I finally broke down after six years of Vespa riding and bought a topcase. This one a GIVI E370 with a holding capacity of 39 liters -- big enough for my fullface helmet, raingear, digital SLR, gloves, and a jacket. Carefully packed mind you. The thing locks and is will keep the contents nice and dry. There is a quick release button that allows me to remove the case from the mount if I decide I want to haul something unusual.
Not sure why it took me so long to get one of these things. Their utility was apparent immediately. I'm slow to adopt new things. Maybe I will get a motorcycle in another five to ten years.
The quick release came in handy today for attaching two new Kenda K413 tires to the back of the scooter. Time to remove the Heidenau winter tires and get ready for snow and ice free tires. I won't be amused if it starts to snow again.
This Vespa GTV 250 was parked outside. Spent a few minutes talking with Duke who I thought was the owner but it turned out the scooter belonged to his wife. He said they would be trailering the GTV to the Mid Atlantic Scooter Rally in New Holland, Pennsylvania in late May. I tried to convince him that he and his wife should ride to the rally. It's only 120 miles.
Hopefully tomorrow evening I get pick my own scooter up with some new shoes. I've tried a half dozen different brand tires and they have all performed well. Now I am just trying to find ones that last a little longer.
As a child Easter meant coloring eggs, going to church, and waking up early to see what treasures were left by the Easter Bunny. As the years passed holidays took on a more reflective quality. While they continue to be opportunities to connect with family and friends, more often for me they become reminders of what is important.
Not long ago I watched Highlander, the 1986 film by Russell Mulcahy about immortal warriors and was unnerved by the scene in the in the above YouTube clip -- a potent reminder of the clock marking the minutes and days of my life. It follows an entire lifetime in a few minutes with one character immortal and the other not.
Sitting in the living room typing this note, looking out the window at the greening landscape, the spring flowers, the birds busy finding materials for nests and family, I can't help but think every moment has is precious and I should act accordingly.
Life flies past in a dazzling array of experience and memory. As hard as I try to pay attention I continually get swept up in the noise of living. A holiday can allow me to step away, slow down, and see what's in front of me. So can a movie. Riding remains a reliable pathway to attention, focus, and appreciation of living. When riders utter the word freedom this is what often comes to mind. The road sets me free.
This morning I took a lazy, meandering ride to meet my friend Gordon. As the Vespa flows through the landscape I have a chance to think about the paths, options, and opportunities available to me. And all the people who make the journey rich. My wife Kim, her fire and spirit, love and support, kindness and compassion... She helps keep me pointed in the right direction. Family and friends fill my world in ways they'll never know.
The clock is ticking. It makes everything precious.
Be careful on the road. Warm wishes for your own experience, family and friends. To the embrace of the time each of us has ahead...
Last Thursday evening I rode into State College, Pennsylvania. The sky was clear with a few wispy clouds made pink by the lowering sun and the temperature was hovering near 50F. Perfect conditions for riding after a miserable winter. Here's the scene at the motorcycle parking spaces across from Schlow Library -- three Vespa scooters. So far this year the motorcycle riders are scarce to non-existent. As I was riding home I knew there had to be a reason. Maybe a helpful motorcycle rider can indicate the right choice.
10. Earth Day is approaching and I want to do my part for fuel conservation by staying off the road.
9. My Roadcrafter suit is at the dry cleaners.
8. Didn't want to risk a breakdown and miss The Office because my Tivo is on the fritz.
7. I just hate waving to all those scooters on the road.
6. Fifty degrees is too cold to dress like a pirate.
5. The battery is dead on my GPS.
4. My wife says I'm not allowed to go out.
3. My husband whines like a little baby whenever I go for a ride in the evening.
2. I thought only scooters were allowed on the road until June 1.
1. Fifty degrees??? Are you nuts???
Maybe there are other reasons. But I know as soon as the temperature hits 70F motorcycles appear like flies.
And just so you don't think all scooter riders are tough or something. I saw this Honda Ruckus at work yesterday with a rain coat. Isn't it just wrong to cover your machine when it's not at home? I think the BMW MOA rescinds membership rights if someone does that with a BMW.
Whenever I leave my Vespa for service at Kissell Motorsports I didn’t really know what was happening to it or who was doing the work. The scooter would be left behind and then, as if by magic, it would be returned with whatever mechanical needs addressed. For some people that would be enough. I got it into my head that I wanted to know the people who were evaluating my machine, turning the wrenches, and actually working on the Vespa. Or maybe I had a desire to enter the Employees Only realm, pull the curtain aside, and become part of the secret world of motorcycle service. So I suggested to Craig Kissell that it would be a good idea for me to interview the technicians, put a human face on that part of his business. About six weeks ago I took a step over the line and told Tom that I was going to interview him.
