Distant Reflections on the BMW F 800 GS (Part 1)

This is the first of three installments on the BMW F800GS.

I’d call it a review but enough time has passed since riding the motorcycle that I’m sure what I’m sharing are feelings and memories transformed by time into heroic feats against impossible circumstance. I have this vague recollection of hurdling through snow and over the Grossglockner Pass. Climbing up under an overpass is almost the same thing isn't it?

The motorcycle didn’t make it home easily. Like a lot of things in my life I resisted this bike. At least until Craig Kissell, owner of Kissell Motorsports and the local BMW dealer, explained how this was one of his favorite bikes – ever. After offering some strong arguments and a final “what do you have to lose?” I relented and took the keys.

I should explain my reluctance to ride certain motorcycles (you’ve seen no reviews of sport bikes for instance) has little to do with the machines and a lot to do with ideas stuck in my head. To date, each resistant idea related to motorcycles has crumbled through experience.

My aesthetic taste runs towards plain. Aside from my yellow and black riding jacket I find comfort in shades of gray. A bright orange motorcycle with large GS lettering doesn't fit well for a guy who has a black truck and asked the dealer to reverse the tires so the white lettering wouldn't show. Standing in the middle of the road and sizing up the bike it just seemed out of step with my riding tastes.

Too much power, too much sound, too much flash.

Sitting on the bike in the parking lot at Kissell Motorsports I had my first meaningful reaction – the BMW F 800 GS is tall. While I can flat foot the bike, barely, I silently gave thanks for those few extra potato chip fueled pounds that allowed the shock absorbers to compress enough to make sitting astride comfortable. Be forewarned that it is not a good idea to come to a stop and casually put your foot down into a pothole.

The instant the engine sprang to life my ideas of power were confirmed. I remembered the first time a sat on a tall quarter horse and the thrill of recognition that comes being connected to something powerful.

The first order of riding business is familiarizing myself with the motorcycle. Particularly brakes, clutch, shifter action, throttle and general handling. Some slow speed turns and maneuvers and enough experimentation to believe I won’t completely muck things up in a panic. Winding through the countryside on the way home offered many opportunities to practice.

Getting on and off a tall motorcycle repeatedly to make pictures can be physically demanding for someone used to the step through set up of a Vespa. Each new motorcycle has me making notes in my journal…. Exercise, stretch, get in shape. So far I have a lot of notes.

The light was starting to fade and I really wanted to ride a bit more before dark. A few errands interrupted that plan but not enough to diminish the thrill of the F800GS. Even parked along a concrete wall it looks like fun.

Getting the bike late in the day meant parking it in the garage after a short ride or riding at night. I chose the latter and departed into a mild evening under clear skies. Riding just after sunset is something I enjoy, especially the slow changing of light. Watching for Bambi is something I can do without though. Stopping at a nearby park to make a picture in the fading light triggered a few fantasies about the proverbial trip into the sunset. You could ride a long way on the BMW F 800 GS.

Craig and his staff made a few modifications to the bike including the addition of a set of Touratech lights up front. A flip of a toggle switch on the handlebars caused the two side mounted lights to illuminate the world. For riding at night in deer country these things allow you to see far to the left and right making any four-legged motion easier to detect.

The BMW F 800 GS is noticeably more powerful than the F 650 GS even though they share the same engine displacement. Reaction to the throttle is direct, positive, and you have the sense that whatever you would want will be there. The riding position is almost perfect for me – upright and comfortable.

A stop under lights in a parking lot for a few pictures.

Pacing around the bike, assessing angles for photos, the lines of the motorcycle become apparent. A beautiful machine, one that will over a few days of riding reveal its functionality as well.

Near midnight I turn towards home and a good night’s sleep before riding the next day.

Rain. Not a lot but enough that I momentarily consider leaving the BMW in the garage. But only momentarily. With a mist falling I headed down the road. While stopped to take a picture I have the chance to try my boots on the wet pavement, a nervous tic I’ve developed as part of a personal weather evaluation system.

The F 800 GS is completely at ease on the narrow, winding secondary roads of central Pennsylvania, especially at the sightseeing speeds at which I often proceed to allow for quick stops for pictures. It’s definitely the kind of machine that makes it easy to experience the landscape without leaving the impression that it’s only happy bombing down the road at breakneck speed. The rain had stopped leaving wet roads and a gray light to make pictures in.

