No Beams of Sunshine Light the Stage, But the Red Light's On

After work, chores and all things responsible, I needed to go for a ride.  Just a short one.  The sky was thick and Kim and I traded theories on whether we were seeing fog, low clouds or rain.  The National Weather Service issued a warning of lightning, high winds and hail with the admonition that people should seek shelter, and still I found myself on the road with the red light on and Crosby, Stills & Nash's "Lady of the Island" playing in my head.  Obsessively -- like my attention to the red light (actually orangish yellow) indicating the end of the fuel supply was at hand.  And like a bad tooth or mouth sore that your tongue just can't stay away from my attention kept returning to the damn red light -- not a good thing to be distracted late in the day when I really should be paying close attention to deer and the weather.

As the weather closed in everything takes on an odd feeling, like something out of a Stephen King novel.  What passes unnoticed in the sunshine takes on a more ominous appearance under a heavy sky.  On some level it makes a ride more exciting.

At the risk of being caught off the road in the rain I explored a few small dirt tracks as the sky lowered and began to sweat moisture onto the visor of my helmet.  One moment the air would be still and the next blowing hard with a promise of something more to come.


Even in murky light the drops of water clinging to practically everything create a dazzling sea of shimmering light.  I could appreciate it when I wasn't watching the fuel light, making mental mileage estimates, wondering how long I had been letting the engine idle.  And the worst part is I knew that fuel was not a problem.  The light comes on at 60 miles which would barely consume a gallon of fuel.  With another 1.2 gallons left I can ride a long way.  But the light was on...

Riding through a construction dump I realized how far the Vespa is from the Kawasaki dirt bike I road as a kid.  Small tires and little suspension travel make dirt riding a physical and mental challenge.  Still, it is fun to run around in the dirt.  Standing on the hilltop with the little flag I saw the first flash in the sky.  Light but no sound so there was no way to determine distance and danger. And the fuel light was still annoyingly occupying space in my head that forced me to the local fuel dump.

Now, hours later, the rain has begun to fall steadily and thunder rumbles in the distance.  I'm glad I didn't waste the clearer hours with the Vespa in the garage...

Cold Weather Riding: Getting Your Head Into the Game

As the temperature continues to drop and the weather becomes a bigger concern for a rider.  A cold, wet morning on the way to work when I saw an intrepid commuter.  Riding in this situation is more than just enduring the cold, it's wrapping your head around a new way of riding.  One focused on managing a new exposure to risks.

I just put the snow tires on the Vespa and will change the oil, check the antifreeze, and generally get the machine ready for winter in the morning.  My body is ready for another season of cold weather riding.  Now I just need to get my head in the game...

Radar, Riding and the Tasmanian Devil

Radar.  The kind that forecasts weather instead of nabbing speeders along the freeway.  After a long day and a comment by Kim that the light "was interesting" I was watching a radar animation on my iPhone estimating my chances of dodging rain and lightning.  A few moments later I was on the Vespa chasing the fading sun.

There's a method to this madness beyond seeing the sunset, making a few photos, or riding the Vespa.  It's connected to the Tasmanian Devil — the one always chasing Bugs Bunny in the old Warner Brothers Looney Tunes cartoons.  To most people I appear calm, even tempered, and a few times I've hear"zen like" whatever that means. Inside it's often a different picture with my thoughts, imagination, joys, sorrows, frustrations and more swirl like the cartoon devil, spinning madly with snarls and growls.

So it often is after a long day of burning mental energy the right medicine is to burn some more in sharply focused manner.  If I was built differently meditation would work but I can't bring myself (yet) to sit still.  Riding coupled with chasing an image is perfect.  The riding forces me to stay focused to remain safe and the visual puzzle related to finding a picture flavors the experience into a creative craving.  Or so it seems as I write this now.

I was 15 minutes too slow getting on the road.  The sun was gone and the dregs of light just weren't right.  Still, the ride served it's purpose and the devil went to sleep.  The rain from an hour earlier pushed much of the heat away and left the world moist, thick with possibilities, but remained elusive.  The Vespa rolled over pavement and gravel searching, seeking, looking for the answer to the photographic puzzle in my head.

Never found the answer.  And that's ok because, as has been said so many times in so many places, it's the journey that matters.  And on this journey I was able to acquire two Hershey bars for a plan to be hatched later in the evening.