Meeting your mechanic is sort of like going to the dentist. You know you have to go but you’re afraid of what he’s going to say. They have a special power of life and death over motorcycles and scooters and I treat them accordingly. Something short of a blood sacrifice. My friend Paul would offer a box of Dunkin Donuts. I completely drop the ball and show up with a camera and the voice recorder in my iPhone.
One thing I tell would be riders when asked the ago old question, “What kind of scooter or motorcycle should I buy?” is to buy something you can have serviced by a local mechanic. Everyone can define local in his or her own way. For instance, BMW riders feel a local mechanic is someone within a day’s ride. So about 1000 miles. My definition puts them a bit closer. Either way, make sure you have a mechanic who can work on your bike before you buy it.
Having a good mechanic means more time to ride and less time involved in transporting a bike around. No one needs to remind me about the notion of spare bikes.
So I’m talking to Tom, trying to act cool and knowledgeable and hoping he doesn’t remember my unfortunate attempt to change the drive belt on my LX150. Detecting no smirks I move ahead with the interview. He’s putting a new, high performance exhaust system on a shiny red Ducati.
STEVE: So, how did you become a mechanic?
TOM: Everyone in my family is a mechanic. I started when I was five years old. My brothers and dad taught me. That’s how I learned about engines and stuff. I went to the Motorcycle Mechanics Institute in Arizona to get the credentials.
(At this point I’ve run out of questions. Tom seems content and isn’t offering anything more. Just as I prepare to wind up the interview he continues.)
TOM: My dad’s blind. He’s the local lawn mower repairman and is pretty good at listening to engines and fixing them by what he hears.
STEVE: How does listening fit into motorcycle repair?
TOM: You feel things through listening. The sounds tell a story. I end up making a lot of motorcycle noises.
(He starts making some remarkably mechanical sounds.)
TOM: That’s a Ducati.
(I hear a couple snickers from other guys in the shop and wonder if I am about to be the punch line to a joke. Tom must have sensed my complete and utter mechanical incompetence and would believe anything he said.)
TOM: Like those guys on CarTalk, Click and Clack, they’re always asking people to make the noise their car is making.
(He makes another noise that sounds like a transmission problem.)
TOM: You can figure out a lot of things about a problem if you learn to listen carefully. It’s not all about computers. That’s where the passion comes in. For a mechanic to diagnose a problem he often needs to hear the sound, whether it’s a clank clank clank, a clunk clunk clunk or a boing boing boing. That’s where my noise making comes from.
(The other guys in the shop have stopped what they were doing as if something was about to happen when one of them tells me to ask him about Karl. Tom stops what he’s doing and his face transforms into another person, someone I recognize but can’t quite remember until he suddenly breaks into a perfect rendition of Karl Childers, the character made famous by Billie Bob Thornton in SlingBlade.)
TOM: I like them French fried potaters.
If you don't know of Sling Blade check out the video below. The main character, Karl, is an engine expert, hence the connection to a mechanic:
(Everyone cracks as he continues. Standing in the shop I feel like I have entered a David Lynch film and look around for Frank Booth. After a couple minutes of Sling Blade I ask another question.)
STEVE: What’s the easiest bike to work on here?
TOM: A Triumph is probably the easiest bike to work on. Straightforward, simple, reliable engineering. But my favorite bike to work on is a Ducati. I love the sound, the feel, the passion that goes into their creation. Every nut and bolt and fastener is well thought out and engineered. Every connection and cable and wire is chosen with excellence in mind.
(He begins speaking in tongues.)
TOM: There’s nothing like the sound of a Ducati.
(He shows me the new exhaust he’s installing on a Ducati 1198S.)
TOM: These pipes are all hand made stainless steel.
STEVE: I think they’re the same diameter as the exhaust on my Ford Ranger.
TOM: Come on, let me show you something.
(We head across the shop and go outside. I’m trying to think how to segue from the Ducati to the Vespa as we stop in front of a Ducati 796 with a newly installed exhaust system. I can tell he’s passionate about motorcycles and what makes them tick.)
STEVE: So, what should riders be thinking about now that’s its spring. What should they be doing to get ready to ride?
