The Road Ahead

Roads, as life, have many twists and turns.  And it's those twists and turns that make the trip interesting. I've ridden this stretch of road dozens if not hundreds of times and it can still appear new and unexplored at times.  Why is that?

You never know for sure what's ahead on the road or what time and experience will reflect.  Riding, making photographs, and collecting notes and ideas on scraps of paper sometimes help reveal where you are, or more importantly, where you're going.  Standing in the driveway on a rainy morning I wondered where I was headed.

The Vespa hasn't been gathering many miles -- blame work and other interests.  Standing among a copse of Eastern Redbud trees in full bloom seemed more spectacular after so many riding deficient days.

NOTE TO SELF: Even when busy -- take time to ride.

Rain, mist and a palette of gray and a measure of imagination imbues the most ordinary path with a hint of majesty.  I've watched these days pass behind the wheel of the van, from my office window, and recognize their power.  It's the days they pass unnoticed that worry me.

How many times have I walked through a field like this and turned around to look at the scooter?  For a moment it appears as an archetype for freedom though all know how fleeting a machine can me.  If there is something eternal it is the riding experience limited only by the mind's ability to restore it from memory.  Almost like a painter, I ride, step back and examine what I've done before adding the next riding stroke to the canvas.

Thomas Merton wrote, "Happiness is not a matter of intensity but of balance, order, rhythm and harmony."

Riding less has affected the order and balance of things.  So has a lack of production photographically.  Sunday morning meetings where new photographic prints were once common have become celebrations of creative emptiness.

At least I can rock a Twisted Roads t-shirt.

My friend Gordon and I contend for the collective titles of "Least Creative", "Most Useless", and "Champion Sloth".  Or so it can seem.  As he experiments with a Holga panoramic camera my own photographic actions have me divesting of cameras on eBay with only a vague perception that my days of putting my hands in chemicals to process film and make prints have ended.

It is good to talk about such things though.  Gordon came close to becoming a Vespa rider himself as he engaged the obsessive dance with eBay, Craigslist and other appropriate web tools to find the right deal on a scooter.  He wavered though and instead invested in a motorhome.

They are similar on some level.

The weather's been exceptional of late and the central Pennsylvania roads have never been more inviting for riders.  I've chosen to do other things though -- some because I have to and others because I want to.  One thing you will see in the coming weeks is a return, in part, to adventures mechanical.  There are a variety of things I need to do from changing tires to repainting the exhaust system and I've made a decision to expand my mechanical skill.

I'll report here all successes and disasters.  Hopefully only the former.

But soon the Vespa will be back on the road in a more serious way.

One Last Vespa Ride in the Snow

I swear it was 80 degrees last week.  This morning it's snowing.  I feel as if I'm living in one of those science fiction disaster movies where the world is about to end in some cataclysmic natural conflagration.  Despite my imaginings I took the opportunity for one last ride in the snow.  A few moments is all it takes to douse the little Canon G9 camera with liquid ice while making this picture.

Wet, heavy snow, falling at the freezing mark is more a problem of vision than of traction.  Large globs of icy slush gather on everything while at the same time fog becomes almost impossible to remove from the inside of the visor.  Still, it was one last time in the snow.  Call me crazy but I'm drawn to it.  And now I expect warmer weather ahead...

Scooter Cannonball Run 2012

What would it be like to look out on a different part of America every morning for a week?

On Sunday morning scooter riders from across the country will be in Savannah, Georgia to embark on the 2012 Cannonball Run -- an eight day, 2500 mile race to Motorsport Scooters in San Diego, California.  It's a big ride for a scooter.

I would have forgotten had it not been for the timely email notification from Scootin' Old Skool -- thanks Orin!

The biannual race is fun to follow as the riders make their way across America.  There are a variety of places to keep up with the action and informative for anyone considering a scooter but have doubts about their capabilities.  Vespa, Piaggio, Yamaha, Kymco, Stella, SYM, Honda and Suzuki are all represented.  There's even a 1961 Sears scooter in the race.

