First Date with the BMW K1600 GTL

This is the 2012 BMW K1600 GTL that Kissell Motorsports provided me with to find out what a Vespa rider thought of this serious touring motorcycle. I made this picture later in the evening after a few hours of riding.  I had to sit down for a minute and compose my thoughts, think about where I would ride in the morning, and wonder how I had come in a short period of time to think it wasn't such a big motorcycle after all.

This isn't really a review of the bike.  That will come in the next installment.  This is just our first date.

Craig Kissell doesn't offer these motorcycles lightly, especially something as expensive and complicated as the K1600.  Arriving after work I saw a group of machines in the parking lot near the bike.  Nate Mattern, sales manager for Kissell Motorsports, and I had planned to ride together for awhile and compare notes.  I thought they were going to have me ride the pink Vespa until I realized Nate would eventually have to take a turn with it.  Not that I have anything against pink machines, my mountain bike is a more subdued version of pink, but I really didn't want to have to manage a 150cc machine against a six cylinder powerhouse like the BMW.

Nate and I discussed routes, time limitations for him, and decided I would ride a BMW R1200 RT during the first leg of our trip.  I would take the lead so I control stops for pictures, set the pace, and generally make sure I didn't embarrass myself with an official representative of Kissell Motorsports.  I wanted to be able to do more reviews in the future.

I'd never ridden with Nate before but knew enough about him that I'd convince myself he would be uncomfortably fast on the road and I'd spend all my time wondering which way he went.  It was bad enough that he's a Ducati owner and rider, a gonzo mountain biker, (I've not met a slow Ducati rider yet) but he's also a commercial pilot having flown for a number of commercial carriers.

Pilots are all about speed right?

So I thought it best for my image that I stay in front. 

We left town in a hurry heading west on US 322.  Sailing over Skytop I was cruising at 75mph with Nate in the distance in my mirrors.  The RT was smooth and I felt almost no transitional weirdness from the Vespa.  It's easy to understand why riders like them.

It was a bright, clear evening and we owned the road.  That bubble burst as a Burgman 650 cruised by us like it was nothing for the rider in shirt sleeves and dress pants to commute home at 80mph.  For a moment I considered turning the throttle but I had Nate to worry about.  It's what you do when you're in the lead.

First stop at a familiar road cut on the way to Philipsburg. The GTL isn't that much bigger looking than the RT but to my eye it has a sportier look to it.  The topcase and big rear seating area does place it squarely in the tourer world but it still looked sleek.  Nate and I talked a bit and he shared his thoughts on the fly-by-wire throttle and how different it felt from conventional throttle cable systems.  I held my tongue and didn't ask what he was talking about.  I figured I would find out soon enough.

I turn off into a gravel parking area near Black Moshannon State Park, in part to take a few pictures and in part to make sure if someone is going to drop the K1600 Nate can go first.  You can't tell in the picture but the gravel is loose.  And it raises the question of how I am thinking about the motorcycles.  The RT seems completely manageable and not much different than riding my Vespa, something which indicates a mastery on my part of motorcycles or a wildly unreasonable idea of how big the K1600 really is.

For now, let's go with the idea that I'm a really great rider.

Nate shared with me later that he swallowed hard when I turned off into the gravel.  He's smiling in the picture because I think he thought I would be taking my turn on the big bike.

I told him I wanted to ride the RT a little longer.  What I should have said was that I wanted to ride to a paved swap point.

The moment finally arrives where I'm going to take the new machine.  Nate's pilot training surfaces as he begins a fluid expression of a K1600 checklist outlining every feature and mode on this seriously equipped motorcycle.  I didn't exactly quit listening but my brain quit accepting data as he was running through the various computer controlled riding modes.

So I didn't seem ungrateful I asked Nate to show me how to get the K1600 on the centerstand.  There is always a trick and he showed it to me.  I wouldn't want to try it in gravel or on soft ground but it wasn't all that difficult.

We also discussed the sensitivity of the throttle and Nate urged caution for a few miles as I got used to how touchy it could be.  It didn't take long to appreciate the advice.  He talked about his preferences leaning towards impractical motorcycles like his Ducati 696 or his favorite the Ducati Hypermotard 1100 EVO.  Fast, powerful, but not possessing much utilitarian value.

