A Mini Adventure -- Camping with a Vespa

Please forgive the manifesto length of this post and too many pictures with it. I just needed to post this story and move on.

Pine Creek is one of the most beautiful streams in Pennsylvania. Riding through a late fall day I could feel a flame of excitement at witnessing the fading light and knowing I was riding on into the evening and my first overnight camping trip after over 30,000 miles of Vespa riding.

My friend Paul Ruby has been suggestion overnight foolishness for years including suggestions that we ride to New Mexico, the Adirondacks, and God knows where else. When I finally said yes to a humble camping trip I was ready for a little adventure.

Our plan was to ride north towards Wellsboro, Pennsylvania, and find a place to camp. The touring luggage on Paul’s Kawasaki Concours included a big cardboard box to hold his tent and other camping essentials all neatly strapped to the rear rack. I was sporting a new MotoFizz bag, one size larger than my previous one, and way too big for the little rack on the back of the Vespa. Neither of us would be confused as either overly concerned with style or as seasoned moto-campers.

Paul’s helmet sparkled in the shafts of light that burned randomly through the narrow valley carved out by eons of erosion courtesy of Pine Creek. I suppose it could have been some sort of spiritual illumination bursting forth from within, or maybe there is a Gort thing going on. (See The Day the Earth Stood Still) I’m still here and I saw no flying saucers.

Cedar Run is a small village along Pine Creek. Across the street from the General Store is the Inn at Cedar Run, a reliable place to eat and sleep. I was thinking of a hot meal and warm bed when Paul made the picture. With no suggestion from him of spending a luxurious night at the Inn we rode out of town and continued north.

The road passes through picturesque landscapes and non-existent traffic. We stop to make pictures where the road rises up above the creek. Paul spends some time with the camera and I just stand in the road, watching, taking in the place and the moment. I realize that I’ve never ridden with anyone but Paul save for a few hours one afternoon with a scooter rally. And rides with Paul are rare. In this moment I understand why I guard my aloneness on the road. It is the foundation on which my interest in riding is built.

Paul Ruby with his Canon 5D Mark II, Tioga County, Pennsylvania. We first met because of a shared interest in large format photography. He rekindled my dormant interest in riding and sold his Vespa ET4 to my father-in-law. I think this qualifies him as some sort of reinenasance man.

An unexpected work of art in the Penn Wells Hotel in Wellsboro, Pennsylvania. It was almost dark when we pitched our tents at the Stony Ridge Campground about 15 miles southwest of town and I fully expected to have a snack and go to sleep. Paul had other ideas. Tired, cold, and deer wary I followed through the darkness to a hot meal at the hotel. Dinner was uneventful as was the ride back to camp. Talk around a campfire until weariness won out and we retired to our respective tents.

Light streams through clouds at dawn. The tent’s mesh window unzips to allow for a picture before slithering back inside the sleeping bag to avoid the 40F predawn air. Years of sleeping in a comfortable bed has rendered the ground into a natural form of concrete. The Thermarest backpacking pad can’t abate the torture and thoughts of the Cedar Run Inn ease the aches as I slip back into sleep.

No one camps in Pennsylvania in late September, at least not here. There’s only one other pair of campers using the 240 odd campsites. There’s solitude in the off-season. After Paul makes a cup of coffee we decide on the Wellsboro Diner for breakfast. But not before I make a rash decision.

Our campsite was on the far side of a small stream accessed by riding across a small wooden footbridge. Anxious for eggs and bacon I suggest we just ride through the stream. Paul, not wanting to splash mud on his shiny Kawasaki, says he’ll cross the bridge and take a picture of me coming through the stream. Fine idea.

You probably already know large tires have a distinct advantage over smaller ones when negotiating obstacles. Though the stream looks shallow and tame the moment my front tire hit the water I knew I miscalculated. The streambed was composed of softball sized, rounded, algae covered stones that immediately caused the front tire of the Vespa to bump and lurch and nearly come to a stop as the back tire spun on the slippery rocks. I’m thinking of the camera and not wanting to post a picture of the scooter and I lying in a puddle.