TOM: Well, other than checking the air in their tires they should have done everything last fall when they stored their bike for the winter. This time of year I’m busy with carb cleaning and spark plug changes because gas was left in the motorcycle over the winter and when they started it up things got fouled.
STEVE: What do you suggest?
TOM: If you did leave the gas in all winter it would be a good idea to drain the float bowl before you try and start the motorcycle. Because once you try and burn that bad gas, well….
(I’m still trying to move the conversation towards the Vespa when it dawns on me that maybe Tom rides one himself!)
STEVE: What do you ride?
TOM: I have a SuperMoto conversion bike, a Honda XR650R liquid cooled Baja bike. (To some this bike is known as the biggest, baddest dirt bike ever) I put on Supermoto wheels, made it road legal, custom suspension, new bars and bar ends, lowered the front…
(I’m wondering what he must think of the scooter I’m riding. Just outside the shop door are a lot of Ducati motorcycles. BMWs, Triumphs, and Vespa scooter too. Just in case you need one.)
TOM: It’s the bike I always wanted; I like the dual sport, moto bikes. Sometimes I wish I would have waited for the Hypermotard but the one I have is great. Light, flickable. A SuperMoto bike is ideal for the kind of back roads we have here in central Pennsylvania.
(He’s putting a muffler on the Ducati and I’m looking around, searching for a way to bring up the Vespa.)
TOM: I can’t believe how many miles you put on your Vespa. Not many people do that.
(As if by magic my spine has straightened. I think I hear trumpets echoing in the distance.)
STEVE: It’s a good machine. It’s been pretty reliable.
TOM: You make sure it’s serviced properly. That makes a big difference.
STEVE: Yeah. You guys do a good job with it.
(And that’s how we ended the interview.)
I got to finally talk with one of the mechanics at Kissell Motorsports for more than a minute or two. When I was riding the BMW R100 GS last week Tom personally checked it out and provided his assessment of the bike – a big thumbs up. When I returned it he seemed as surprised as everyone else that I was going to remain a scooter rider.
Can't believe there are no motorcycles at work today. With the temperature near 50F I thought I would have trouble finding a parking space today. Once the days get warm only the early bird riders will find spaces here. Had to go look at my calendar to make sure there wasn't some big riding event somewhere that I missed.
Who's riding to work? Has the normal riding season started yet? Is it still too cold to ride?
Yesterday evening I stopped to inspect the artillery pieces that would be part of some Civil War event at the Pennsylvania Military Museum today. The light was nice, drew out the Canon G9 to create the quintessential Civil War Vespa image only to find the SD card was absent from the camera. Luckily the iPhone was in my pocket so I was able to satisfy my photographic hunger at some level.
It was just starting to rain so I hurried home to the warmth and protection afforded by middle class living.
This morning Junior and I visited the men huddled under a tent awning trying to stay warm and dry. Weather makes friends of the worst enemies because I saw Union and Confederate soldiers in that group. I asked how they keep their powder dry and was told the cannon charges were inside plastic bags and then wrapped in aluminum foil. With aluminum foil not being invented until 1910 and who knows when the first plastic bag appeared I wanted to ask a question. But Junior insisted we move on to the ball throwing part of the day.
He remains impervious to the rain, wind, and creeping cold that these kind of days deliver.
Anyways, I have been getting a lot of grief lately about passing on that 1988 BMW R100 GS. Some of it from myself too. One thing that comes up over and over is the limited capabilities of the Vespa. Having put over 30 thousand miles on modern Vespa scooters I can find only two limiting factors:
1. It is impossible to ravage the speed limits on the Interstate highway system. Just not enough power.
2. Stream crossing ability is limited.
3. Riding over big obstacles is problematic.
Other than that you can pretty much go anywhere and do anything that time, money, and skill will allow. And I won't go into the many other things a Vespa can accomplish that I don't ever see anyone on motorcycles doing around here.
I understand why people want big cushy bikes -- it makes things easier and more comfortable. And it allows you to compress distance when you have limited time. And specific machines can enable to to pursue certain kinds of performance if that's your goal.
Calgary photographer and Vespa rider Sergei Belski recently completed a 4400 mile trip on his GTS 250ie. Looks a lot like mine. And he travels light. Check out his site. He makes some nice riding pictures.
It's stuff like this that makes me smile a bit when guys pigeonhole the scooter as an "around town" thing. It's that kind of thought process that has them thinking a Harley 883 is a "girl's" bike or that anything less that 1000cc is underpowered. Exactly how much do these guys weigh?