The BMW K1600 GTL is designed to meet utilitarian needs.  "Honey, I'm going to the store to get a loaf of bread.  Then I'm going to swing by Seattle and be home."  This is the machine for that kind of quick trip.  Nate has to get back and we head down the mountain towards home. 

Sitting on the bike I can sense the greater mass.  Or at least I've been telling myself this for the past hour.  The throttle is sensitive and the power response is instantaneous.  Sloppy throttle work won't be appreciated on this bike.  After a few miles the bike and the throttle seem to merge with my body.  I'm not pushing anything but it's kind of a marvel how easy it is to ride.

Nate heads back to the shop and I turn towards home.  I stop on campus for another picture and think about where I'm going to ride in the morning.  

The first date was almost over and with only 50 miles on the BMW I wanted a second.  At this early point I already knew a few things.  

1.  Without a doubt this was the smoothest motorcycle I have ever ridden.  Engine, road feel, everything.  An engineering marvel.

2.  It's surprisingly nimble for a big touring motorcycle.

3.  The fly-by-wire throttle takes a little time to acquire the right touch but once you do it is a pleasure to use.

4.  It's not my Vespa.  No room for sloppy handling.   Too much mass to think you can muscle this around.  It requires a rider who pays attention and understands what it means to manage this kind of weight.

5.  If I were buying a touring bike, this would be it.  I like the BMW R 1200 RT but this K bike is in a different league.

I'll be posting more involved review of the BMW K1600 GTL in the next week or so.  I have been letting the story simmer for awhile but it's time to write it down. 

If you can't wait stop by and have Craig or Nate show you the bike. 

A Pleasant Evening Ride

Harley greeted me for the second time in two weeks when I rode up to a party yesterday evening.  I appreciate a dog who remembers who you are.

 

I rode to the Happy Valley Vineyard and Winery for a farewell party for the College of Ag Sciences associate dean for undergraduate education, Marcos Fernandez.  Vineyards are fine landscapes for people to gather.  And the Vespa looks good with the vines.

Heading home as the sun goes down I can't pass up the chance to make another photograph.   I can't say for sure but I probably would not stop a car to make the picture or appreciate the moment.  Riding brings a person closer to the world.  You feel it, smell it, become part of it.  A treasured part of rider.

One last stop before heading to the grocery store across town.  One last glimpse to the sky and clouds, the light changing colors over a swift sunset, a last quiet moment before joining the flow of traffic through the places of commerce.

A pleasant evening ride.  A pleasant way to unwind the day.

Seeking Out the Man

Standing along US 322 in a soft drizzle, admiring the fog drift over Mount Nittany, letting my thoughts flow along without a care in the world when the steady, whining drone of some infernal contraption interrupted the zen moment.   Turning my head I caught a glimpse of what had to be a red, BMW K75 with a stocky rider astride the machine.  It took me a moment but it occurred to me that it just might be Jack Riepe on some wild, irrational ride in the rain.

In moments I was on the expressway and gaining ground on the BMW just a half mile ahead.  The rider exits and sweeps past a green light onto the road into State College that I watch turn red.  For a moment I consider running the light as Jessica by the Allman Brothers Band is playing in my head.  But I remember I want to take possession of my Honda minivan tonight.

Moving slowly through State College I make a logical search for the man in question and first stop at some of the downtown eateries.  Nothing.  Mist and smoke.

Not a soul at the local cigar and single malt establishment.  Standing in the alley I puzzle my predicament and move to the only other logical place.

After a tour around town and a stop at the only Irish Pub in town I decide I've been seeing ghosts, allowing my mind to play ethereal beings across my visor, riding wraiths and spectral devils on unholy machines.

Another day on a Vespa, riding to work, enjoying the road ahead.

The Pragmatic Rider

 

On the way home the other night after signing the buyer agreement for a 2003 Honda Odyssey minivan.  I hear they are great for going to bingo and hauling free government cheese.  I'll get back to everyone on that.  I am certain that a van won't hamper my riding and probably not my ability to get from point A to point B in any way either.  But more intelligent people than I have suggested otherwise so I need to test their theories.