And now the devil and my dog Junior are asleep.  A few small chores will transform the day into night and my mind into a quiet stream.  A stream familiar because of a scooter and camera.

I feel like riding some more but that would just be selfish...

Riding and the Coming of Cold Weather

Last night the long shadows paralleling US322 told me that fall is on it's way.  That and thermometer readings dropping through the sixties, into the fifties, and this morning a bracing 42F when I rolled the Vespa out of the garage.

Cold weather excites the rider in me, fueling a desire to ride that mostly lies dormant during the heat of summer.  Cold, rain, snow, fog and other physically challenging forms of weather are my mountain -- the manner in which I find satisfaction.

The coming of fall has a peculiar look and sound — a long, heavy light as if the sun isn't quite ready to move across the equator for the autumnal equinox.  Cicadas drone more loudly until they suddenly stop.  Every living thing seems to respond to a biological imperative to brace for winter. Mount Nittany, the icon familiar to Penn State students and alumni around the world, is ready for the world to change.

Even my dog Junior seems aware of the change.  Tinkering with a new iPhone photo app – Alt Photo — I stumbled upon a blue tint that combined with his serious gaze to have me thinking that, like me, he senses the coming of cold weather.

As motorcycle and scooter riders I think we all bring our own, unique reactions to the road.  For some, the passing of Labor Day is the first step in winterization of the machine.  For others a reminder of the few weeks left until the ride becomes unbearably cold.  And for the coldblooded, foolhardy lot who swears they ride through the winter it means the start of an adventure.

To each their own.  I've already started organizing my winter riding gear.  The Heidenau snow tires are ready to mount.  I hate to say it but I've been running snow scenarios through my head.

And all because of a few long shadows along the road...

Perseverance, Weakness and the Question of Riding

The sound of rain falling as sleep fades and the day takes form draws pictures in my head — of mystical worlds shrouded in sheets of water and mist on some mornings, and others, like today, of toil and drudgery as I drag my mind and body through the relentless discomfort the weather presents.

Today I awoke to the latter.  Standing along the road with my little camera, happy and recognizing the fragile nature of being alive, how could I let a little rain move my mind into a state of reluctance at donning some riding gear for a handsome journey to work?

The rain was fell lightly during the ride as the clouds thinned across the valley.  An hour earlier the only reasonable choice for commuting was the van and it's steel and glass encasement isolating me from the world.

In 10 months I'll commence my sixth decade on earth and the event gives rise to questions of age and waning strength and perseverance in the face of resistance.  I take comfort in the example set by a neighborhood bicyclist who pedals into town daily throughout the year — and he must be in his 90s.

So I managed another ride to work with a few detours and diversions and the inevitable whispering of "take the day off and ride...".

Instead a last picture of a round bale in the lane and onward towards Penn State's Beaver Stadium and the office.

It was a good day to ride.

Rain

This morning I decided to ride in the rain to Saint's Cafe in State College, Pennsylvania.  Watching the Weather.com radar map on my iPhone I postulated that I could make it into town before the orange and red blobs arrived.

I was wrong.

By the time I was on the road the rain started falling faster.  By the traffic light at the end of the street my gloves were soaked and water was pouring through my vented riding pants.

A half mile farther and I could see rivers of water pouring down the right side of the road with occasional tributaries crossing my path.  Another mile and the rain begins to slow slightly as I pull off the road to make this photograph.  The stream snaking through the pasture isn't a stream.  It' one of those ephemeral waterways only coming to life during particularly hard, fast, heavy downpours.

Probably not the best day to ride.

An hour later the sky was blue and the sun was shining.  I was mostly dry save for my gloves and I was thinking I really need to get a rainsuit for riding.  The foul weather sailing gear I use just isn't designed to deal with a helmet.

It was a great ride though rain and all...

Weather Calculations

Deciding to ride when weather is less than ideal involves an assessment of risk and a series of calculations of physical and mechanical factors. Things like road surface, wind and rain predictions, and tire condition to name a few. As much as I would like to reduce all of this to a neat equation there is a variable at work that skews the results -- what I want to do. If I want to ride I'll figure out a way to show supporting calculations.

I'll leave any discussion of my desire variable to another post.