So, just sitting here, eating, wasting time, watching the rain come down, and waxing philosophically about riding and adventure. Hell, I should gear up and go for a ride. We're only supposed to get another half inch of rain in the next hour or so.
How bad can it be? I've got those great German tires on the Vespa after all...
A couple days after seeing my Consumption Therapy and Moto-Porn post Craig Kissell told me he would be taking a BMW R100 GS on trade and it would have my name on it should I want to buy it. It seemed as if the universe was conspiring to have me become an owner of a BMW. Who am I to argue with fate?
I took the afternoon off from work and despite the rain decided I would have to take the BMW (cover your ears Mr. Riepe) Airhead for a ride. It had already passed the visual test. All that was left was the road test.
After Kissell Motorsports mechanic Tom Christensen went over the bike and made sure it was ready for the road I left the Vespa and headed out in a light mist. The bike was, well, amazing. Started easily, idled perfectly, sounded amazing, and shifted with ease. Sales Manager Nate Mattern said the transmission had been rebuilt and the circlip and other issues corrected. You could tell it was ready to hit the road and ride for a long way. After some experimenting with the brakes and controls I stopped on Skytop Mountain to make a picture.
The two aluminum side cases were sturdy and functional -- just like the rest of the motorcycle. I was completely impressed by the mechanical feel of the bike and the sense of purpose and capability. For a 1988 machine with 60K miles on it I would have thought I was riding a much newer motorcycle.
The BMW R100 GS is pretty. As a photographic subject I could make use of it on Scooter in the Sticks. It seemed like a natural partner for my Vespa and would lend itself to a new variety of riding. Or so I was trying to tell myself.
Standing near this church I wondered how often I would fill those sidecases and take a long trip. Or how often I would make use of the power and capabilities of the motorcycle. Didn't much like the answers I was coming up with.
On the highway the power of the big boxer engine is apparent. Even with the Metzler Enduro tires which were a tad too aggressive for a lot of pavement riding the bike was smooth and stable cruising at 70mph. And there was plenty of throttle left. If I had any concerns at all it would be the older brakes -- disc up front and drum on the rear -- I tested them on several high speed stops and while they worked well it's definitely not the same as modern braking systems. It would not let this stand between me and the BMW though.
In dirt, mud and gravel the R100 GS was perfectly comfortable. The bike feels heavy compared to the Vespa and takes a bit more manuevering to get around. It was about this point in the ride that I began to sense something wasn't quite right. Not with the bike. There was something amiss in regard to my riding needs.
In a flood of recognition the following realities presented themselves:
1. I ride to explore, look around, and take pictures. This occurs at generally slow speeds, without destinations or geographical goals, and entails endless stopping and starting. From this point of reference the BMW seemed like far more motorcycle than I needed. And it is not nearly as functional in making quick stops, parking on the road in a manner than won't cause problems.
2. The BMW would not be my first choice to ride to work. Man, I tried hard to rationalize around this one -- imagining all the times I would ride it to work. I couldn't. Bottom line -- the Vespa is just too damn functional for my 8 mile commute.
3. Last disappointing realization -- it would probably sit in the garage most of the time. This motorcycle is designed to travel. To ride. And ride far. Why else does it have a gigantic gas tank and all that luggage. Who was I kidding? My long rides are in the 200 - 300 mile range. That's scooter territory. It would almost be embarrassing to this noble steed to limit it to such short jaunts.
With my head hung low and feeling sad (Irrationally I still want the bike) I ride back to Kissell Motorsports to tell Craig and Nate I am not going to be joining the ranks of motorcycle riders. The BMW R100 GS is up for grabs now but others were waiting on my decision so I'm not sure how long it will last. Better call fast if you need it!
It could have been a classic pair. The temptation was strong but in the end I felt like Galadriel passing up the One Ring offered by Frodo. I passed the test and will now fade into the West.
There is always something positive that comes out of this events and this one was no exception. I learned something important -- I am not a scooter rider by accident. I ride a Vespa because it is the right machine for me. And if there is any purchases to be make it would more likely be to trade the GTS on another Vespa when the time comes.
On the way home I saw Kim making pictures. The Vespa is quiet and and I was able to stop and make this picture without her knowing I was there. When she turned around she made a picture.
*NOTE FROM KIM* Steve wants to believe this photo expresses my feelings about his machine which he described as "powerful and filled with machismo" but I am sorry to inform him: the dark feeling is related more to the experience of all of the cars and trucks bearing down on my ass while I was trying to make pictures of the weeping willows.