Official Cannonball Run 2012

Followride.com

Cannonball Run 2012 on ModernVespa.com

High Mileage and the Vespa GTS 250ie

Morning along Interstate 99 on my way to breakfast 60 miles from home.  The freeway isn't a common choice but when gathering miles is the goal it's an easy path to that end.

The April 2012 issue of the BMW Owners News published results of the annual mileage competition heralding the achievements of male and female riders by state with awards going to the champions.  Casual conversations with a wide range of riders who I've crossed paths with confirm a fascination with racking up miles -- an end in itself with very little attention to the landscapes traversed.  Maybe it's easier to collect miles than experience.  Maybe they're the same thing.

A Vespa is not associated with mileage competitions or even capable of such feats unless you fall into the scooter underworld.  ModernVespa.com is full of anecdotal evidence of mind boggling mileage feats from the annual Canonball Run (a cross America scooter race) to riders who routinely put tens of thousands of miles on their Vespas every year just commuting to work.  My particular favorite is the fellow from Clearwater, Florida who retires, decides to buy a scooter, and for his first trip rides to Fairbanks, Alaska and back, a nice little near ten thousand mile ride.  He's repeated the feat.

Still, the BMW mileage competition raises some interesting questions.  Paul Antonio, another Florida rider, put 42,419 miles last year on his 2010 BMW R1200RT.  Some quick math says he needs to ride 116 miles every day to pile up those numbers.  Whenever I run into someone who tells me about high mileage or long trips the same question pops into my head as it did when I read the article; "Don't these guys have jobs?"  I can't get my head around the time it takes to put that many miles on a motorcycle.  Or a car for that matter.

Antonio indicates in the article that he's semi-retired and has amble time and good weather to "ride first and work later".  I'm going to discuss this notion with my boss next week.  Top female finisher Nancy Lou Dunn put an impressive 30,215 miles on two BMW F650GS motorcycles -- maybe more impressive than the top male because Dunn lives in Michigan which has a markedly shorter riding season.

Cold weather definitely has an effect on riders and the accumulation of miles.  A stop outside of Tyrone was motivated by the desire to record the scene and to let my blood warm a few degrees.  After 20 minutes at 70mph in 35F air I was cold and made a note to adjust my attire for freeway riding in the future.

I also wondered whether BMW has a complex algorithm to adjust mileage for various experience deducting credit for bikes with fairings, windshields and a variety of electrical heating devices.  And surely a mile in sub-freezing Michigan is worth more than a spring day in Florida.

Just past Tyrone I got off the freeway preferring the more relaxed riding on old US220 over the boring monotony of the superslab experience.  It's always an adventure to be riding along and finding the road closed and being forced onto an alternative route.  And at that moment I began to wonder about the differences between collecting miles and collecting experiences.  I place myself in the latter category preferring to spend my days wandering and meandering without a destination or concern about how many miles I've put on the Vespa.

I've ridden 400 mile days on the Vespa and know what that's like.

It's difficult to ride 400 miles on meandering back roads with 35mph speed limits.  It's why so many road reports don't seem to ever say much about routes like these.  Riders like to go far and fast.  A colossal waste of machine to putt along the countryside.

I have a bit under 20,000 miles on the GTS after five years of riding.  That would put me at the low end of the BMW mileage competition for some states and in the middle for others.  What that tells me that not all BMW riders are about collecting miles.  Some might be like me and enjoy the scenery.

After breakfast my father-in-law and I went for a short ride before I had to head home.  The temperature had risen nearly 15 degrees after a lazy breakfast making it far more pleasant to be on the road.

At 74 Bob's still riding to work on his ET4 and wishing he had started riding far sooner that he did just a few years ago.  I ask myself the same question from time to time and have only run into a few people who started to ride and quickly abandoned it.  Almost all because they started the experience on a machine far too big for their ability and scared themselves stupid.  More so than they were when they made their purchase.

A stop outside an old church in Sinking Valley Presbyterian Church for a drink of water and a look at the old cemetery.