For now, I'll concentrate on the more easily measured factors. Hurricane Sandy has dominated the news for the past few days with examples of disaster from the Bahamas to Rhode Island. The storm was here when I went to bed last night. Judging by the radar display on the iPhone there would be no riding today.

Storms are funny though and hard to predict. By morning there was almost no wind and just a mist of rain. Walking up the street with Junior before breakfast I had decided to ride. The first variable considered was road surface: wet, lots of leaves and small debris to hinder traction, nothing particularly exceptional. The second variable was the possibility of water on the road. The air intake on a modern Vespa is low making any water crossings mechanically dangerous. I thought about routes and the potential for flooding and felt comfortable that options were available.

Standing next to a puddle in the murky light on the way to work I tried to gauge the exact depth of water to avoid.

Traffic is always a riding consideration regardless of weather. Schools were closed so traffic would be light. At a stop just outside of town I was surprised how little there was. Many stayed at home today despite the relatively mild visit by Hurricane Sandy. I learned a little later I was making these assessments inside the "eye".

Plenty of motorcycle parking at work.

No other riders made the trip. In a meeting later in the morning someone referred to me as one of those people Governor Christie of New Jersey was referring to. I'm comfortable that if I lived in Atlantic City my calculations would have been much different and would have been made from the comfort of a hotel in the Poconos.

I don't make foolish decisions on two wheels.

Secondary streets were littered with leaves making for an extremely slippery surface. Slow down is the word of the day. I found myself wishing I had already mounted my more aggressive winter tires.

Running a few errands at lunchtime found things still rather quiet both in terms of people and weather. While riding I kept processing the important stuff -- speed, road surface, rain, wind, air temperature, traffic, and my own stamina in the dampness and cold.

By the end of the day the temperature dipped to 39F. Chilly if you aren't prepared.

I made a note on the way home to apply a new coat of Nik Wax to my riding gear to improve its resistance to rain. While standing and making this picture looking towards Mount Nittany on a shortcut home I was reminded of how easily my hands get cold. Perhaps it's time to break out the electric gloves.

Satisfying ride.

Heat, Courage and the Jack Riepe Show

Note: Please accept my apologies for the decidedly untimely nature of this post. Circumstances beyond my control have me behind in my writing, riding and other creative enterprises. Hopefully this will be a welcome reminder of a summer fast evaporating and the real riding weather to come...

Staring at the concrete underbelly of the grandstand I was wondering if the ride to Bloomsburg to witness Jack Riepe was a good decision. The air was thick and the BMW rider sitting in front of me must have been one of the unfortunate souls who combined an all the gear, all the time philosophy with temperatures soaring near one hundred degrees and life in a little tent pitched on the scorched earth of the Bloomsburg Fair Grounds. With tears in my eyes, unprepared for the fragrance of a serious rider, I got up to explore other photographic vantage points.

Three hours earlier I met my friend Dan, a committed BMW rider, at the Pump Station in Boalsburg. We would be riding together to the BMW International Rally in Bloomsburg. At 6:30am I was already baking and feeling sheepish that I had abandoned my armored pants in favor of jeans for the ride. Dan has made the blood oath to always ride away fully clad and armored regardless of situation or circumstance.

Along the way we pick up two more travelers, Dave and Jeff, friends of Dan and also adherents of the German way of road life. Sixty miles down the road I sensed a tear in the BMW space-time continuum as the Vespa intruded on a host of German motorcycles. The heat was rising when I made this picture. Telltale fogging on the left side resulted when the wide lens which had been stored overnight in the cool, dry, environment at home fogged when exposed to the hot humid air. It wasn’t even 9am and the temperature was in the 90s. I had to remind myself of why I was out in weather that I normally avoid. One reason—The Jack Riepe Riepe Show. He better be good.

Dan, Dave and Jeff.  Real BMW riders. You could see these three faces along the Autobahn or in a small cafe in the Bavarian Alps.  Except for the Bellefonte baseball shirt.

Jack Riepe is the author of the Twisted Roads blog and monthly contributor to The BMW Owners News (Dan "forced" me to subscribe) with his column Jack the Riepe. Riepe was at the rally to expand the creative skill and consciousness of would be writers, bloggers and motorcycle adventurers from across the continent. To pass up the chance would be like passing up the chance to have a guitar lesson with Eric Clapton, photography advice from Ansel Adams, or a talk on writing from Hunter S. Thompson.

