I've begun to look more closely at the tools I carry in a small nylon bag under the seat of the Vespa -- the right socket to remove a clamp, the correct extension to afford easy access to a bolt, an Allen wrench that will allow removal of the front wheel. Little things that spell the difference between an indefinite halt in progress or a seamless repair and return to the road. Spread across the driveway I wonder how much time I'll have to spend with them before feeling mechanically comfortable if not competent. Embracing this new discipline shines a light on personality shortcomings -- things like patience, perseverance and laziness.
Standing along the road in the freshly graded roadbed, grinding the soles of my boots into the fine limestone recalled the thrill of new clod-hoppers as a kid and the rush to get them dirty, see how they would perform in every dirty, dusty place I could find. Almost everything about riding (and moments passed along the road) brings a rush of well-being -- physical, mental and emotional. Regardless of circumstance or location the energy turns up the corners of my mouth and sends me to somewhere good. For me at least.
The weather has been idyllic of late. Last Saturday morning was bright, cool and unfolded to give the most routine of rides an utterly unfettered, seemingly effortless quality of freedom -- or something closely related. The weight of living is stripped away long enough to see why I'm here, standing on the earth. No small gift and reliably delivered for years now by a scooter.
No long ride this day. Just a trip to breakfast on the other side of the valley -- just a 15 mile ride. I was surprised to see my daughter standing in the parking lot talking on the phone. She arrived by bicycle training for an upcoming race of irrational distance but did stay to take in some carbs before moving on. I used to ride a bicycle. It never delivered what I was after:
Flying -- the world rushing by, eyes forward, wondering what's ahead...
Put the exhaust back on the scooter last night. Had to use an automobile style clamp until the Piaggio replacement clamp arrives at Kissell Motorsports. A ten minute idle in the driveway started the curing process for the high temperature paint. A while later I took to the road, the first time since early May.
Surprised me how good it felt to ride again. It's easy to go back to sleep and forget. I feel sad for all the people locked in their cages. And by choice. Didn't ride far, just far enough to remember.
All's not perfect though. The temporary clamp doesn't completely seal the muffler to the header pipe -- I can feel a bit of exhaust gas leaking along with an engine sound that isn't the normal, quiet sound I like. This weekend I'll see if I can fix that. Don't want to fall victim to an unfortunate burn through of essential components -- the gas gets pretty hot and there are more than a few stories circulating in the Vespa world about bearing failures and damage.
Still, I may sneak some short, slow rides. And stay off the higher speed tracks of the freeway...
The rusted, hulking Vespa exhaust sits on the driveway like an overturned tortoise, sad and useless. A more direct examination reveals the toll of salt and winter sludge on metal. When questioned by other riders about the challenge of being on the road in cold weather this is the picture I describe.
Routine means a wire brush and bottle of Naval Jelly to prepare for a new coat of high temperature enamel. Working away at the rust had me wishing I would have taken the air compressor and sandblaster my father offered me. Working on machines has a way of triggering memories and regrets.
Jack Riepe advised I send the thing toJet-Hotfor a new ceramic coating. I'm stubborn though and it would require a change in plans. I did send an email and received a prompt reply -- $80 plus shipping. A good price. An excellent price in fact. My auto mechanic told me yesterday he uses them to coat the exhaust system of his Lotus race car. Plenty of evidence was available to support the Jet-Hot course. But in the end I picked up a can of Rustoleum.
My father would have fixed the Vespa in a day. Less actually. And here I am stuck in a mental traffic jam making the simplest things seem impossible. Add to that a lot of tasks, projects and activities that divert time and energy. I was sitting in a U-Haul Cargo Van on the approach to the George Washington Bridge in New York when I made this picture. Traffic moved at a glacial pace as I pondered the wisdom of lane-splitting for motorcycles and scooters. Aleta and I were making a one day trip to Astoria to pack some things and return home.
If you ever want to test your age make a long drive, spend seven hours packing and carrying boxes from a third floor walk-up, and then drive home again.