Keeping my head I carefully manipulated the throttle while moving my weight as necessary and crossed the mighty water hazard. I’ll think twice before doing this again. On a motorcycle I wouldn’t have blinked.

MEMO TO SELF: Look before you leap.

Downtown Wellsboro, just across the street from the diner. It’s a familiar destination for riders traversing Pennsylvania via US 6. As the warm weather evaporates so do the riders.

Breakfast was relaxed and hearty, just what I needed after a less than comfortable night on the ground.

My frequent stops to make pictures would frustrate most riders. Paul seems impervious as I photograph the Vespa along US 6. If inclined a person could ride another 3000 miles on US to California. I often think of Kerouac’s contemplation of this road as that long red line in his book On the Road.

This is the photograph of the Vespa along US 6.

A stuffed black bear is enough to have me make a U turn in Galeton. A conversation in the taxidermy should was a reminder why one should always speak and behave well in the world – you never know who you might run into.

After browsing the specimens of deer, fox, turkey, and elk in the shop I found Paul had engaged the proprietor in the engineering marvels of radio-controlled cars with squirrels at the wheel.

The taxidermist, Mr. Hartley, and I talked a bit about riding and he told me about his son’s motorcycle. As the conversation progressed and he provided more details I kept thinking, “I know this motorcycle.” Turns out his son is my chiropractor. The radio-controlled car is a Christmas present for his grandson.

Just before Coudersport we leave US 6 for the more relaxed riding on PA44, a small road that winds its was through some of the most beautiful parts of Pennsylvania. Every so often I point the camera at something other than the Vespa and ask Paul to turn around and ride through a nice stretch of road so I can make a picture. Rain threatened on and off through the day. As the sky darkened a few drops of rain appeared on the camera. Thankfully it never got worse.

Potter County is a riding paradise. So many ribbons of road, so much to see.

Stopped at another vista with some iconic white pines I begin calculating distances in my head to someplace interesting to eat. The result was a discouraging 60 miles.

If my stomach was complaining Paul’s back joined the chorus. No, he’s not communing with the earth, just stretching his back. No matter how many times I’ve seen this maneuver it never fails to elicit a chuckle. I’ll have to ask his girlfriend what she thinks of it.

Looking at this picture makes me want to grab my gear and go for a ride. The path winding down the mountain near Hyner State Park is one of the prettiest scenes I’ve witnessed this year.

Crossing the West Branch of the Susquehanna River Paul pulls ahead and rides toward lunch in Lock Haven. Cruising at 60mph I watch the Kawasaki pass a sting of cars behind a truck. I grumble to myself but seeing the road clear I grab what throttle is left and manage to pass the cars and catch up to Paul. The Vespa is quick for a small scooter but its passing power at these speeds reminds me of my 1970 VW Beetle.

Lunch. Waiting for our order to arrive I photographed the reflections in the vintage metal walls of the restaurant.

Texas Restaurant has been around a long time and a great place to eat if the objects of desire are hot dogs or burgers.

As we had lunch that melancholy feeling arrived signaling the end of the trip. You know, that Sunday evening feeling you had as a kid when you realize the weekend is over and you have to go to school in the morning.

Paul and I had ridden nearly 300 miles. We said our goodbyes since most likely we would not stop again before going our separate ways. Last legs of trips bother me whether on the scooter, in the car, or on a plane. They signal the inevitable end of a trip. Or maybe the last leg is so familiar that I’m just bored by the thought of it.

On the street in Lock Haven I was able to push those thoughts from my mind and relish the memories of a Vespa camping trip.

Jack Riepe in Moscow

After watching the unidentified rider in the above video I could only think of the riding prowess personified by the author of Twisted Roads.

I jest, Mr. Riepe doesn't ride a Yamaha R1 and besides we all know a K bike would never fit between cars on the road without creating sparks. And wheelies would be out of the question.