The last time I had seen Steve he was on his way to pick up a bumblebee. How peculiar? I figured the buzz didn't last very long. That silver Vespa was already back on the side of the road and he was smiling in a way that seemed like relief inside his big shiny spacesuit.
Of all the names ascribed to me Curious Toddler might be the best. Or at least I’ve convinced myself of this after a long weekend. Stacy Bolty, author of Bolty.net for some reason chose me to bookend a wide range of riders as a curious toddler. Cool – my 15 minutes of fame promised by Warhol. He never said it would be a heroic or magnificent 15 minutes.
Curious Toddler. Curious.
By the end of the first evening I was talking to myself and standing in front of the mirror flexing my biceps. At least until I remembered being called Weenie Arms Williams in second grade. Pouring through websites for BMW, Ducati, Triumph and Ducati and commenting out loud, “I could ride that. Oh yeah, that one too, piece of cake.” And on and on until it occurs to me that I might need to renew my subscription to Guns and Ammo. I let it lapse in ninth grade.
Part of the evening is spent dusting off the free weight set in the basement. Hairballs from the last three dogs we’ve owned encase them under a workbench. Back in the living room I busy myself designing appropriate tattoos that utilize flames, lightning bolts, and mythical creatures. By bedtime Kim is stroking my hand and whispering, “You’re my man…”
Curious. Is that a polite way of saying odd? Or weird, strange, eccentric? The mind plays tricks with the ego. And toddler. Does that make me an infant, a big baby, or is it code for infantile? Or stupid. By midnight I’m standing outside with Junior peering up at the heavens asking, “Why?”
And the answer strikes deep inside – I am a curious toddler.
Ice water sparkles in a red plastic glass, a welcome hydration after several hours on the road. The narrow, white Formica counter top flecked with gold transports me back to dinner with my mom and dad at Danny’s Restaurant on Neville Island fifty years earlier where I marveled at the riches spread out before me.
Diner 22 just outside Alexandria, Pennsylvania on US 22, a stop for breakfast and a chance for my toes to warm. No riders here. None seen anywhere during the morning – the chill air still keeping most motorcycles and scooters at home. A few old men sit to my right lapping up chicken parmesan, the daily lunch special -- $6.25. Overhead is a sign, “J-EET-YET”. Soon my predictable plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, potatoes, and toast will make the answer yes.
That meal is probably more dangerous than anything I encounter on the road.
I work methodically through my breakfast presented neatly on a heavy white plate. Taped to the glass door on the refrigerator in front of me is a hand-lettered sign on peach colored paper announcing fresh baked cinnamon rolls for $1.75. The crisp bacon looses flavor as I contemplate the snaps on my Tourmaster Overpants. A cinnamon roll sitting close to the door whispers my name just as a harmonica begins to wail on the overhead speakers. The waitress crashes two of the red plastic glasses into the ice chest. The Vespa keys are lying on the counter. I look up and catch her eye. It’s over, I’ve lost. I close my mouth tightly for fear drool might escape.
Defying reason I stand up and pay my bill and escape without the unnecessary weight of a cinnamon roll.
The ride started hours earlier as I explained to Junior that any long walk would have to wait until I got home. The sight of fog on the mountain coupled with a strong desire to ride the Vespa overcame the dog’s insistent suggestions of taking a ride in the truck to all his favorite destinations.
Traveling towards weather makes route choices easier. The temperature display indicated 35F as I rolled out of the driveway towards Rothrock State Forest and a maze of dirt and gravel roads. Eight miles from home and I’ve already stopped six times to take pictures. Curious Toddler comes to mind as I wander around the roadside looking for treasure. It begins to seem an appropriate title.
I can’t help being swept away by the gloomy landscape, as if walking through a Charlotte Bronte landscape.
Climbing towards the top of Thickhead Mountain, another stop, more wandering around, searching for a rock for the garden. Winter hasn’t been harsh on the road. Gravel still mostly in place and very little mud to deal with.
Despite the greater risk of riding in fog I am mesmerized by how things look. It’s hard not to give up riding and just make pictures. And there are no bad pictures when fog is involved.
The road and landscape merge to form a continuous picture that compels me to stop despite oaths to ride onward and allow the passing scenes to fade into memory.
Fog.
Standing in the road I see possibility, recall memories from youth, scenes of Barnabas Collins or passages from Edgar Allen Poe. Twelve miles now and I’ve stopped nine times to make pictures. Riding has become incidental, a means to another end. I am the Curious Toddler.
