Exploring life on a Vespa, Royal Enfield Himalayan, Honda Trail 125, and a Kawasaki W650
Thanks to a wonderful opportunity extended by Craig Kissell of Kissell Motorsports I’ve been able to share my experiences riding the latest BMW, Triumph, Ducati, Vespa and Piaggio motorcycles and scooters from the perspective of a committed scooter rider. If you’re currently riding a scooter or small motorcycle and plan to move up to something bigger maybe these will help.
This post began simmering in my brain after reading a post on 2 Stroke Buzz titled A Minivan for your Testicles. Kim and I have been watching the FX show called Sons of Anarchy — a soap opera on the drama within and around an outlaw biker gang in California.
There is a special kind of macho surrounding bikers. While I’m not sure how many there are anymore (List of the Top 10 Biker Gangs in the USA) you see a lot of the biker style on the road. And riding a Vespa certainly doesn’t fit in that style. And when I saw the picture associated with A Minivan for your Testicles it got me thinking of all the good natured and not so good-natured ribbing I’ve gotten from other riders about the manliness of a scooter.
The picture below says it all.
The look and style certainly fits with the idea of a minivan. I have my own little minivan. I never realized I had a style.
And I agree, a scooter is just as dangerous as a motorcycle. Woe to those riders in shorts and flip-flops who feel there’s no need for a helmet because they’re on a scooter. And so I come back to the Sons of Anarchy.
The images and styles reflect on the TV show reflect our collective consciousness of biker gangs. Almost. The producers have carefully put helmets on all the bikers. So the image is a bit watered down though not to the level of the Black Widows in Every Which Way But Loose where Clint Eastwood and his ape are pursued by some bad bikers.
Image is one thing though. The real message is in a rider’s actions. And as simple and obvious as this seems to me it doesn’t seem to be the driving force behind what makes for a good, macho ride.
I’m sort of pissed to find out that I purchased a minivan without even knowing it. No wonder I get no respect on the road.
Junior knows when we’re on the last walk of the night. He has an uncanny sense of time and often knows what I’m going to do before I do. Standing under a moonlit sky at 1:30am we listen to crickets, cicadas, and katydids perform their summer symphony. He’s thinking biscuit and bed. I’m thinking it a good night for a ride.
The nice thing about being married to an artist is that a middle of the night ride falls within the limits of normal behavior. Kim’s only misgiving is that she can’t come along. If my employer is reading this please note I am on vacation this week.
Night stimulates varied responses among riders. For some (like me) it evokes a time of stillness and reflection. For others, it’s a time for terror of deer, drunks, and unfortunate interactions. I remember a book on motorcycle technique that admonished the reader to venture into the night only in an emergency and in dire, personal peril. I believe that. The heightened risk is real and I manage accordingly.
I arrive in town as the bars are closing and people are on the sidewalk making final social decisions. With camera in hand I walk across the street to make a few pictures. Too lazy to retrieve the tripod I sit down against a parking meter and steady the camera against my knees for a half second exposure at a grain generating ISO.
Forgive my photographic indolence.
On campus the pervasive illumination keeps the night at bay and lends a theatrical feeling to the surroundings. Night is somewhere other than here.
Kneeling in the middle of the street behind a little tripod I struggle to make a picture of the Vespa and the moon. I police cruiser glides by watching me work. Law enforcement everywhere knows that photographers using tripods constitute the good guys. I thought he might question my Vespa parked on the sidewalk but he departed in search of more interesting miscreants.
It’s 2:30am as I ride out of town in search of a more suitable landscape to breath in the night. I’m transported into childhood as the scent of Queen Anne’s Lace growing along the road reminds me of playing army in the fields and woods of years ago.
Standing in a field of corn and soybeans the moon illuminates the controls of the camera. Everything is painted in a cool blue gray with deep shadows hiding any real detail. Fireflies and the taillights of an occasional passing car provide the only rich colors.
My interest in making pictures wanes quickly. A few lame attempts to use the flash and I’m done. Dew has formed on my helmet as the temperature drops. I sense a nearby skunk. In the distance a car engine moves over the road coming closer and bringing it’s bright light with it. When the car stops I wonder who’s behind the wheel – someone concerned for the safety of a man in a black and yellow riding jacket standing next to a Vespa? Or is it just someone looking for trouble and sees a scooter as an easy target?
The car slowly moves away and disappears over a hill. I’m left alone looking at the stars and thinking it gets no better than this.
Kim made this picture of me one evening at the Arboretum at Penn State. I thought it appropriate for this post.
There comes a point where training and experience yield to human nature. Or more pointedly: human failure. The world of the demon that whispers of appropriate action and choice. Viewed later, from the comfort of an armchair with a cup of Earl Grey tea, choices can seem positively stupid. And so we begin.
Perhaps there’s no more honest reflection of a person’s true character than on the road where masks and facades seem to shed easily. Employers wanting to know who they are hiring should conduct interviews in a car and have applicants drive them on errands through a few frustrating locations to see who emerges.
If asked how I would describe myself as a rider (or driver) I would say calm, relaxed, slow. Arriving at work and parking on a quiet summer campus definitely helps support those feelings and while generally true I have my moments. The demon whispers and I do things that are less than intelligent.
On my way to Barnes and Noble last week on I was reacquainted with weakness. Traveling along on a busy stretch of four lane road I could seen a silver SUV weaving through traffic in my mirror. I wondered why they were in such a hurry. They’ll just end up sitting at the next traffic light. I don’t remember the demon whispering but I was gauging opportunities to educate the SUV driver. I’m in the left lane on the Vespa slowly approaching a car in the left lane. Traffic is moving around 35mph. The SUV has just moved into the right hand lane in a bid to pass me on and then swing around the car. Not far ahead is a traffic light. As if I am in a chess game I adjust the throttle to move ahead a bit faster. A man in the SUV approaches quickly still hoping to pass me. He’s closing on the bumper of the car trying to decide if he can get between the car and the Vespa. There’s room but just barely. My fingers have crawled over the brake levers. And just as it seems he’s going to try the car’s brake lights come on and we’re all stopped at the traffic light.