There's no reason the Vespa can't keep going for a long, long time and undertake trips to the same destinations that large motorcycles undertake.  The only difference is the comfort factor at high speed.  While all day riding on the freeway is possible on the Vespa the place it really shines is on web of secondary roads across North America.  A person could easily tour through all the lower 48 states, Canada and Alaska on a Vespa with little problem.  And following it's natural connection to the road less traveled have a bang up time to boot.

You just need the time.

The road home is quiet and rolls through the agricultural valley just west of Tussey Mountain.  It's the kind of road a Vespa is suited for and far from the urban hipster image that's in many rider's minds.  It's ready to ride to the horizon and collect miles.  And I wouldn't be surprised if there isn't a Vespa rider out there somewhere that has put 40 thousand miles on one in a year.  But that kind of talk might be a bit threatening to the fantasy of some riders.

I'll close this post with some Vespa Dakar footage -- little scooters traveling with the big GS bikes.  I'm convinced that riding challenges have less to do with the machine and it much more about the mind.  And choices are made for reasons that have little to do with the tasks at hand.

Regardless, my hat is still off to those brave souls who pile on the miles.  Ride safely.

Fog is Strong Medicine

Fog is strong medicine -- it's stimulative power capable of pulling a comatose body from fantastic dreamworlds into a real world shrouded is gaseous water and mystery.  Forsaking plans and conceptions, no destination in mind, far from home in the dawn mist, I could feel the energy whispering through me, urging me on.

Into the darkness.  Fine water droplets transform the view through the visor into a translucent white luster framing the road as it winds through the forest, subduing detail not already lost to the fog.  A finger drags across the outside of the visor, then inside, a vain ritual to navigate into the morning nebula. Make no mistake – fog increases risk in the riding world and demands careful consideration before choosing to explore.

Empty dirt and gravel roads in Rothrock State Forest changes scanning for vehicles to a search for sudden changes in the road surface, meandering black bears, fallen limbs, and the ever present white-tailed deer.

Bear Meadows.  This place retains the same lure today as it did when I first visited in an orange VW beetle 40 years ago.  I see my dog Essa loping along the path, or remember falling through the ice on a New Year’s Day hike.  Sight and vision are sharpened by memory.

Kim and I used to come here before sunrise, hours before having to be at work to sit and write and experience the world.  And always when there was fog…

Free to explore.  That’s the secret power of a Vespa – far from discussions of fuel economy, hipster lifestyle or scooter culture.  It has power to move me into an altered state.  I’ve ridden a lot of fine motorcycles and scooters – this Vespa remains the perfect companion in my riding world.

The Vespa doesn't say no.  It just goes without complaint or demand as if just as driven to experience as its rider.  Through rain and snow, mud, ice, wind and darkness, the Vespa is up to the challenge. In videos of the Dakar and pictures of them rigged for water crossings, it is a hearty machine.

In a culture of bigger, faster, stronger a scooter isn’t a comfortable fit.  After tens of thousands of miles on a Vespa I’ve come to see the difference between my choice and the choice others would make for me should I give them the chance.  

Reflection.  Miles from home, standing in a stand of hemlocks listening to a small brook babble along on its way to the Chesapeake Bay, a mind is free to wander and wonder and reflect on whatever is important at that moment.  This doesn’t happen standing at the water fountain down the hall from my office…

The spell is broken.  I’ve read there are no wild places in the lower 48 states.  Certainly none in central Pennsylvania.  Still, in the fog a mind can wander and pretend.  Nothing breaks that wilderness bubble faster than the intrusion of runners into a fantasy.  Serious ones no doubt – the loop they were taking has 15 miles of mountain running ahead before returning to civilization.

Down the mountain.  A steep grade on mud and loose gravel challenge the scooter’s descent and highlights the need for careful braking and the technical limitation of the Vespa’s automatic transmission.  The Heidenau winter tires provide enough grip and bite to make for a reasonable ride.

Return to civilization.  Rides can’t last forever, especially ones made without boundaries measured in hours.  The departure from one world to another is softened on a foggy day, each mile unfolding with it’s own secret personality.