The weather has been chilly the past week.  One morning had me riding just below 50 degrees and today at 60.  I enjoy the brisk air.  And it makes for some big, clear skies.  I pretend I'm crossing Montana instead of riding home to make pasta.

Rain today but the thought of adding a minivan to the fleet helped me endure the moisture.  The Vespa and the FIT make a nicely colored duo.

Rain forecast for the morning.  Being a pragmatic rider I can sensibly and realistically manage my way to work.  And now that the vehicle stuff is almost done (pick up the Odyssey tomorrow afternoon) I will be able to focus again on finishing some new blog posts.  

Emerging from the Fog

It's hell to get old.  A familiar utterance from my father for as long as I can remember but until recently I didn't fully appreciate it's meaning.  Over the last two weeks I've worked through real and imagined ghosts of aging.

Stood for awhile in the studio today staring at the camera LCD wondering who this guy is. Self-portraits often reveal uncomfortable things.  They're not for anyone who likes to avoid the truth. The recent ER visit may have been the wake up call but I hadn't realized how far down the scale I might have fallen.

And just so you don't think I spend my days at work taking pictures of myself I was working out photographic style issues for a new marketing campaign.  I was just a convenient test model.

Poor Junior. 

Opened my eyes on Sunday morning and peered out the window -- fog.  No long walk on this morning.  Fleeting, vaporous, no time to spare when an enchanted landscape appears like Brigadoon emerging from the mist.  

Fast shower, dog out just long enough for morning responsibilities and I'm off on the Vespa seeking the quintessential magic image.  I've been chasing it for years. My blue butterfly.

Less than a mile from home I realize the fog has already moved off leaving just a gray calmness over the morning.  Abigail, the M4 Sherman tank in the picture, is similar to the ones in a photo album of my father's recording his time in the United States Third Army in the 1940s.  I see his ghost when I look in the mirror and feel the biological clock ticking, reminding me that I have choices to make.

In the past two weeks I've lost 24 pounds.  Fueled by stress, medication and the flu it rendered my less than finely tuned body into what I can only describe as a frail, muddled organism.  A stoic denial of sodium in response to my blood pressure spikes I was so thorough that my arms and legs seemed to constantly be cramping.  Only some insistent advice from loved ones and friends was able to penetrate my hard head and adjust my diet.  The same hardheadedness that makes it possible for me to ride through the winter also makes it difficult to see the light shining.  

Sometimes.

I had to cancel my place in the MSF Experienced Rider Course.  I was weak and didn't believe I could withstand the seven hours in the sun.  So much of me wanted to ignore all the data and go anyway.

 

Riding frequency declined for a number of reasons including the sudden necessity to replace our vehicles.  Bad, bad planning and requiring an amazing amount of time and effort.  So when I was able to ride it was mesmerizing.  Every possible good feeling and nerve end tingling greeted me.  It was good to be home.

Standing along Spring Creek and listening to the water sing almost made me cry.  I don't know why I've been so lucky in life.  Or given so many chances to succeed.

 

Riding has a calming effect.  Or so I tell myself when I watch my blood pressure numbers decline to their normal levels.  The past week they have pumped steady between 110/65 and 125/75, the range they have been for the past 50 years.

As the early morning wanes I head back to town and cut across campus towards my weekly meeting at Saint's Cafe.  The streets are empty as I ride beneath the last remaining elm tunnels. 

All the magic is gone when the sun is out.  Any chance of depicting Gordon as some sort of character out of a Harry Potter story is impossible in this light.  I'm thinking sodium at this point and what I can eat to give myself a bit of salt.

Mushroom and bell pepper quiche.  Vespa rider fare.  With much encouragement and advice I've moderated my stoic diet.  Weight loss has ceased and I feel good again.  The results from a battery of tests still linger in the future when I see my doctor later this week.  Until then I'll continue to do what I'm doing.

Heavy skies were forming in the west when I departed Saint's and by the time I got to Lemont I felt it wise to stop for a few minutes at the cafe and let the storm pass.  And a good excuse for tea and a cookie.  My first in a long time.