This was my first motorcycle rally. And maybe my last. While I could see the attraction for riders at this well organized event I generally move in the opposite direction of gatherings of more than five people. I found myself mumbling about the decision that had me standing in the heat.

Thankfully there was no line at the registration area as we moved through quickly and we were through and on our way towards the grandstand. Parking was available just a dozen yards from the door and I began to get nervous at the prospect of meeting the man himself.

Stumbling in about 15 minutes early I could see Riepe posing for pictures with who I later learned were some of his ex-wives. I thought they would be banned from attending but there must have been some sort of last minute reconciliation. Except for the Russian one who still must bear a grudge. As I walked towards this scene he must have recognized me and indicated his excitement at my arrival by elevating his middle finger to signify that I was number one in his book. He exudes kindness. Had I been a bit faster on the draw I could have recorded the moment with my camera.

I didn’t count heads but attendance had to be in the hundreds. Things were getting close and the roadies where frantically trying to get the computer to talk with the projector so we could view the performance that was about to occur. To make matters worse the sound system was not working either. Riepe waited patiently, his eyes sweeping from his notes, to his watch and across the gathering throng of riders and would be writers and bloggers gathered from across the globe. As the minutes ticked by the screen lit up with his presentation leaving the roadies to wrestle with the lack of audio. I saw Riepe’s jaw clench once, twice and then him rise in front of the audience and roar through the hall, “Can you hear me in the back!?”

In the heat, above the din of voices, the roar of fans exchanging stale air for hot, I suddenly realized he was going to address the crowd like a traveling evangelist in a tent on a hot Alabama night using only the power of his voice and the strength of his will.

The teutonic riding gods must have smiled at the scene because the microphone suddenly came to life, Riepe settled into a more comfortable posture, and the mass hypnotism began.

Falling into photographer mode I moved around the crowd to find intriguing vantage points and to try and keep myself insulated from the magnetic pull of the speaker. The gathered mass of faces followed his movements like a cobra charmed on the streets of Calcutta.

“Don’t give ride directions in a story!” boomed Riepe. Several times during the presentation I became nervous when I thought something I’d written would be used as an example. Stressing how boring a long list of routes and turns can be I was reminded of how often I see it done in magazines and on blogs. I’ve done it a few times myself.

No more.

Magazine editors are notoriously hard cases, skeptical of everything and assume everyone is trying to violate one of their fervently held laws (things they read in the Chicago Manual of Style. The AP Manual if they are heavy drinkers). Mary Baker, editor of the BMW MOA Owner News was right up front, smiling, laughing and acting in a manner that could have her editor card revoked in the wrong setting. I guess she was glad to hear Riepe charge would be writers with writing interesting first sentences and to have a little respect for readers. Weave an interesting story.

If you would like to learn more you can download Riepe's BMW Rally Handout.

After the presentation jack had one more trick up his sleeve. I don't like to apply the term "hair-brained" but this situation came close as Riepe introduced the "Twisted Roads Enforcer" helmet.

 As all good things come to an end so did the presentation. It took a long time for the crowd to filter out with everyone seeming to want a piece of Riepe. After the crowd filtered out, something that took a long time because everyone wanted a piece of Riepe, a few other bloggers and myself cornered him for lunch.

Writers have a voice, a persona projected from the page streamed to the minds of readers creating a real or imagined experience. It’s hard to know what’s real or what’s created, true or false. Maybe it doesn’t matter. Still, I’m always interested in the man behind the curtain. Especially this one, weaver of tales, silver tongued devil, who bridges the gulf between a mainstream column and a more jagged presentation on his blog.

The heat dogged everyone the entire day. Under a tent serving apple dumplings with ice cream, pulled pork sandwiches and bottles of icy water George, Richard, Jack and myself sat down to solve the problems of the motorcycle world and rationalize why we spend our time laboring over a blog. The discussion dissolved recognition of heat and sweat gave way to stories of people, places and rides to come. Our lunch together was worth the price of admission.

From left: Jack Riepe (Twisted Roads), Steve Williams (Scooter In The Sticks), Richard Machida (Richard's Page), and George Ferreira (Riding the USA).

Vanilla Riepe

Regular readers of Twisted Roads will be familiar with the battered baby seal, a legendary look so powerful that it reduced women to putty in his hands. Like a vampire glamoring a helpless human. Amidst the heat and humidity I asked for a demonstration. Riepe looked over at me and switched it on.