Proceeding down the mountain reveals a shortcoming of a scooter with an automatic transmission. A constant velocity transmission (CVT) for engineers or the mechanically minded. What this means is there is little engine braking available. Roll off the throttle, the RPMS drop and before you know it you’re freewheeling at increasing speed. Braking requires a sensitive touch and complete understanding of what is about to happen when the throttle is twisted. Applying power suddenly engages the powertrain and, depending on speed and road surface, can yield a sudden lurch as the transmission is engaged. On snow it can be a catastrophe. On loose gravel or mud it’s a wait and see thing. Motorcycle riders have it much easier with their endless features and capabilities.
Lichen covered rocks in a woodland setting. Gleaning ideas for a Japanese garden installation. Distant, almost insignificant in the photo, the Ves pa asks if I want to ride. At times I feel it deserves a better home. I keep promising to leave the camera and iPhone at home and just ride, explore on the road and not on foot. An attempt to rein in the Curious Toddler.
If you find yourself wandering in a similar environment make a note – those damp rocks are slippery. Crashing down on your head slippery.
Earthly magnetism. I’m drawn to the edge of landscapes where one place ends and another begins – a canyon rim, seashore, overlook. Places to peer into infinity. Places found on rides. The road surface here is mostly sand and clay, damp, and prone to make the tires track sideways as times. The Heidenau winter tires perform well in this environment.
White pines suffocate the road. Descending towards pavement and civilization I stop to make a few photographs. The scent of pine and decaying needles fill the air. It’s hard to see more than 50 yards in any direction. Even the sky is cut off from view. I can begin to appreciate the terrible challenge European settlers had when they traversed these mountains in the early 1700s.
A few miles further; more toddling, more curiosity in play. Lost in a dark wood, the big bad wolf can’t be far off.
The moment the front wheel touches pavement I swear an oath that’s I’ll not stop for another picture until after breakfast. A twist of the throttle, I begin humming Sugar Mountain, the landscape sweeps by in an endless series of images. This is the freedom of riding.
Jane Stewart was born not long after the American Revolution and now rests with her husband James near Saulsburg, Pennsylvania. Each time I visit a cemetery I leave with a renewed sense of time and a reminder to make use of it.
The old graveyard and church stand in disrepair. Decaying forms of wrought iron fence and gates offer ideas for home. Kim and I both embrace the subtle grace of things being overtaken by nature. A quiet growl beneath my riding jacket reminds me of my mission.
On long smooth roads the Vespa is completely at home and can run all day at whatever legal speed I choose. Or some illegal ones as well. Roads lead south to Maryland, Virginia and beyond. Or north through New York and New England. When anyone asks about a scooter make sure you remind them that you can travel as far and wide as your time and resources allow.
What is it about train tracks vanishing into the horizon that’s so alluring? I stood here a long time before leaving. Not a care in the world; just the Vespa and the road. Everything else burned away.
Breakfast at Diner 22 marks the beginning of the end of my ride as I turn towards home.
The open landscape along PA Route 453 near Water Street. Thirty more miles until I’m home, relaxed, smiling, a curious toddler.
Another track leads off through a farm field that I have to explore. I’m tired and don’t fully pursue the opportunity.
The Vespa is silent as I pull in the driveway. Junior doesn’t wake and I walk up to the window to see Kim working in her studio. It’s good to be home.
Junior soon demands some action himself and we take a walk to the park where he and Buddy chase tennis balls.
Thinking about the ride later as I worked on this post I understand more fully the meaning of being a curious toddler. It fits, it works, and I think I will have a T-shirt made…
Any readers using their smart-phone cameras to make images they consider more than snapshots?
Lately I feel as if I am standing at a line if crossed means the complete, total, and utter abandonment of film. For the past few months I have been shooting nothing but digital images and I have to say I don't miss the darkroom much at all. There is a certain nostalgia I'm clinging to -- the tactile process of loading film, the smell of the chemistry, the look and feel of silver prints. Uncertainty clouds the topic. Is there more for me to say with film or am I just afraid to cross the line? I can't say right now and no one can push me one way or the other.
One pleasant surprise is the amazing ability of a smart phone camera along with the associated apps. I use an iPhone but I've seen work from other systems that are equally impressive. A few days ago I saw the above video referenced on Twitter that was produced using images made with the Hipstamatic app. The guy had to shoot a lot of images to pull off this pixelation project.
I've had a few riding projects in mind for a long time, stories that are more about perception and emotion than any documentary detail or recording. Maybe the phone is the answer...