A cool breeze blows across the porch, delicate ringing from small bell chimes fills the air as every suggestion of the heat from just a few minutes earlier is washed away.  As the first drops of rain begin to fall I know I could stand here all day.

In minutes a steady, hard rain makes me smile that I've made a good decision.  Similar decisions loom down the road in regard to diet, stress and exercise.  What, me worry?

My father used to tell me I reminded him of Alfred E. Neuman.  Must have been the ears.

The rain passes and I make my way towards home.  The road stretches ahead and I don't know what's around the bend.  I can guess but mostly it's paying attention to what happens next.  For now I'm ok.  Or so it seems.  

The business of living is moving along.  A new Honda Fit Sport has replaced our old VW Jetta.  My Ford Ranger will make it's debut on eBay later this week with a Honda Odyssey van taking it's spot in the driveway.

I've had no aspiration to be a minivan driver but years of all season Vespa riding has tempered me for the task ahead.

And my apologies for all of you still waiting for me to post my review of the BMW K1600 GTL.  And to make matters more daunting I also have to write reviews of the Ducati Diavel that Craig Kissell and I took a ride on.  The Ducati Multistrada and a second time out on the BMW 1200 RT.

Plodding wins the race.  Look for more soon.

And thank you to everyone for your kind regards and support.  I do appreciate it.

Roll 522

Like clockwork I parked my Vespa last Sunday morning across from the library and walked over to Saint's Cafe to show Gordon my three prints of this week.  The trip to the ER didn't dissuade me from the darkroom though more than a few inquiries about stress have me wondering if the self-induced pressure of shooting, processing and printing isn't just another straw on my back.

The prints fit nicely into the Givi topcase.  Glad I got it.

Another Saint's regular, violinist Carl Ector, sits outside Saint's with his coffee enjoying the fine spring morning.  Looks like I might be photographing his musical group at some point in the future.  I'm with the band!

Gordon examines me for signs of imminent collapse.  Feeling well enough to ride the Vespa into town and brave the rising heat I assured him I was ok.  For now.  And added that I had prints and an ER visit.  Where were his?

I've been suggesting for awhile now that Gordon get a motorcycle or scooter and have quietly shared how amazing it is to ride.  Last week sent me an email saying he found the registration papers for a Harley Davidson that he didn't know his father owned before he was born.  Over the past few months he's talked about riding and I almost thought I had him until he shared this comment from his daughter:

"You already look like a biker dad.  You don't need a motorcycle."

Oh well, looks like photography will continue.

Here's the take from last week.  Rushed as usual.  Process late Saturday afternoon, print Saturday evening, wonder why the prints are damp on Sunday morning.

Shot one roll of Ilford HP5+ and processed it in TMAX developer. [YOU ALL KNOW YOU CAN CLICK ON THESE IMAGES TO SEE THE BIG VERSIONS RIGHT?]

 

Junior during a Saturday morning walk through Boalsburg.  He's getting to the point when he sees me raise the camera he sits down.  It's a problem sometimes when I want him standing.  We're working on it.

Shot this same thing with the iPhone earlier in the week. I think I like the black and white image better.  Wish I wasn't so rushed to print so I could get a little more from the negative.  Rushing.  I have to look at the stress component some more.

 Shooting with the iPhone is so easy and engaging in a way that's hard to describe.  I've been shooting a lot with it but have failed to post much here.  This quasi-riding/dog picture was made last week with the iPhone using the Camera+ app.

Haven't ridden the Vespa since Sunday evening.  Have an appointment with the doctor in the morning and am uncertain if I should show up riding or in the truck.  Don't want to tempt him to say, "Don't ride for awhile."

I suppose I'm open to whatever is going to happen...

Farewell to Bacon

Last Wednesday evening, my view of the emergency room, wondering if I had a heart attack or stroke.  I was polite and kept my boots off the hospital bed.  I'm not really that tall.