 Battered Baby Seal

Two waitresses working nearby cooed involuntarily, caught in the energy flow. They brought him free bottles of water and soda and more had he wished it.

After George and Richard departed Riepe and I continued to talk for a couple more hours. The MAC-PAC, machines, life, family, challenges, health, writing, and postulations on why we do what we do. Despite the temperature near 100F I was happy to be there.

Later in our conversation Riepe expressed concerns that his audience might not have been engaged with his presentation that morning. I’ve been to a lot of talks over the years and in this instance, the crowd was mesmerized. The message, the delivery and the performance were perfect.

No need to tell him that though.

Dan, Dave and Jeff were somewhere on the sprawling fairgrounds. Phone calls and text messages finally brought us together at the GIVI tent just before 4pm.

A BMW rally is a massive coming together of like-minded people, connected by style, culture and machines in a manner unimaginable to anyone not impassioned by something. Vendors of every possible real or imagined need wait patiently to sell their wares, plant the seeds of desire, do their part to support the civilization of BMW riders.

At the Wunderlich tent gazing at the mesmerizing display of finely machined parts and pieces to build a better motorcycle I wonder what I’m doing here. Everyone looked normal. No bikers or tattooed scooter riders. Nothing weird. Despite Dan’s best efforts to explain the strategy and meaning of the event I am left feeling like I’m at the mall.

I never go to the mall.

Still wanting to make an appearance at the Kissell Motorsports pig roast and eventually find the living room couch for a long nap I parted company with the guys and struck out to find my Vespa. I felt a little bad not spending time with the guys, especially Dave and Jeff who I had pretty much just met earlier in the day. Perhaps on another ride we can get better acquainted.

Hot isn’t the right word for that afternoon. Brutal, oppressive, deadly seems more appropriate. I stopped under a water sprinkler and thoroughly drenched myself and the scooter before departing. Sprinklers were everywhere to help people keep cool and out of the emergency room. The ambient temperature reading on the Vespa measuring the air just a foot from the pavement indicated 109F, the highest I’ve ever seen. I’d been advised to hydrate carefully, without a windshield the air would be eliminating body moisture quickly.

Eight miles down the road I’m bone dry, lips parched, teeth, gums and tongue dry. Heat strikes my face and chest like a convection oven with no airflow relief at 60 mph. During the 80 mile ride home I’ll stop four times to drink a 16 ounce bottle of water and pour another over my head.

The heat remained steady with the temperature readout rising to 114F on one stretch of black, newly paved stretch of asphalt. I began to wonder about my blood pressure when I stopped in a patch of shade for a drink. Later in the day, when I arrived at home, my pressure was 116/72. The heat didn’t seem to have much effect on pressure.

 I don't usually drink from roadside springs because they aren't tested and these days who knows what might be in the water.  But the heat allowed me to abandon my reservations and enjoy the icy cold water.

Other than a handful of riders close to the rally I only saw one other motorcycle when I stopped for more water in Centre Hall. I made this picture because I saw a dog driving a VW Jetta. Look closely, click on the image, you can see him in the distance. It was only the next day when I downloaded the images that I realized I captured the woman and bike in the picture. Her boyfriend had gone inside for a few bottles of water which he devotedly poured over her head and back. As hot as it was, you’ll never see me riding with so little protection.

Bob and Tom. (Serious riders-- Bob on a Goldwing and Tom on a BMW RT1200)

They had ridden from Bloomsburg to the pig roast at Kissell Motorsports. And that was after they rode from Seattle to Bloomsburg. Serious riders. We talked and when I asked how they knew about the pig roast they told me they read about it on Scooter in the Sticks. Turned out they had been reading for years. It’s always odd to meet people who actually read this stuff. Tom and Bob are intrepid riders and have had adventures I can only dream about for now.

It was a long day made longer by the withering heat. I’ve not fully recovered yet. Might explain the dearth of postings of late. Or maybe it’s all Jack Riepe’s fault that I’ve not written much. He set the bar so high in my head that I can never bring myself to hit the publish button on the half dozen pieces waiting to appear.

He should have talked more about courage. That’s what a writer needs.

Riding a Vespa in the Rain

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.