Sunday Morning Vespa Rides

A ritual -- the Vespa sits in the driveway waiting for a turn of the key, a depression of the starter button, a push off the center stand and rolling on towards town.  Each Sunday morning, or nearly every occurrence not shrouded in snow, ice or personal sloth.

In the miles that follow a refinement of thought and purpose usually overcomes any concern related to yesterday or tomorrow.  For this time on the road I'm clear.

An emptiness permeates State College, Pennsylvania on a Sunday morning.  One reality among many, each rider or person bring their own interpretation.  By the time the Vespa rolls up Calder Alley I imagine my brain pumping serotonin into my system, blood vessels dialating causing vision and hearing to sharpen.  I see everything, miss nothing as if I'm reaping the benefits of some deep meditation.

The Sunday morning Vespa ride.

The world is reduced to a few simple elements of experience and the weight of concern and experience melt as if by magic.  In a few miles.  I've learned to get to this place quickly, feel the release, sense the smile spread out from within until I'm sure I'm glowing.

And all before that cup of tea.  How fortunate to find such a practice.

Riding.

Fleeting Summer and Melancholy Rides

The teazle have bloomed and their bare seed heads remain, a sure sign that the best part of summer is in the rear view mirror.  They trigger a melancholy akin to those Sunday nights as a kid when the closing credits of Bonanza rolled and I knew the weekend was over.  Not sure why I feel that way about summer since the crisp air of fall and winter are my preferred riding climate.

Last week I rode north under gray skies to nowhere in particular, just needed the soul soothing effect that riding can deliver.

Didn't take long before lightly traveled pavement turned into empty gravel as I ascended Beech Creek Mountain Road onto the Allegheny Plateau and Sproul State Forest.  The Kenda tires I have on the Vespa are fine on the highway but leave much to be desired on dirt and gravel.  Making mental and physical adjustments to the new road surface is a form of riding meditation as I watched my speed increase and ability to manage sudden changes in road composition.

Stopping to make a picture, pulling the foam plugs from my ears, I recognize the trilling symphony of late summer as thousands of cicadas perform -- more reminders of time sweeping past intensified by a sense of existential emptiness.

Or so I convince myself.

Choices.

Small roads become dirt tracks.  There always seems to be an alternative route especially when you're not really concerned with where you end up.  The biggest risk is traveling miles only to find a gate closed.  A problem in a cage.  Not so much with a scooter unless you're unlucky enough to run into one of the rare rangers who have to patrol hundreds of square miles of forest.

I stop sometimes for the oddest reasons.  Here because I'm convinced I'll find a rattlesnake in the ferns.  And to eat a few crackers and drink some water.

I saw no snakes.

It started to rain at this stop, the sky dark and thick with moisture and with the temperature hovering around 70F I didn't relish the idea of riding wet.  Fears were unfounded though and there were never more than a few light showers lasting only minutes.

A lot of riders passing through central Pennsylvania never get to experience the potential of the small, anonymous state roads as they cling to more familiar routes like US 6.  You can't ride as fast on a lot of these roads and the likelihood of deer and other mammals is greater, and there are no places for food or fuel, but I believe there is a mystical experience in these places that the more adventurous rider can find.

Seventy miles from home, along the west branch of the Susquehanna River I decide it's time to go home.  Not every ride can be a long ride but it's often enough to get out and let the noise and chaos flow from your head and let the world rush over you.

And let those melancholy feelings about life sweeping by become a calmer, soft drift like a river in summer.

Vespa and the Long Gravel Road

Vespa is synonymous with urban transportation.  Many consider it a little, around town machine, leaving longer and more rigorous riding to the realm of motorcycles. Distance is the domain of the touring and cruising bikes.  Gravel the territory of dirt and dual sport machines.  The Vespa can stay in the neighborhood making runs to the grocery store or work if it's not too far away.

On Sunday morning I took a ride before breakfast, a 140 mile sprint through the Pennsylvania Wilds including 20 miles of dirt and gravel through Sproul State Forest.  The Vespa isn't a dirt bike but even with street tires it zipped along nicely between 25 and 45 miles per hour on these roads -- speed dependent on how much sightseeing I was doing.

The Vespa is just fine outside town and off on the long gravel roads.

Postcard from the Sticks

There are times on the road, or off, that I celebrate my good luck to be able to ride.  Doesn't matter what you ride or where you ride, these moments present themselves as opportunities to give thanks that I'm alive and walking on the earth.

Best wishes from the Sticks.  Ride well.