Sharpened vision. The Vespa bears witness to the landscape shaped and twisted by fog driven light as its small wheels turn through mud then gravel and back onto the security of pavement.  There’s a pull back to the forest and another on into the day.  I’m glad I can feel it.

Fully medicated. Mentally. Emotionally, Physically. How better to start a day than a ride in the fog. A few hours investment for a valuable return – it’s strong medicine and requires no prescription. A simple choice to ride.

Extreme Scootering

FOLDING CARAVAN

Watching this video I try to imagine Kim, Junior and I on our way to the beach. It's extreme scootering and probably beyond my personal riding limits.

Thanks to Dom Chang (aka Charlie6) of Redleg's Rides for sharing the link to this video. I won't ask how he found it. I do know he's trying to lure me into the sidecar quadrant of the riding universe. What do you think of his chances for success?

Too Nice Not to Ride

Spring morning rides on the Vespa are electrifying.  A visual candy store of light and texture offers an available camera moments of photographic relaxation -- images captured to reignite memories later.

Scooters have emerged from garaged cocoons as riding butterflies -- simple, quiet, elegant machines of transport and joy.  Or so I see them.  Here as the sun neared the evening horizon I stood wondering who belonged to the other Vespas.

Ephemeral spring blossoms demonstrate the speed in which time passes. Organic reminders of the constant flow of life and the cycle of change. I don't think of these things often -- at times with a camera, on the scooter, or scratching out words on a page in my journal.

It's been too nice not to ride at all so I make the most of rides to work and short errands around town. Feeling the Vespa respond to the throttle, the air rushing through my helmet, the world flowing by in a visual river of light and color -- I can feel my heart beat and the thrill of being alive and in front of it all.

Yes, it's too nice not to ride.

First Things First

Last week thick with riding temptation.  Soaring temperatures, greening landscape, a rapid departure from winter.  I made this picture on the way home from work and recognizing the lengthening days and expanding windows to ride.  But first things first.

My Vespa is filthy and coated with the grime and grit of winter.  A responsible rider would tend to his machinery and perform all reasonable and required maintenance.  At least give the thing a bath.

Time for the Heidenau Snow Tex tires to come off as well.  No sense in wearing the soft, sticky, expensive rubber compound away on warm, dry roads.  The exhaust system should come off as well, be sandblasted and repainted.  And a few more mechanical feats should be undertaken.  First things first.

Our naturalized, woodland garden is coming to life and with it a wide array of trimming, transplanting, raking and digging.  I made a decision to do this work before any serious spring time rides.  And the house calls out for its share of attention as well.  First things first.

Junior the jungle dog peeks through the bamboo grove in our garden.  This running form of bamboo, Phyllostachys  aureosulcata, needs a close eye to keep it from taking over the world.  Spring time means some exploration with a shovel and removal of the aggressive runners.

And there is a lot more work to do.  So before any major Vespa adventures I need to tend to first things first...

$5.24

$5.24.  That's what I paid this morning to fill up the Vespa after 78 miles of back and forth to work -- $4.159 per gallon for 1.259 gallons or premium fuel.  Stops at the gas pump can be satisfying experiences.

Tapping on my iPhone calculator (I've ceased doing math in my head) reveals fuel consumption at 62mpg.  That's in the normal range for rides to work.  Slightly higher on trips.

A light rain was falling but the air was almost warm making for a pleasant ride.  Cost of that kind of ride -- priceless...

The Project Bike

Paul and I left for Bellefonte and a late breakfast on one of the balmy days last week.  No better way to burn a half day's vacation time from work. A BMW K1200 GT is an unlikely pairing with a Vespa -- I've witnessed demonstrations of the power advantage of the BMW as it fled from the scooter at a pace I could never hope to match.

During breakfast I was reminded of project bikes when an old neighbor and her daughter stopped by our table.  Her son, Cooper, has a project going in their basement with his Honda motorcycle completely dismantled and awaiting reassembly.  Cooper, if you read this, pay no attention to your sister's predictions that it will never run again.  She just doesn't understand the spiritual power of the mechanical journey you've undertaken.