Seriously though I thought this video a good point of departure to think about riding safety. Right here we are on the far end of the safety bell curve. Please comment if there is some rationale I'm missing.

I've been thinking about safety, risk, and responsibility on the road for a couple months now, both for riders and cagers. Perhaps this post will push me over the edge into actual writing.

Until then, don't ride like the rider above. Stay safe.

Catching Up

As much as I enjoy riding in cold weather the Vespa and I have been confined, of late, to morning and evening commutes to work. Cold is creeping into pictures. Maybe they’re triggering memories of cold hands and feet.

Over the weekend I clicked the submit button a few times to officially kickoff the holiday shopping season. On the way to my weekly 3 Prints Project meeting I stopped to look at Christmas trees. I wasn’t feeling the holiday spirit. Carrying a tree home on the back of the Vespa requires some snow. A thermometer reading of 27F isn’t enough.

The café is festive and I always enjoy a watching the world from a quiet corner. Notice there are no prints on the table at Saint’s Café. It’s been the no prints project the past few weeks, a symptom of bad planning, chaos and choices of sloth. Or I can search for places to unload blame for falling so far behind.

It’s obviously Junior’s fault. The athletic beast needs, demands, time and attention. Just because he wants to exercise and go forth in the world doesn’t mean I want to. He does pose well though. Doesn’t he look like he’s watching over a flock of sheep, waiting patiently to herd a stray lamb back or warn off a marauding coyote? He’s my boy, snoring softly at my feet as I type.

As managing editor of Penn State Ag Science Magazine there are times, like now a week before going to press, that I descend into some other kind of consciousness. Going through page spreads with a red pen is particularly seductive. And it’s changed me. I actually told the art director to reduce the number of photographs so I could keep more words. I look for the photography guild to appear any day now and rescind my rights to a camera.

Gordon arrived with two prints; one a portrait he made of me a few weeks ago at another Sunday morning get together where we both bemoaned the lack of production. I look more like my father as the years change me. No matter how much I look like him though I can never imagine him sitting in a café talking about photography or the challenges of a busy life. He would be too busy working.

A piece of breakfast chocolate cake and a fine portrait may just cause me to make those prints. I actually turned the heat on in my darkroom this evening thinking I might process film.

I didn’t.

Another local Vespa rider checking his phone. His girlfriend has one too. I don’t think either ride in the cold so the roads will be shy two scooters until spring.

I plan to fetch a tree on the Vespa when the time is right. Snow is in the extended forecast. For now I’ll leave you with a holiday scene of one of the village of Boalsburg’s Christmas decorations. And that will almost catch me up. Except for my long, epic Vespa camping tale that’s waiting to post, and a cold ride on a new Triumph Sprint.

There’s always something.

Highway Riding and the BMW F800 GS (Part 3)

Gray clouds gathered over the Allegheny Plateau and I wished had brought my rainsuit. The BMW F800 GS is completely comfortable on the freeway and unlike my Vespa I don’t find the end of available throttle. The threat of rain and traffic moving near 80mph are of no concern. This machine can fly.

The short windscreen does a nice job of moving the air blast off the torso and over the shoulders without creating any weird helmet noise. At 70mph the bike is smooth and steady. I could shrug off a 600 mile day.

West. No destination in mind, just staying on the main roads and keeping the BMW moving fast. My parents used to take drives after church and I remember the sense of adventure standing on the floor of the car looking over the backseat excited to see what was over the next hill. Nothing’s changed as the BMW carries me along familiar roads. US322 towards Philipsburg, a beautiful stretch of road.

A person could ride the F800 GS around the world. Even now, writing months later, I can’t conceive of a situation where I would need more power, more anything. Stopped again along the highway I keep reminding myself that I should just ride and forget about the camera. Forget about scenery. Ride.

Giant tires finally get the best of me. This is coal country and big machinery still lumbers across the landscape. These tires were at least eight feet in diameter.