The weather today was perfect for spray painting. A patina of rust gave way to a hiding coat of flat black enamel. Not as nice as the Jet-Hot coating would be but good enough to keep me on the road another year.
The instructions on the can say I need to bake the muffler. Won't fit in the oven so I'll have to do it tomorrow on the vehicle. Awaiting the arrival of a new stainless steel exhaust clamp from Kissell Motorsports so I'll have to use a conventional steel auto clamp temporarily. Makes me a bit nervous. I know what "temporarily" can mean.
Driving around Queens, New York in a downpour looking for a parking space is an adventure. Along Ditmars Boulevard I saw a Vespa LX150 parked in the middle of the street. Damn scooter riders do whatever they want. Didn't think I could park the U-Haul in the middle of the street.
Wasn't sure I was up to a long ride home after all the packing and moving but the road can be mesmerizing. By the time we crossed through the Delaware River Gap I found a second level of energy. A stop at a rest area later that night for 30 minutes sleep recharged my old batteries and I surprised myself when I pulled into our driveway at 2:30am.
I started wondering if I could do an Iron Butt Saddlesore 1000 ride on the Vespa. But only for a minute. Good sense won out as I floated into bed.
Often see scooter or motorcycle related sites and stories on the web -- seldom share or reference them unless I'm struck with something unique. The Scooterist is the creation of Đá Nguyễn of Vietnam and has a couple things going for it that piqued my interest. Any scooter blog that features an occasional motorcycle signals a recognition (albeit grudging) that the two-wheeled world isn't limited to small wheels.
Glimpses of old adventures and past riders always engages my imagination as I wonder what I was doing at the time. His heads up on the Elspeth Beard story, one of the early round the world riders, is a fun read.
But what I find most fascinating about the Scooterist is the photography and video. For moto-bloggers who are interested in visual storytelling there is a lot to learn here about style, approach and engaging imagery. And Mr. Nguyễn is fortunate in that it seems his girlfriend -- Qskulls -- is the artist who produces and directs must of that style. That sure makes things easier.
I'll be studying the pictures -- maybe I can reinvigorate my own work. And I confess that since I've been looking at all those vintage scooters on his site I have imagined once or twice what it would be like to have one myself...
I've resisted maintenance in general for anything and the Vespa in particular for a long time. Engaging in that kind of work can shine a harsh light on personal traits and habits. Searching for the right wrench can be an unwelcome reminder of disorganization. Rushing to turn a bolt before it's been properly treated with Liquid Wrench poses questions of patience and judgement. I'm beginning to understand what Pirsig might be suggesting.
The road ahead is twisting. Organizing workspace, tools, parts and revisiting old skills is just a first step. Recognizing limitations and when a professional is needed another.
The weather has been exceptional and the Vespa sits in the garage while wrestling with time and sloth and small mechanical demons. The twisting roads of central Pennsylvania will wait. They'll still be there when the work is done...
I've long thought about how to bring my dog Junior along on a ride. My daughter provided a possible solution today. A friend suggested that if I dog can ride along on the back of a Harley then Junior surely ought to be able to DRIVE a Vespa.
The day started simply enough -- time to remove the muffler from the Vespa, remove the rust that gathered during the winter, and apply several coats of new high temperature enamel. A simple task after a morning ride to a local cafe.
A cup of tea before heading home for mechanical chores. No hurry, no worries.
Sunday mornings are quiet, relaxed. With Penn State in summer session the crowd is less intense on the weekends.
The plan was a leisurely ride home, a stop for fuel, and then to the exhaust system. A perfect plan. Perfect until I twisted the bolt off on the exhaust clamp. The muffler is off but I need to drill out the remains of the bolt. That means getting all the crap off the drill press.
While I have the scooter in mechanical limbo I'll change and balance the tires and install the new Vespa windscreen I have.
It's always something when I take on these mechanical chores...
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.
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.
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...
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.
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 competitionheralding 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.
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 -- 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.
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?