That brings me to my own thoughts of a project bike.  A couple weeks ago I received an email from Paul instructing me to clear out the garage and gather some cash -- he found the perfect project bike for us -- a 1989 URAL.

After breakfast we paid a visit to the the machine in question.  As I neared I could feel my wallet try to leap from my pocket.  The smell of sulfur floated in the air as a cloud passed over the sun.  There, under a roof next to a garage sat the URAL.  Sat might be too strong.  There it existed might be better.

The registration tag on the license plate indicated 2005 as the last legal time it was on the road.  The earth was slowly absorbing the URAL and a sense of sadness permeated the air.  The odometer showed less than 2000 miles and was explained by the owner as resulting from problems with the bike when it was new and the dealer setting it up improperly.  Those actions led to the repeated fouling of sparkplugs at the 60 mile mark and he eventually grew tired of replacing them and of the URAL in general that he parked it and walked away.  That's 2000 miles in 16 years.  Sweet.

Mechanical projects called to me despite the general hatred I have for machines.  The puzzle, the challenge,  some hard to describe experience sings out and I feel vulnerable to bad decision making.  Experience has proved over and over that they are black holes for cash, money, and spirit.  And they likely will never be completed.  In my head plays a film of my construction of a dune buggy on a custom chassis utilizing an engine from a 1963 Corvair Spyder.  With thousands of dollars invested when I left for college by mother sold it to someone for $300 while I was away -- less than the price of the headers I put on the engine.

And there's the 1949 Willys Jeep pickup truck that my father and I completely dismantled and sandblasted with loving care.  The engine to a speed shop to be rebuilt, time and sweat and cash invested only to turn it over, unfinished, to the buyer when he sold his farm.

Staring at the black URAL I could see myself cleaning out the garage, organizing my tools for an assault, preparing for a mechanical siege worthy of at least two write-ups at GarageJournal.com. I could feel my head being pulled closer and closer to the engine by URAL forces, vision dimming, reason evaporating, Paul dancing a jig, the seller dangling the $1200 price tag in my face...

And then a flame flickered inside me, a soft voice slowly rose in my mind speaking clearly, "Ride, son, ride.  Don't clean, don't dismantle, fix or modify.  Abandon the search for parts, the need to weld or paint or modify.  Ride, and ride again.  Waste not a minute of your life on such a project..."

And so it has passed.  The URAL awaits another rider.

Happiness is Not a Destination...

There is a moment before I press the starter button on the Vespa when everything becomes simple.  Even on cold mornings that requires a frustrating amount of time to put on, the moment when the ride begins is a door into a simple place.

Gordon Harkins displays a found object at Saint's Cafe.

Happiness is a strange thing.  I've learned over the years that it's not a destination.  I've heard stories that it's a state of mind.  And others have postulated it to be nothing more than a chemical reaction in  our brains resulting in an emotional reaction we collectively label happiness.

Most instructive to me is Thoreau's pondering:


Happiness is like a butterfly; the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder...

The butterfly appears while riding, and I shed the worries of the world and am grounded in the moments flying by on the road.

The past week saw the last of the snow evaporate and temperatures climb close to 60F.  I won't be sad to see the cold weather behind and warmer rides the norm.  In a few weeks these farm fields will grow green and the winter tires will come off the scooter.

Evenings are still cool but don't limit riding like frigid, sub-freezing ones not so far off.  In winter sighting riders is an infrequent occurrence.  Standing on the concrete deck of the parking garage I think I saw a butterfly...

The Doe

She raced into the right side of my peripheral vision, entering the plume of light cast by the headlight on a dark road, body churning, straining alongside the scooter. Breathing halted with a fierce intake of air, the animal moved closer as I realized my right hand had already begun throttling back, slowing the Vespa on the wet road.

It was a long day at work, one of those days when the mind leaps from one task to another, switching gears, changing realities so often that you just end feeling numb, stupid, living in a mental fog over which there seems no control. The desire to get on the scooter at 9pm was strong.