My daughter told me this morning while I was walking Junior that she wasn't surprised that I ended up there considering my diet based on the four food groups -- hot dogs, potato chips, pretzels with extra salt, and bacon.  From my point of view it wasn't so bad considering I didn't smoke, drink, and had given up chocolate donuts a long time ago.

Arriving home from work that day I was tired enough to take a nap for about an hour.  Kim was on the phone talking to someone about antique bricks when I sat down to have a sandwich and my second bag of potato chips for the day.  I noticed my left arm was aching but thought it was probably a result of the two tons of bricks I had moved the previous couple days.  Tired, aching arm, a headache beginning and I start to feel a little wobbly even though I am seated at the computer reading Twisted Roads.  A recently purchased blood pressure monitor was sitting nearby and I wondered if my blood pressure changes when I don't feel well.


Normally I'm 117/72.

Strap on the monitor, press the button, listen to the thing pump up and feel my heart pounding in the cuff.

197/109.

"Shit that's high." I say to myself.  Can't be right.  Wait five minutes and check it again.

227/117.

Now I'm worried.  I have been monitoring Kim's blood pressure for awhile and knew what constituted a crisis event.  My arm's aching and I am having a little trouble drawing a deep breath.

Kim was standing in the living room talking on the phone when I touched her shoulder and said, "Hang up."

Normally, she might give me a look that says, "Who the hell do you think you are?"  but she hangs up immediately and later tells me the look on my face told her something serious was afoot.  I tell her she needs to drive me to the hospital now and I head towards the door.

I need to interject two things here.  First, Kim is a good driver.  Second, I am a terrible passenger.  I almost never allow anyone to drive me anywhere.  Kim says I am somewhere between cautious and paranoid.  We get in the car and she wants to get me to the hospital fast.  I'm pushing the invisible brake pedal and ask her to slow down.  No wonder I ride a Vespa.

I still can't figure out how Charlie6 of Redleg's Rides got me in the sidecar of his Ural on the freeway at night.  He must be some sort of Ride Whisperer.

The ER is waiting for me.  I begin wondering if our $29.95 blood pressure monitor was giving faulty readings and I am about to be revealed as a fraud and wimp as they wrap a professional BP cuff around my arm. Two nurses begin to ask me questions that Kim wants to answer.  I already know they are trying to assess if my brain is working and ask me my birthday over and over again. For an instance I consider pulling their leg but decide against that course of action because I really want to go home.

Vindication -- my pressure is 187/108.

Laying in the hospital bed I'm considering what all of this means.  One of the first thoughts is no more hearty breakfasts.  Somehow oatmeal doesn't have the same romantic lure of bacon, eggs and potatoes.  I'll have to survive on the fruit and parsley.  

Over the next for hours I find out the following:

1.  Did not have a heart attack.
2.  Did not have a stroke.
3.  EKG normal.
4.  Blood enzymes and chemistry normal.
5.  Chest X-ray shows no enlarging of the heart.
6.  I have high blood pressure, take these pills, see my family doctor, change my diet, exercise, grow up .

I know there are a variety of things that will have to be assessed (I see a stress test in my future) but for now I am good to go.

By the time they send me home the pressure has dropped, thanks to some medicine I can't remember, to 125/80.  Still feeling tired but maybe that's just my laziness coming out or the 4000 pounds of bricks.  It was kind of nice napping in the ER and listening to all the chaos.  Kim wasn't having the same good time.

The next morning my BP was 117/72.  I was miraculously cured.  Didn't last as the numbers climbed all day even though I was eating a healthy diet.  By the evening I was close to the levels of the previous evening for a short time before watching them drop.

Did I say I didn't take the medication they prescribed?

Same thing today.  Start normal and slowly work up through the day though nowhere near the crisis level.

*Sigh*

I guess I have entered Stage I Hypertension.  Downloaded a nifty app for the iPhone to record and chart my BP, mean arterial pressure, pulse, weight, and time of day.  By the time I see my doctor next week I will have a great set of charts he can use to lecture me about the importance of diet, exercise, and stress reduction.

I would really like to say this blindsided me but I knew something like this was coming.  I have been eating like a cartoon character for 50 years.  Something was going to happen.  I let my boyish figure deceive me into thinking things were AOK.