Having spent so much time riding (and driving for work) it’s hard to find places in Pennsylvania I’ve not wandered through. At each intersection and crossroad I turn towards the west. Moving through Clearfield County and then Jefferson County I eventually find unknown roads and manage to get to the delightful place of having no idea where I am. Just fields and bales and winding roads.

I check the fuel supply.

Standing in the road making this picture I am dangerously close to choosing farm lanes and other mysterious dirt tracks over the highway. I’ve been down those tracks before and I know I can completely lose myself in exploring and taking pictures. On this day I want to stay on the highway and go.

I see a sign for Punxsutawney, a town I’ve somehow never managed to visit save for viewings of Groundhog Day.

I spend a bit of time looking for Gobblers Knob and some evidence of the February 2nd festivities but the motorcycle call is stronger and I allow the BMW to rocket me out of town.

Riding south on US119 I realize I will be passing through Home, Pennsylvania, birthplace of one of my favorite authors Edward Abbey. His books The Fools Progress and Desert Solitaire hover near the top of my list. I’ve been on the road for five hours without stopping for food, water, or even many pictures. It’s time to head home another three hours away. At this moment I feel gratitude for the comfortable riding position.

Food, fuel and a few minutes of relaxation at the Sheetz outside Ebensburg along US 22. As people walked back and forth into the store a few stopped to look at the motorcycle. A woman, three men, and one little kid. No useful marketing demographic information to glean. It is an attractive machine. It’s grown on me over time – even in orange. It’s utility as a form of transportation and recreation are high and adding some sidecases would make it perfect for adventure or grocery shopping. At least if you don’t let your image of a BMW get in the way. Not much sexy or adventurous about grocery shopping.

Passing a group of Harleys on I99 I race ahead so I can make a picture of them passing the BMW. Almost missed it because the power button on my Canon G9 is flaky. The F800 GS could ride along all day with the big cruisers and touring bikes. Poor things would have to park and wait though when you decide to tear off up a fire trail or run across a creek to see what’s on the other side. Group rides would require patience and understanding on the part of the big bike riders.

So, that’s about it. Verdict: The BMW F800 GS is a great machine for me. Tall at first meeting even for me but after some miles didn’t seem tall at all. Power – you bet. Plenty for any legal or illegal speeds on the highway. Returning home on I99 I stayed with the pack of traffic for about ten miles traveling at near 80mph and the motorcycle was smooth, handled windblast fine and had plenty of throttle to leap ahead if needed. But that kind of travel is not for me and I was glad to leave the freeway and drift home at more leisurely speeds that allow me more time to react to any sudden chaos.

If I have any lingering questions it would be which bike to choose – the BMW F800 GS or the BMW F650 GS?

I reluctantly returned the motorcycle to Kissell Motorsports.

Happy Thanksgiving from Junior

Sure, it might be wet, cold, and gray. You might even have a runny eye and got in trouble for chewing up a small wooden deer. But I still went for a walk, got out in the world, and knew how fortunate I am.

It's a day to give thanks. So take a minute, relish the food in your dish, find someone to scratch behind your ears and go chase a tennis ball.

My master opened the garage door where he keeps that scooter. I saw him looking out at the rain and knew what he was thinking -- he has a lot to give thanks for too.

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Candy Store

I like visiting three kinds of establishments -- camera shops, stores that sell fountain pens and elegant paper, and motorcycle dealerships. Showing up at Kissell Motorsports brand new facility on Friday afternoon I felt like a kid in a candy store.

I had my eye on a yellow BMW R1200 GS. A big version of the F800 GS I have been writing about. (NOTE: I'll post part 3, the final installment sometime this week. I have some scooter stuff to share first.) Sitting astride the bike I can't help but feel a little intimidated by the big boxer engine that seems to swallow you up.

No surprise that the Ducati collection has a few items of desire. And I can't ever seem to pass the Vespa without imagining myself on a new scooter. Craig Kissell suggests a look at one of the new Triumph motorcycles.

A Triumph rings the classic motorcycle bells in my head. That's probably why Craig points me to something outside my fantasy and comfort zone.