Rain fell in big, lazy drops, streaking the blackness ahead with white streaks in the beam of light. New heated gloves felt hot, a stark contrast from the cold wet air rushing under my helmet. Gingerly applying pressure to the rear brake,  the doe lunged left in front of me, her eyes wide as she fought to gain speed. For just an instant everything seemed like it moved in a slow motion performance.

I’ve been here before, riding at night in the rain ready to meet the deer of which the bright yellow signs give warning. A hundred times I’ve convinced myself that I’d be ready to manage the moment.

The Vespa slowed without sliding, the machine straight, tires rolling as the rear hooves lingered in the air then disappeared into the blackness. Breath quickly fogged the inside of the visor as I considered chance, luck, and fortune against experience and skill. A mile down the road I believed in magic and the sudden appearances of ghosts and other visitors, the knowledge quickening my excitement to be riding. Riding on my mind was clear, sharp and a strange feeling of satisfaction remained, as if I was tested and passed. Or perhaps it was nothing more than understanding that there is no test – just life.

Institutional Risk

I saw this video for Central Institute in Australia this morning. Recruiting students is serious business at educational institutions and the approach and manner in which this is done varies wildly. Central commissioned two former students to make a video that would speak to potential students. Time magazine calls it "perhaps the best technical school recruiting video ever.".

It's definitely different than anything I've seen in the recruiting world and I can't imagine the conversations with school officials that must have transpired to get it approved. Vomit, curse words, beer and death are topics not usually associated with schools trying to attract new students.

Risk. Is it part of success?

Vespa on a Sunny Day

The sun finally came out and if it weren't for the wind I could almost believe it was spring.  I'm tired of winter and riding has become a chore in itself of late.  So it was nice to wander around on the scooter, collect some mud under the fenders and just live under a blue sky while it lasts.  Still some snow and ice around in the shadows or on the mountains but nothing to worry about on the road save for the distracted drivers, whitetail deer, and copious amounts of gravel collected at every intersection or other place requiring turns.
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I took the day off and caught myself thinking it was Saturday a few times since it's rare to be out in the middle of the day on the Vespa otherwise.  In a few more weeks it will be time to shed the winter tires and get back to the warm weather set up.  Won't be long until I'll see green in place of all the orange and brown.

Sky clouded up in the middle of the afternoon dropping me back into that gray, twilight world I've become accustomed to.  A last swing through town to pick up some chocolate at the Boalsburg Chocolate Company.  A fitting end to a relaxed day.

Planned to take Junior to the park to play ball but he was zonked out from an earlier outing.  I think the smart choice would be to recline on the couch and do nothing.  It is a vacation day after all.

Maybe tomorrow will be more productive.

Winter Riding Miscalculation

Fourteen degrees and windy this morning when Junior and I made our way up the street to play ball.  It was one of those mornings when even a dog pauses to consider the weather. I carefully inspected the street surface trying to differentiate how much loose dry snow on top of bare pavement was blowing around versus more tricky ice and adhering snow.

While Junior periodically chased the ball and then hunkered down in the snow I collected pertinent data and made a few riding calculations.

1.  It's cold.

2.  It's really cold.

3.  It's damn cold.

4.  The road is bad.

After careful consideration of all the facts I decided to drive the minivan into town for my 3 Prints Project meeting.

Or, 1+2+3+4=Honda Minivan.

As soon as I got on the main road I realized I had made a miscalculation. The roads weren't bad.  Almost dry in fact.  Though it still was cold.  I was glad I miscalculated.

When I looked at this picture I thought Gordon appeared to be hesitant to face the music inside Saint's Cafe.  He showed up with digital prints.  I showed up with no prints.  I can't be sure if I even want to make anymore prints.  We've been discussing a show but it all just makes me tired.  And I still have to fix the mixing valve in the darkroom.

Another Sunday morning sans riding.  I'm hoping for warmer weather.  I've grown weary of the winter struggle.  At least for today.