Thankfully I like riding enough that I want to keep doing it for awhile and will make the shift away from fat, sugar and salt.

Farewill bacon.  Goodbye chocolate Tastycakes.  Ciao pizza. No more two cheese hot dogs for 99 cents.  It's going to be a sad culinary life.

I think I need a motorcycle to help manage this transition.

Doubt, Foreboding and the Solitary Adventurer

Yesterday evening I took a little ride around the valley inspecting the landscape after a thunderstorm had rolled through.  Hardly an adventure compared to those souls who venture forth on long journeys lasting days and weeks through unknown places.

A recent post on Shreve Stockton's (author of The Daily Coyote and Honeyrock Dawn) Vespa Vagabond blog discussed the challenges for riders who announce plans for adventures to friends and family and the ensuing resistance, doubt and anxiety it can arouse.  Her post titled An Interview of Sorts answers questions from a woman planning a trip across the United States on her Vespa.  It's worth reading, especially for riders who've not ridden alone or gone on longer trips.

Stockton writes of her own solo cross country journey on her Vespa ET4, details, route planning, Vespa performance and such.  The most interesting part for me was when she described how those plans were received by the people you hope will support you in life.  She touches on fear of the unknown and the perceived danger that lies over the next hill.  Stockton responds to real concerns about personal safety and disaster in the following manner: "As for the true, valid, compassionate concern ~ my answer to this (to others and to myself) is that "the bad things" could happen anywhere."

I think there is some freedom in those words for everyone worried about what might happen if they venture beyond their own backyard.

It's an I wish I could speak from a place of vast experience crisscrossing the country on my Vespa about how I put aside misgivings and apprehensions about venturing forth alone on the road.  Unfortunately such is not the case.  My solitary adventuring has all taken place within a 200 mile radius of home and within a 24 hour period.

Perhaps someday time and circumstance will allow me my own big adventure.

Sunday Morning Ride: Roll 521

I meet Gordon almost every Sunday morning at Saint’s Café to review our respective photographic lives for the week, to cajole or shame each other into further work, and to keep alive the dream of a creative life we heard rumored in graduate school. The 3 Prints Project (two rolls of film and three prints every week) began almost three years ago and has continued ever since with a few detours into digital and plenty of excuses for showing up without work.

On Friday I got an iPad2. Minutes after turning it on a strong desire to shoot film washed over me. The iPad may have been the digital straw that broke my analog back.

To be fair I like he iPad and acquired it to evaluate, test and monitor the release of the magazine I edit as an iPad edition. The measure of digital continues to grow in my life.

Friday afternoon the Leica is hanging around my neck, an extra roll of film in my pocket, and the world is revolving at a bit slower pace. Such seems to be the effect of shooting film.

Roll 521. I have to thank Matt Alofs of the 1PT4 photography blog for the idea of numbering by rolls. I have a mess of negatives and I have gone through many schemes of keeping track of them. Following his Flickr site I saw that he assigns roll numbers to sets of pictures. While I have no idea the meaning behind his numbers I thought it was a marvelously simple way for me to have a system that I could track.

The number 521 comes from the month and day I started using it. After that everything will just be sequential. I’m working on 522 now.

Matt has an amazing volume of black and white work that I have no idea how he finds time to produce. He documents the things he sees in life including ongoing portraits Kate (wife, partner, girlfriend, significant other?) in a manner that most partners would find withering. To shoot so much film is pretty amazing.  If I find out he is not scanning negatives I'll be really depressed.

Gordon arrived with digital prints of images made with his camera phone and a couple others made with a digital SLR during his drive to work. I’d arrived with a single print and contact sheet from the one roll of film I managed to shoot.

We’ve sustained a level of output over the years generating a steady stream of personal work, questioning process and intent, criticizing, supporting and tending the fragile flame of creative expression amidst the daily grind of earning a living.

 
Morning. Mount Nittany in the fog. My camera has pointed this way many times. Photographing the same subject over and over reveals something about the subject and the photographer. For me, this is home.

The iPhone and Camera+ app continues to impress me. This shot was made using the Clarity effect.