After a little discussion I exchange my Vespa GTS 250ie for the Triumph Sprint GT1050. Just for the weekend I'll try my hand at being the hard charging sport touring man...

On the Road: (sort of) BMW F 800 GS (Part 2)

I swore to myself I’d let the motorcycle show me what it could do on the highway this next trip. Packing 85 horsepower on a 392 pound frame just begs to roar down the road. From the moment I leave the driveway I begin to get in the way and derail any plans the bike might have. Rather than put the F800 GS through paces on the open road I continue to turn onto ever smaller and more obscure pavement.

This BMW F800 GS is fast. Or should I say it would go fast in places where one eye is not on the botanical landscape while the other continually scans for deer, groundhogs and skunks. Not the perfect situation for testing the handling and performance of a motorcycle.

BMW rates the top speed at 125 MPH. Don't expect to read about me going that fast.

Anywhere. Ever. I'm a chicken. Give me snow and give me ice but I'll say no thank you to speed. In the most extreme you won’t hear descriptions of lean angles or pegs dragging. I'll leave that to more experienced riders.

Any hopes of a conventional highway ride dissolve when the pavement turns to gravel. I feel myself drawn (again) to roads disappearing into the woods, away from pavement, away from the hum and drum of the road.

The slightly aggressive street tires are fine this mostly packed mix of fine gravel and limestone. Remembering my mission I twist the throttle to bring the bike to life, race through the woods, and give myself over to the BMW experience. At least until the tunnel of green gets the best of me and forces a stop to make a picture.

Sitting in B&N writing part of this review I struggle mightily to retrieve some technical details to impress and describe the superb German engineering. Generally my eyes simultaneously glaze over and roll back into my head whenever I hear (or read) discussions of valve trains, power curves and other equally esoteric engineering topics but it's so obvious that this motorcycle is well built. So I feel compelled to say something technical.

The bike has ABS brakes, a feature I wished I had on my Vespa, especially in the winter. How's that for a thorough technical review...

The Touratech gear Kissell Motorsports added is functionally impressive. The extra lights are probably the best investment a rider could make. If you’re nervous about riding at night these will help. The hand shields in combination with the BMW’s heated grips would be a great cold weather combination. Having ridden thousands of miles in sub-freezing temperatures the combination gets my heartiest endorsement even though they weren't needed for this summer ride. Anyone buying this motorcycle surely won't store it for winter will they?

On tight packed gravel the bike performed well and it’s surefooted stability left me with a feeling of confidence that I don’t have with my Vespa. Riding faster than usual often didn’t leave time to negotiate ruts and holes or rise up on the pegs to mediate the jolts and thumps delivered by a ragged road. More aggressive tires would be nice for the looser gravel and dirt I encountered and would be a definite plus for extended riding in that kind of environment.

Coming across a shale pit I turned and raced across the bare, stony ground and onto a small road leading into the woods. After less than a mile the road emerges into the open area of a high-power transmission line. There's a path following the lines up the mountain. It's steep, irregular and rocky in places. Riding trails like these was a favorite activity as a kid on a dirt bike. Now, at 56, I pause to consider the wisdom of attempting it with a brand new motorcycle that isn’t mine with tires that are less than ideal. After a discussion in my head with Craig Kissell I’m convinced he would say full speed ahead.


At the top of the second hill I’ve had enough and stop to make a few pictures, let my heart rate return to normal and celebrate the fact that I didn’t drop the bike. One thing is for sure – the BMW F800GS does not lack for power to climb a hill. My respect for the machine continues to grow.

My stomach forces me back to the main road and 20 miles later I’m ready to enjoy a leisurely lunch outside McAlevys Fort, Pennsylvania before heading home.

While I consider this ride a failure in respect to my original objective of trying it out on the highway I was able to enjoy the prowess of the BMW in other ways. In the next (and last) installment of this review I finally manage to shift my riding style long enough to put a couple hundred road miles on the BMW F800 GS.

Stay tuned.

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.