My brain hasn’t recognized how stupid or dangerous game I’m playing. I’m teaching now, providing someone else with an opportunity to see the error of his driving ways. Where does this kind of thinking come from? I’m not riding through the woods or stopping to make a picture in a stand of pines. I’m in fantasy world.
The light changes and we’re all off. I move a bit faster than the car and when it seems I’ll pass the car the SUV swings in behind me. The car keeps accelerating and begins moving ahead. The SUV swings back right hoping to get past everyone as he drives just inches from the car in front of him. The gap widens slowly. I can see his eyes flashing in his side mirror, his brain working to calculate the space needed to pass as the car suddenly slows and I move up ahead. The car speeds up again and I wonder if he is playing this game too. Or maybe he’s just suggesting the SUV get off his ass. Or for me to get the hell out of the game.
All this has happened in less than a mile. The SUV is again right on the bumper of the car willing him to speed up. I sense something is about to happen and move left in my lane and roll off the throttle slightly. The SUV explodes left, passes the car, and veers back to the right lane, hits the brakes and immediately turns off the road and into a McDonalds parking lot. I look over and see the driver queue up for the drive up window. He was obviously not the brain surgeon on his way to emergency surgery that I sometimes use to excuse reckless behavior on the road.
Notice it’s all about the other guy.
This brings me to my point. The behavior of other drivers is not something for me to fix. They are a changing constant on the road to be managed and nothing else. Education and justice is the realm of others. Nothing anyone does is an excuse for me to listen to the demon. What would I have lost by letting the SUV pass?
One morning on the way to work I stopped to pick up a sandwich for lunch. Standing on the sidewalk I saw my scooter reflected against the Karate Kid poster and it got me thinking about practice and learning. I need to do some further work as a rider.
Thankfully, the event is atypical and not a pattern. But even once is too many. As I grow as a rider I’m learning that the attitude I bring to the road is just as important as the technical skills. For me, dismissing the demon is the place to improve my riding.
Have you conquered the demon?
In the driveway, packed and ready to try and give away some prints away at the Central Pennsylvania Festival of the Arts. Thirty prints that had lived in a box since I made them would try and find a new home.
On Sunday the festival doesn’t open until 10am so I had some time to roam around on the scooter. Morning is my favorite time to ride. The earlier the better. If 6am is good then 4am is heaven. I haven’t seen much of heaven lately.
I can remember days when this area was solid humanity from sidewalk to sidewalk and you could barely travel a half block in 15 minutes. Early morning is a favorite because things are more quiet. In the background you can see a bicyclist amidst the water spray made available to help cool people off and give kids some water action. The bicyclist had a small child on the back of the bike and he rode back and forth through the spray to give the little one some excitement.
The print giveaway.
Gordon Harkins and I gathered on campus and decided to make one loop through the festival and see how people reacted to our offer of free art and prints. We would make no verbal offers or approaches, just respond to inquires. We probably should have taken a long look in the mirror before making that decision.
Gordon was fully outfitted for the giveaway of his prints. Being far more serious than I am he had selected four images and made five custom, numbered prints of each. The prints were carefully signed and labeled and placed inside plastic sleeves to protect them. I had my prints in a satchel on my shoulder with a package of plastic sleeves to protect the print from barbecue sauce or funnel cake fallout should anyone desire to take one.
Neither of us had any idea how this would go. The show was just waking up and people were just beginning to arrive as we approached the sidewalk sale. I could see people reading us and wondering what we were doing. I could see furtive glances and hear soft comments like, “You ask.” But no takers.
Finally, “Hey, what are you giving away?” A man in a white van who just helped unload some artist’s wares. We showed him our prints and explained what we were doing but we couldn’t convince him to choose a print. He told us his wife was the artist and that we should visit her just two booths away.
“Why are you giving these away?” was her question. I froze and mumbled something meaningless about having boxes of them sitting at home. Gordon stepped in for the save and told her that we are setting them free. Worked for me. Worked for her. She selected a gelatin silver print of a dead tree I shot just a few miles from where we were standing. It was made with an 8×10 Zone VI view camera and that particular image garnered a Best of Show Award in the Annual Art Alliance of Central Pennsylvania Show. I never felt it was too popular. Photographs are never supposed to be chosen over painting and sculpture for a best of show honor. It’s like a mixed breed dog winning Best of Show at Westminster.
The woman wouldn’t know any of this unless she visits here. Doesn’t matter. I was just curious about what people would chose.
In the 90 minutes we were at the show I gave away nine prints. And I recognized another dozen individuals who wanted to ask but wouldn’t. This was all Gordon’s fault. He labeled his hat “Free Art”. Everyone knows that’s code for a credit card offer or worse.
In addition to being surprised at how reticent people were to ask I was also surprised at what they chose. One young woman picked a picture of my front yard. A young man chose a tree with a Posted, No Hunting Sign attached to it. One woman chose a picture of a single tea cup on a table in an empty Saint’s Cafe and a man selected a picture of a shimmer of light on a brick wall at the Cleveland Clinic. Good thing I had a diverse selection.
Walking home Gordon and I characterized our endeavor as a limited success. No one yelled at us and no one chose a print and ritually destroyed it in our presence. That’s always a good sign.
It did feel good to share the pictures and I will do it again next year. If not before. Until then I’ll keep riding and making pictures. It is its own reward.