An absolutely comfortable ride, at least at tourist speeds through the bucolic countryside. I know I should be pushing harder but my wandering eye and camera get the best of me and I force the BMW into service as my photo vehicle. Certainly not what its Bavarian designers envisioned. I promise to push the bike hard.

Later.

Across the valley and into Rothrock State Forest. I realize that I am more at risk climbing up the rocky hillside to take a picture than I am on the road. Being a good Boy Scout I check my cell coverage in case I break a leg.

Thirty miles later I’m winding along empty roads like the BMW and I have been friends our whole life. Granted, neither of us is pushing the performance or skill envelope but the union of rider and machine is close to perfect. I find myself wondering which part of the garage I would dedicate to this motorcycle.

And I really grew to love those Touratech lights.

This part of Pennsylvania is traced with small roads, paths and lanes that lead through field and forest, between gaps and watersheds into places that are seldom trafficked by mainstream riders. Many hours curled up with my worn copy of the Pennsylvania Atlas Gazetteer tells me this road is more than a farm lane and will wind over the mountain in the distance.

Riding time passes quickly. Aimless wandering and enjoying the sights maintains a seductive power. Standing by the sign covered garage I realize another day has evaporated. And I’ve not experienced the BMW F 800 GS. I’ve just forced it to conform to my riding habits.

With the motorcycle tucked safely away in the garage and I vow to let the BMW lead the way tomorrow, ride the way it wants to ride. Perhaps then I can produce a few insightful words about this lovely machine.

Stay tuned for part two on the BMW F 800 GS.

Renewing a Dead Battery

Have you ever misplaced your car in a parking garage?

Last Tuesday evening I wandered through five floors before realizing I left my truck at the loading dock when I returned from an assignment around noon. With the flashers on. After five hours the battery wasn’t interested in starting the engine.

But that’s not the kind of battery I’m talking about. Creative batteries are the focus right now. Where the Vespa usually provides a reliable source of positive energy the last few weeks have found it coming up short. Rides to work on gray mornings have not worked their usual magic.

Crashing waves and 500 miles of space between my office and me usually have a powerful influence on creative energy but like the Vespa I found myself wrestling with my expectations – work, photography, writing and photography. At times I can hear myself whining.

A Yamaha Vino in suspended animation along Shore Road in Ogunquit.

Mental preoccupation has been active enough at times that I find myself choosing to leave the scooter in mothballs on some days rather than ride when I know I won’t be able to focus as well as I should on two wheels. Couple that with work requiring four wheels and things get messy.

Sitting along the shore for my last breakfast before returning home I wondered what direction Scooter in the Sticks should/would take. To this point it has been a meandering work not until the rides I love so much.

Maybe I’m thinking too much and riding too little.

Watching Kim use her camera in the fading light reminded me of how resistant I can be to situations I judge inadequate for photography. Or riding. Or pretty much anything. I wish I could work with a camera as freely as she can.

More piling on of expectations.

It’s raining hard in this picture made on Old Orchard Beach just south of Portland. My pants were soaked from rain running off my Gortex jacket. Kim is collecting shells washed up by a storm. My little digital camera gets soaked despite my best efforts to keep it safe inside a plastic bag. It’s good photography weather.

On the way back to the inn I stop to photograph the railway that passes just east of Kennebunkport. At home I discover Amtrak runs on these rails and if I was so inclined I could take a train from my house to Maine. An adventure for another day perhaps. For now, looking at these tracks makes me wonder what the future holds.

It will hold more riding, writing and pictures. Stops like this one to admire the changing leaves. Those might not always be the best method of renewing dead creative batteries but it probably can’t hurt. And typing these last few words makes me think the green light on the charger has just started blinking.

Riding When the Rest of the World Doesn't

A couple weeks ago I stopped on the way to work to put on an extra layer to keep the cold away from my tender flesh. Less than perfect weather does seem like a good reason to stop riding when minor fashion adjustments make flying down the road a pleasure. It must be too much of an adjustment for a lot of riders.

