vespa is elegant in its mechanical simplicity and continues to surprise me with its faithful performance and willingness to tackle anything I’ve asked of it, from smooth pavement to gravel paths to snow covered roads.  I would be lying to say I have not considered other machines, imagined different rides in different ways on motorcycles that have caught my attention.  But I continue to be glamoured by the Vespa, it’s magical hold clouding my mind, calling me back, over and over again to the silver scooter. 

The important thing is to ride. Even for just a few minutes — that’s all it takes.  Here I stopped to look back towards home, watch the sun go down, and express some gratitude for being alive and walking on the earth.

I never do that when I’m driving.

So I keep riding. For fellow riders keep riding.  For those would be riders reading and dreaming, take the leap, assume the risk, and find some magic.

Especially now, under those hypnotic fall skies, cool days and fast changing colors.

Little Rides on a Fall Day

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Last Sunday morning arrived cool and foggy, the kind of day I relish as photographer and rider.  The falling leaves signal a change in days, a shortness of light and warmth and the arrival of the official Vespa riding season.

Just down the street I pull over to ponder the ride.  The painted white arrows echo the conversation in my head, the uncertainty of which direction I should go.  Eventually I decide to ride directly to my Sunday morning meeting with Gordon to talk photography and drink tea.  But until I get there, I savor the ride, no matter how ordinary or short.

Scooter riders become familiar with the liberal interpretation of parking rules, especially when applied to spaces beyond the reach of the four-wheeled world.  I’m not sure if it’s legal to park here but so far I’ve not attracted the interest of the local parking constabulary.  It is after all, a moped.

Vespa riders are badasses.  We sit in a dark corner of the room, back to the wall, and survey the world that’s ours to explore.  With tea cup in one hand and my Canon G9 (I seem to have lost it somewhere) in the other, I record the view at Saint’s Cafe on a Sunday morning.

The ride home under a clear morning sky offers a different experience.  After nearly dumping the Vespa on a steep drop from pavement to gravel caused by hasty decision to explore I stop to admire the landscape and admonish myself for being a careless rider.  I suppose it’s always good to look in the mirror and remind yourself of those inner weaknesses.

Later that day, the sun on the other side of the horizon, I ride back to town to an appointment.  Another little ride, another reminder of how satisfying even the little rides on a fall day can be.
No reason to wait for extreme adventures to enjoy the satisfaction of riding.

The Hello Kitty Harley

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Nothing says Harley-Davidson like a Hello Kitty water bottle.  I spied this one on Paul Ruby’s Harley Crossbones and wondered how he missed the marketing messages that Harley has poured millions into — with much success I might add. I may have suggested a HOG member seeing it might confiscate his bike.

Now I wish I had held my tongue.  He must have been upset because he’s traded the Harley for a 2007 BMW K1200 GT.  Hello Kitty will be more at home there I guess.

Paul and I left early to ride to Altoona to pick up my father-in-law before riding on to a new breakfast spot. Light traffic, long lights, and the easy of parking the Vespa allow for some quick pictures like this one. 

Remember those cool tablets that they used to give out on the first day of school along with the giant green wooden pencils?  If you weren’t alive and in the first grade around 1960 forget I mentioned this.

Anyways, the Blank Book Company has been making school supplies, tablets, notebooks, etc, for over one hundred years.  This was their original building in Roaring Spring.  I can’t quite decide which is more unique — the architecture or the two Vespa scooters with the Harley.

Mamie’s in Martinsburg. While Paul checks the map to figure out where we are the cooks are preparing what was among the finest breakfast sandwiches I have ever devoured.  Devoured is the right verb.  I had a half steak and egg sandwich on homemade bread with grilled peppers and onions. 

I’m not a donut guy.  I’ll eat them but am not impressed.  At least not until I had one of Mamie’s donuts.  Fresh, warm, sugary.  This is the kind of donut that Homer Simpson would abandon his family for.

When I looked at the folder on my computer for images of this ride the donut was the last one even though we put another 65 miles on the odometer before reaching home.  The donut was the capstone experience for this ride.  Thank god I didn’t ride 1000 miles to find it.

Embracing Failure, Return of the iPhone

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Waking to fog still excites me.  Duty and responsibility take a back seat as I scheme to find a way to explore a world half shrouded, half hidden by fog.  This past weekend was no exception and after a rush to get Junior exercised, fed, watered and Milkboned I was off to make photographs and eventually meet my friend Gordon at Starbucks.

The world was perfect.  Even the occasional draw of my glove across my visor to clear condensation could not interfere with the moment.  As I walked into position to make a photograph along Spring Creek I was presented with a wonderful opportunity for personal growth in the form of acceptance — the SD card for my digital camera was missing. 

 Obviously all was not lost.  My recently revived iPhone (not long ago I abandoned it for a Trac Phone.  That was a bad plan professionally.) was in my pocket and I surrendered to the reality that photography on this morning would be different than I planned. The fog was subtle and that ephemeral nature would easily be lost without the more powerful rendering of my Canon G9.  The iPhone is closing in though.  Riding on along the creek I was surprised how angry I was with myself for being so irresponsible.  Again.  I could tell you about all the pictures that got away.  Instead, I embraced the failure and made the most of the situation.

And I still could ride.

 Earlier in the week I did the same thing on another evening ride.  No card in the camera.  So I had to resort to the iPhone.  It’s not that the pictures are bad, they just aren’t what I planned.  And again, my expectations struggled against me seeking to ruin a lovely evening on the road.

The roads here are sublime.  While there are times when I wait for vehicles to leave a scene for the most part these roads are empty on a Sunday morning.  I could have had breakfast here without concern. 

One last detour at a tract of land managed by the Pennsylvania Game Commission.  Kim and I used to rent a farm bordering these lands and could walk out our door and walk for hours without seeing another person.  Those were pre-Vespa days.  Standing here a flood of memories swept over me like ghosts from the past.  For those of you who know where this is (of for the Game Warden reading this) I did not motor into this position.  I dutifully pushed the Vespa around the gate and posed it for this picture.  There is no outlaw biker in me and I was not about to intrude on this place with my scooter.

Well, I thought about it for a second or two.

By the time I arrived at Starbucks I had moved beyond embracing my failure to bring along a working camera to deciding I should reward myself for making the most of a situation I could not change.  Two of these cookies died in the process.

I’ll post the black and white prints for the 3 Prints Project when I get a moment to make some scans.  Right now I would rather ride.  It’s only 9:30pm.  Perhaps a run to the store for some chocolate to go along with a cup of tea is in order.

Scooter in the Sticks

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

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