Perhaps it is time to start experimenting more. My pictures are getting predictable.
Paul Ruby with his self-described chick magnet -- a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon, a cream puff car he purchased last year at the Carlisle Car Show. He owns a number of chick magnets by his reckoning, including a big, black Harley-Davidson, a red Ducati 1198, a '70s vintage red Ferrari, and a '60s vintage Vespa. He describes them in various ways, from pure mojo, chick magnet, or other “pure” terms I would rather not put in writing. All are part of a unique Rubiesque lexicon. Under intense questioning he'll eventually admit that none, save the vintage Vespa, have ever attracted a female. He may go further in saying that the women he's encountered, in fact, seem completely disinterested in any of these machines.
Maybe the special power resides in the white socks and black slippers.
This past Saturday, something happened to possibly alter my perception of the idea of a chick magnet. The Oldsmobile Cutlass wagon may just have those fabled powers.
Dan Leri and I stood outside Saint's Cafe, discussing Dan’s recent mishap with his BMW RT1150. I'll be posting that story sometime soon. As we talked, Paul trotted up with a cup of his favorite Duncan Donuts coffee in hand, smiling and thankful to be walking on the good earth. He is generally that happy.
Before Dan could continue with his story, which included how the throttle froze on the way to work, Paul suddenly interjects: "You can't talk to me. I have a 1994 Oldsmobile Cutlass station wagon. It's a creampuff, pure mojo, a major chick magnet!" Bam. Or so he could have added. Bam is a common way Paul punctuates his deliveries.
Just as the words pass his lips, the crash of metal meeting metal stops the conversation. Paul's head rotates toward the sound as if mounted on some fine, German, geared system. Eyes wide, his body is already in motion towards the parking lot across the street. It takes a moment for Dan and I to comprehend the situation. A gray minivan has just plowed into Paul's creampuff. Like many guys, well, maybe most guys, we grin, chuckle and return to the frozen throttle conversation.
Only a few minutes pass until I notice Paul, standing behind the minivan, his arms wrapped around a woman. Another few minutes pass. Dan and I part ways. I head across the street towards my Vespa and see Paul still talking with the woman. The side of the wagon is clearly wrecked, and I’ll later learn that the minivan was in far worse shape. I stifle a strong, very strong, urge to chirp "chick magnet" as I walk by.
A few hours later, Paul is on the phone asking me if I think God is trying to tell him something. He's wondering if he’s making light of women, by thinking his possessions have some magical power over them. Does this mean he believes-- they're one-dimensional creatures drawn merely to the sparkling of worldly goods. I listen quietly as he expresses deep, spiritual concern for his actions and speech--as he questions the foundations on which his beliefs are based. His angst flows through the phone in a heavy wave of emotion. I listen until he's drained of speech, awaiting my response.
In our front yard, a Carolina wren sings loudly for a mate. Junior stretches on the floor as my foot rubs his soft belly. Finally, I respond.
"No, none of that. It's a chick magnet."
What are friends for if not to rubber-stamp each others’ shit.
A couple days ago good old Charlie6 (Dom) of Redleg's Rides forwarded an email about the above bike. Overconfidence no doubt at having reversed my opinion about sidecars he probably thought I'd be vulnerable to suggestions about a vintage BMW. Here's his message.
Steve
Just in case you're undergoing Beemer withdrawals.....this one seems nice.
dom
Date: Thu, 31 Mar 2011
From: "Charles xxx" Subject: 1988 R100GS For Sale To: "Airheads"
We are getting ready to move so I am putting my Airhead up for sale and I thought I would give the list first crack.
It is a 1988 R100GS, Black and Yellow, and is in great cosmetic and mechanical condition. It comes with Caribou luggage system and a Marsee magnetic tank bag. The GS has about 38,800 miles. I just changed all fluids,
checked the valves and will check the carb sync prior to delivery.
The GS has had the circ clip issue addressed by Tom Cutter. Some modifications include Nippon starter, Moto and Hyper lites, Ohlin Adj. rear shock (came from factory with WP rear and progressive springs in forks), EnduraLast 450 watt alternator, and Acerbis handguards.
With the GS comes many, many spare parts (including a new-in-box BMW brand drive shaft, two rebuilt bing carbs(missing floats as I borrowed them last year and didn't replace), original working Valeo starter, a set of Cont. TKC
tires (currently has Avon Gripsters mounted). Also, the GS is wired for handlebar mounted GPS and Gerbing heat. The BMW tool pouch is complete. I will also include a Clymer manual in addition to the Owner's manual.