Here I am in Maine. Sustained winds of 25 knots are blowing in off the ocean with gusts up to 38 knots. That’s around 44 mph for non-nautical types. A fresh gale. Rain stings when it hits your face. It’s hard to walk. And you hope nothing comes flying off the beach in your direction.

Just like setting off on the Vespa when the temperature plummets I head out on the beach for a walk to Perkins Cove about a mile away. I have the right gear. There is a fine little café where I can get in out of the weather and have something hot to drink. Arriving in Perkins Cove, wet yet satisfied in the same manner when I return from a winter ride, I find the café closed. Everything is closed and aside from a few storm peepers inside their cars there isn’t a soul outside.

The experience gave me an excellent opportunity to justify and rationalize my riding (and walking) behavior. Standing on a promontory looking out past the waves I remembered sailing through similar weather just 30 miles off shore on my way to Peake’s Island, Maine.

Maybe it’s a good time to re-evaluate risk.

Dispatch from Maine

Apologies for not writing sooner. Amazing how a trip away from home can lead a person to abandon responsibility and work. From the Maine coast I have time to reflect on life and recharge my creative batteries with a bit of rest and relaxation. Two mornings ago I found myself on the beach waiting for the sun to appear over the Atlantic. My restless spirit is eased in the broad, open expanse of ocean. Or in the desert.

Ogunquit, Maine must be scooter friendly since the local parking enforcement people ride a Honda Ruckus. Nice big tires for travel in the sand. The search is on for scooter or motorcycle rentals for a scooter near the ocean experience.

Fido’s sad face interrupted an otherwise serene morning walk as I thought about my own poor dog back in Pennsylvania staying with a dog sitter. He must be sad since I’m gone and he worships the ground upon which I stride.

Kim has managed to return to the beach for an hour or so after a nine-year absence. Like me, she finds magic here.

More to come. Unless I just say the heck with it all, I’m on vacation.

Kissell Motorsports is Moving

My local Vespa dealer (and BMW, Triumph, Ducati, Aprilia, and Piaggio) Kissell Motorsports is moving. I stopped by their new location to have a look and get a feel for the new space. At lunchtime on Friday the place was a flurry of activity as contractors and Kissell staff worked to have the new location in business on October 1st.

Their old location is adjacent to Penn State’s Blue Course and will soon become part of the Penn State golf system. A win for Penn State and a win I think for Kissell customers because the trip out North Atherton offers a lot more opportunity for food and drink to go along with motorcycle and scooter shopping. I already know Starbucks will see an increase in my business as I ride to Kissell Motorsports’ new home.

Head technician Tim was busy moving shelving, parts and other equipment so he and his colleagues can continue to offer expert service for my Vespa. And I suppose other machines too.

The shop area looks like a great work area. Bright, lots of light, and plenty of space to work in. I’ll have to take another peek when they are set up.

After Craig Kissell showed me around the place it was back to moving tires. I probably should have lent a hand but I had to take pictures. Alas, the life of a photographer. I looked around at the tires they had moved looking for some nice, aggressive tires for my Vespa to get me through the winter. They must be coming on another truck.

The showroom is impressive, even in this early stage. The concrete floor was stained dark with a high gloss clear coating applied on top to produce a jewel-like surface. Motorcycles and scooters will look nice on that floor. At the far side of the room near the large windows will be a carpeted area for the BMWs. The whole layout sounds great and on Monday they’ll start moving the motorcycles.

Painters were hard at work enhancing the appearance of the building. I kept my Vespa at a safe distance to avoid any overspray. I’m not really sure why I care since I haven’t washed it in almost two years. Tomorrow though I plan to give it a bath.

Landscape contractors were at work cleaning up the site and I expect the next time I stop by I’ll hardly recognize the place.

Make a note to stop out on October 1st and take a look at Kissell’s new home. They are out on North Atherton Street just across the street from Midas Muffler.

How to Make a Vespa Scooter

I saw this video on the making of a Vespa referenced on the Modern Vespa site. It looks so easy. Maybe I'll make one myself tonight.

Riding with Enzo

Sica not Ferrari.

Enzo called last week and asked if I wanted to go for a ride. He would be in town a couple days. A last minute change in my schedule at work meant I could take a day off and head out for adventure.