Last night I developed a single roll of black and white film. A familiar ritual repeated thousands of times over the last 20 years in this particular darkroom. The iPhone is always handy and this time makes a recording of the path less traveled in photography.

Looking at the contact sheet I realize I see the world differently with the Leica. Different than I do using a digital camera. Not better or worse, just different.

The ride into town was quiet with almost no traffic on US 322. Sporadic fog continually changed the landscape allowing me to ride from magical place to illusion and beyond.

I have a great capacity to be sloppy, something that does not incur many benefits in a darkroom. Rushed to make this proof print of Junior so I would have something to show at Saint’s Café. Flat, lifeless, drab. No digital effects to save me, mask the deficiencies of the image. And strangely, I am enjoying the process.

Again.

My printing skills and general late night sloth betray the magic a silver print can possess. Maybe next time I’ll work harder.

 On towards town and a brief stop to exchange stories with a small herd of Penn State quarter horses.

On through the fields, fog beginning to lift and reveal a gray day with threats of rain. The Vespa is indifferent and moves on and on and on.

After Gordon and I exhausted comments and ideas we parted company and I headed home on a slightly longer route. Climbing to the top of a hill along the road I was offered the opportunity to photograph these two motorcycles speeding in the opposite direction. Everything looks insignificant from this altitude. A reminder of how careful I need to be on the road.

At Café Lemont, a spur of the moment stop for tea and a Neiman Marcus cookie (love these things), I pull up next to a 2002 BMW R1200 GS. If the Vespa is ready to riding in and around town the BMW looks ready to ride in and around North America. Inside the owner pretty much confirms that assessment.

His name is Mark and he tells me he’s getting ready to ride to Nova Scotia and then on to Labrador. I ask if he’s ridden in Alaska (he has) and he tells me that he and his wife have ridden in Europe a couple times through Edelweiss Tours.

I mask any jealously and envy.

We talk for awhile, shake hands and go our separate ways. On the way home I think about what it might be like to ride for weeks on end or travel to some exotic location. Rounding a bend covered with gravel my attention returns to the road and I grow satisfied with the adventures I create within a 200-mile radius of State College. It’s what I can manage now with work and family. And I love the riding.

Not far from home I pass a barn with a horse gazing out the window. I went past and continued on for several hundred yards before I couldn’t get the image out of my head and made a quick U-turn to make a picture. Would never have done it on that big BMW K1600 GTL. Just saying.

And I’m still working on those reviews.

For now I’m just glad to get out and ride a little, make a few pictures, and spend some more time in the darkroom.

Vespa in the Rain

Sunday morning in a slow rain, meandering over familiar roads on my way to meet a friend in town.  I've stopped in this same place many times to gaze towards Mount Nittany, watch the landscape swallow up the road in an easy turn.  Twisting my boots into the pavement checking the traction, evaluating how much oil and scum was washed off through the night, gauge how far I could push the Vespa while riding though I never push very far.  Still, it's comforting to know what to expect.

Made this image with the iPhone camera using the Camera+ app.  Processed the image in the HDR mode.  I continue to be pleasantly surprised at the technical and creative range of these devices.  Feel bad now that I dropped in on the pavement.  No damage save for another scuff mark.  Saw a student in town last week busily texting on an iPhone with a shattered front.  Didn't seem to slow them down.

The rain slowed to a mist as I threaded my way through the alleys and streets of State College, my destination arriving too soon, the ride ending before I was ready.  Humes Alley is a favorite backdrop, old brick, hand lettered signs.  About as close as I come to an urban environment on any regular basis.

Prime parking for Saint's Cafe -- just twenty yards to the front door and never any charge.  At least not until the Borough decides to give me a ticket.  Or tow the scooter away.  So far Kelly Alley is my first parking choice.

Rainy days are for laying in bed or on the couch, reading a book, watching television, or indulging in some other sort of horizontal enterprise.  On the way home while making this picture I decided to pursue the bed despite how much I love the light on this kind of day. 

One last picture before home.  The monochrome nature of things in the rain almost prods me on to ride farther. 

Almost.  But there are naps to take and other things to do. 

That's how to make good use of a rainy Sunday.