I am asking $5500 for all.
The bike is located in Pottstown, PA (about 35-miles west of Philly)
Nice indeed.
I had been looking at used motorcycles on eBaby, Kissell Motorsports, and anywhere I could think of when I opened Dom's message. Seeing that yellow and black motorcycle, reviewing the specs and price, I knew, absolutely knew, I wanted that motorcycle. I needed that motorcycle. The world would not be right, I wouldn't be right, until it was sitting in our garage.
Kim, my loving partner, wife, and knowing soulmate was sitting a few feet away in the window, writing in her journal. I let the words, "Wow, that's a nice motorcycle" ease past my teeth and into the room. Her pen kept pace across the page of her notebook as I added, "I've always loved the 1988 BMW R100 GS" and feeling a lot like Ralphie in A Christmas Story scheming to get a Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle with a compass in the stock.
The R100 GS is that cool.
Being wise and knowing how to decode my meta-messages Kim asked if I wanted a motorcycle. I really became Ralphie as I quickly thought how to respond -- not too excited, not too relaxed. I did not say I wanted a football. (Apologies to anyone who hasn't seen a Christmas Story)
Cutting to the chase Kim asked me a few simple questions. (My recollection of the exchange)
KIM: Do you like the motorcycle? STEVE: Yes, I do, I have always loved the way these vintage BMWs look, especially the R100 GS.
K: Do you need a motorcycle? S: (long pause) Hmmm, well, I don't really need a motorcycle. It would be nice to ride though.
K: What are you going to do with the Vespa? S: I'll keep the Vespa. Never know when you might need a second machine to ride. (Suddenly I'm feeling sort of stupid)
K: If you want a motorcycle you should get one. S: (silence)
K: What will the BMW do differently than the Vespa? S: (I almost blurt out "it will go a lot faster") Well, it will feel different on the road. And it might open up more riding opportunities. (I am beginning to realize how little I have thought about this subject at all)
K: When will you have time to do this? You seem pretty busy right now with work, photography, writing, the house, friends, the dog. Are you really going to be able to use it? And you're getting all those motorcycles from Kissell Motorsports to ride. How's another motorcycle going to fit in? S: (Kim's doing the thinking that I should have been doing. A light flickers in my head, dimly at first, then brighter when she asks the next question.)
K: Do you really need this motorcycle or are you just in your buying mode? S: Hmmmm..... Well.... I... I just... (silence)
No need to go one here. I began to see what Kim saw in an instant. Things were pretty hectic after returning from Colorado. Lots of work to catch up on with lots of new things to do. When my head begins to spin at a certain speed I seek consumption therapy. Buy something and I'll feel better. Buy a motorcycle and I'll feel a lot better. Or so the irrational thoughts suggest. I have a really nice Bell Kevlar canoe hanging in the garage with about 4 hours of use on it. A Wisner 4x5 view camera, bamboo flute, assorted tools and toys, all purchases a direct result of consumption therapy.
Kim just saved us $5500. While I eventually come to appreciate her insight, at the moment it's being delivered I can pout at not getting what I want. I wonder at times how she puts up with me. I'm the only man who's like this.
I emailed the owner of the motorcycle on the phone to seek permission to use the picture on this post. He granted it with the statement "feel free to use my moto-porn". He knew.
The next day I went for a ride on the Vespa and honestly wondered why I thought I needed anything else. The thing is perfect for me.
Admit it -- you dream of riding to Alaska. The isolation, solitude and wilderness haunt your dreams. One hundred miles of gravel after lunch just means dinner will taste all the better. Even if it comes from a can cooked over a small fire along the road.
You can sample a taste of this life on Wednesday evening, April 6, at 7pm in the Outreach Building at Penn State. Kissell Motorsports in conjunction with coolBLUE has brought Brenden Anders from MotoQuest to town to give a presentation on the riding opportunities they offer around the world and answer any questions you might have.
This is Brenden Anders and he's doing what I wish I had the good sense to do when I was 23. Looking at that pretty Kawasaki KLR650 reminds me that Kissell Motorsports has a similar one in their showroom. Actually it belonged to a friend of mine, a fellow photographer at Penn State. But I digress...
I'm anxious to listen to the experiences Brenden has had on the road and how a MotoQuest tour might fit into my future. A look at their website reveals a wide range of opportunities for just about any riding taste. I'm still trying to picture a Vespa in Alaska.
Even if you can't make it to the event visit the MotoQuest site and register in their drawing for an Alaska trip.