Enzo is my youngest daughter Aleta’s boyfriend. They live in New York City where he has chosen not to ride. His recently acquired 2002 Suzuki SV650s lives at his parent’s house in State College is only on the road when he’s in town. The stars and planets aligned and at 6:50am on a chilly morning he was in the driveway.

Enzo is a photographer and I saw him kneeling out in the driveway with his camera. My mess of a garage never looked so good.

The ambient temperature indicator on the Vespa read 58F. Chilly, but nothing a windproof jacket under a vented riding jacket couldn’t handle. Cool air leaking though to skin had me wishing my First Gear Kilimanjaro IV winter riding jacket wasn’t having the main zipper replaced. I was still warmer than Enzo, who had a T-shirt under his mesh Revit jacket. We stopped at Café Lemont for breakfast and to allow the temperature to rise to a comfortable 64F before riding on towards Sproul State Forest.

Most of the activity in this area, at least until deer season starts, is focused on natural gas exploration of the Marcellus shale. I pulled off the road to stretch my legs and Enzo started investigating the line of brand new pumps used in the fracking process – injecting chemical solutions under high pressure to break up the shale deep in the ground to allow retrieval of natural gas.

I’m really not that much bigger than the Vespa GTS250ie.

Hundreds of gas wells are being drilled and roads which used to be practically devoid of cars now sees a steady stream of big rigs moving equipment, water, brine, and fracking solution throughout the area. Just like loud motorcycles don’t project their sound forward neither do these behemoths. If you aren’t paying attention they are bearing down on you before you know it. So now I watch for deer and big trucks.

The region is part of the Pennsylvania Wilds Program. Huge stretches of forest with amazing views. Two Rocks Lookout offered a chance to stretch our legs and warm up a bit. There were no signs of use at the picnic area and I wondered how long we might have to wait before someone came along if our machines quit working. No cell coverage for at least twenty miles. As close to wilderness as you get in Pennsylvania.

Much of PA Route 144 has been repaved making it a wonderfully smooth road through an enchanted forest with just enough turns and curves to keep it interesting.

In the distance we could see fog in the valley where the West Branch of the Susquehanna River flows. Enzo is probably the only person I have ridden with who seemed to inspect the landscape with the camera as much as I do. More probably. I still didn’t stop as often as I would otherwise and passed many scenes begging to be photographed.

Most times I just shoot pictures wherever I park. But at times I see something better is possible with some adjustments. One of the rare times you will see me without helmet or gloves as I move the scooter 30 yards down the road. I didn’t even bother putting my feet up.

So here it is, the setup, and I am reaching inside my jacket pocket for my camera. Another big truck cracking the silence.

And here is the picture. My impression of the place. A move of the scooter, a change in the focal length of the lens and you’ve created riding propaganda. I love photography.

Soon we would ride on to what I think is the highest elevation along this road and begin our descent into the valley and the city of Renovo and the rare opportunity to find fuel is this area.

A stop to make a photograph on a particularly twisting stretch of road. I told Enzo I have ridden through here many times but never stopped to make this picture.

Scoot’s Service Center is new to me. The last time I came through Renovo in search of fuel for a nearly empty tank I found the gas station had burned down. Today there was fuel and a few packs of crackers and cookies to tide us over until lunch.

We left Renovo for Hyner View State Park. With clear skies and the thermometer hovering around 70F the views promised to be exceptional. One of the nicest parts of the ride is the meandering road up the mountain to the Hyner View overlook.

In places the road moves through a tunnel of light and leaves. While making pictures at this location a man stopped to see if we were having problems and needed assistance. He had a hang glider rig attached to the roof of his car and said he hoped to fly today. Hyner View State Park is known as one of the premier locations in Pennsylvania to fly.

At the top of the mountain we’re greeted with a spectacular view. Enzo made this photograph of a young couple sitting on the edge of the stonework at Hyner View. The woman was talking on her cell phone. My iPhone had no service. Score one for Verizon.

The pilot sits on the overlook gazing out over the valley. The view is stunning and I hope to see him fly. Though I’ve been here a number of times over the years I have not seen a hang glider take off since the 1970s.

There’s a lot of air between the overlook and the valley floor where he would land. We talk about flying and he tells me he has been flying here since 1975. His record at this location for time in the air is just over seven hours and he has reached an altitude of 7500 feet. I thought it would be a straight glide to the landing area. Things have changed since I first say gliders here 35 years ago.

As he watches the wind and air flow it’s obvious how methodically he considers the risks of making a flight. I’m reminded of Dan Bateman at Musings of an Intrepid Commuter. He communicates the same informed, methodical approach to evaluating and managing risk on the road.

I’m not reminded of Jack Riepe at Twisted Roads. Well, I sort of thought of him. I figured Jack would have made a beeline towards the woman on the cell phone. He is Jack Riepe after all.

But I digress.

Groups of motorcycles (almost all Harley-Davidson with a stray BMW thrown in) came and went while we waited for the hang glider and admired the view. When it seemed as if he was in no hurry to fly Enzo and I made a decision to head towards a mid-day meal.

A road sign indicated it was only five miles to PA Route 44, a fine road winding along Pine Creek. I knew a way to loop around home from there and was certain we would find a place to eat. What I didn’t know is the condition of the 5 miles of forest road. The addition of heavy trucks and equipment related to drilling and building pipelines makes it hard to predict. The road where this picture was taken was thick with fine dirt and rock dust. I was glad it was only five miles. Actually, it turned out to be closer to nine.

Route 44 was freshly paved and smooth and we may good time south towards Waterville and a place to have lunch. I can’t remember the name of the place but they had a good cheesburger.

After lunch we still had 60 miles or so before home but all on familiar back roads. At least to me. I think this was a new world for Enzo.

A last stop for fuel in Millheim and some ice cream. While we were getting ready to leave an Amish buggy pulled up to the gas pumps. Looked odd and then the two women driving proceeded to fill a half dozen gas cans. Hard to tell what they use the fuel for and I didn’t feel like prying. I was on an adventure after all.

Arrived home with another 177 miles on the Vespa and a relaxed smile on my face. Poor Enzo had to drive back to New York City.

But he’s young.

A Brief Guide to Life

Sitting in Café Lemont on their first day of business, -- writing, eavesdropping on conversations, and enjoying a bacon, zucchini and bacon frittata with my Earl Grey tea. Life is moving slowly and slowing down is part of my plan.

I subscribe to Zen Habits, a blog promoting simplicity, something I’ve been chasing for decades and I am happy to report it remains as elusive now as it did when I was writing in my journals back in 1972. I’m still in the hunt.

A recent post on Zen Habits titled a brief guide to life distilled the chase into a short list, one I have looked at a lot lately. I’m reminded again how the simple things seem to be the hardest for me.

Café Lemont is a nice place. Quiet, relaxed, no music. Yet. The sort of environment where I can think. Rare in a noisy world. You meet people in places like this. Karen and Richard (apologies for my decaying memory if it’s really Robert). Karen follows Scooter in the Sticks and recognized the yellow and black jacket. Richard is a Vespa rider, or was until his scooter had an unfortunate meeting with a deer just down the road. A road where I’ve come close to meeting deer on several occasions.

MEMO TO SELF: Slow down on that road.

We talked about the accident, about scooters, and Karen’s desire to possess one of the new Espresso/Bronze-colored Vespa LX150ie scooters.

I’m glad the list doesn’t say “less riding”. It does say less driving so I’m ok on that point. I know how to rationalize.

A Vespa suits my personal strategic initiative of going slowly and keeping things simple. And it yields dividends of solitude, play, and smiles. In a car I probably wouldn’t notice the blue, portable toilets and probably never would stop to make a picture. I’d just miss the odd juxtaposition of form and color. Does it matter? For me noticing little details, stopping, and making pictures charges my internal batteries. It lets me chew on the moment. And it only costs a few minutes time on the way home from work. The scooter has managed to help me pry open one door on the way towards simplicity.

At the café I talk with a Distinguished Professor at Penn State who I’ve known for over 35 years. I see an entomologist I photographed a few weeks ago while he managed honey bee hives situated on a green roof on campus. And I overheard stories of avalanches and helicopter rides home from school from a mathematician and teacher who grew up in Alaska.

A fine morning.

Almost home I stop to admire the sky and the light at the end of the day. Another picture. And I think about the list. There is more work ahead.

I take a deep breath and smile.