Piston and Pints V 3.0

Tuesday evening marked the third occurrence of Pistons and Pints in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania -- a "moto hang" as organizer Ken Hull describes it.  Good turnout with over 20 bikes on hand from the lowly Ducati to the amazing Vespa.  And representatives from KTM, BMW, Triumph, Suzuki, Yamaha, Harley and Honda.  And even a Buell.

If you've not made it mark your calendars -- the first and third Tuesday of each month from 5 to 8 pm.  The event is reaching a critical mass now so the lies and fabrications about riding prowess should escalate.

Without further ado I'll share pictures and a few comments.

Top case on a Burgman scooter.  The scooter hasn't ridden in all these places but the rider has.

Here's the rider -- Robert -- or on the Adventure Rider forum -- poppawheelie.  The mexi-scooter belongs to his wife.

I seek out comfort on the couch looking out towards the machines and riders.  Pretty much everyone stayed outside to talk.  I like the idea of a couch in the garage though.  Ken had a big LCD monitor running trials video.  Sort of.

Two silver Vespa GTS scooters in one place and only outnumbered by Ducati motorcycles.  Ducati started life making scooters so I suppose it's ok.

Designer Jonathan Ziegler arrived on his 1977 BMW 75/7; the oldest bike their save for Ken's 80cc Yamaha Trial bike.

Mark Sapia owned the other Vespa but he seemed intrigued by the Ducatis.

The first female rider showed up with a friend (spouse, sibling, significant other) on Tuesday evening.

Lots of bikes and expertise available.

Ken took this Buell for a ride.  I thought he was going around the block.  Must be a slow bike.  Took him half an hour.  He seemed excited when he got back.

Paul Ruby on his BMW K bike.  Last picture of him I posted he was laying on the road.

The fellow in the gray shirt is a mechanic from Kissell Motorsports and he offered some interesting information about Ducati modifications earlier in the evening.  One of the benefits of getting together a bunch of riders.

See you next time.

Riding to the Retro Eatery

Sometimes you don't know where you'll end up.  When I rolled out of the driveway this morning the last place I thought I'd find was the Retro Eatery in Philipsburg, Pennsylvania.

Breakfast is always on the agenda for a Saturday morning ride.  My friend Paul Ruby and I did some really superficial planning in his driveway before deciding to head west into Moshannon State Forest.  Paul captured me with his iPhone while I documented the presence of the Vespa.

Paul is not like any other rider I know.  When Kim saw this picture she said "I see Stevus and Butthead are still around."  Paul was just trying to get better reception.  Besides, a road is always much more comfortable to lie on than gravel.  Everyone knows that.

Paul did surprise me by riding his Piaggio Fly 150 this morning instead of his BMW K1200 or Ducati 1198.  He probably needed some scooter karma.

Black Moshannon State Forest is a beautiful place, changing with the weather, the seasons, and during this ride parts changed by chain saw.  As we moved along something caught my eye which led to one of those cool U-turns only a scooter can make.  Paul discussed creative possibilities for photos but I stopped him before he got to the part that might involve being naked.

Artists...

This woodland torso leaped out at me.  Not sure what I was thinking but I've learned to not second guess intuition.  Click on the image to get a better view.

When we got to Philipsburg our plan was to eat at The Little Restaurant but it was closed.  Fortune smiled on us though in the form of the Retro Eatery.  I should of made some pictures inside because it has a cool decor.  If you find yourself riding up onto the Appalachian Plateau you should stop for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

Nice place.

Paul had Retro Eggs Benedict and judging by the way he devoured them I think he would give them a thumbs up.  I had my usual eggs and bacon and was pleased as well.  Nice, relaxed way to spend breakfast.

All good things have to end sometime and for us it was the clock striking 11 and my desire to get to the bank and pay the mortgage before it closed.  It's always something.  An organized man would investigate this "Auto-Pay" thing...

A New Yamaha Vino 125 in the Fleet

A new Yamaha Vino 125 joined our fleet of two scooters yesterday.  It stands outside Track 'N"Trail Inc. in State College, Pennsylvania, the local Honda, Yamaha and Suzuki dealer.  My daughter Hannah waits patiently for me to make my picture so we can move on home.  With traffic heavy at the end of the day I wasn't too worried about getting anywhere quickly.

Last night in State College, among some of the evening riders in the free parking motorcycle spaces. Some of you might be wondering how years of Vespa obsession gave way to the Vino.  Here's the story.

My youngest daughter Aleta moved back to State College from New York City.  With public transportation abundant she had no need to drive a car or ride a scooter.  Faced with the need to get around here a scooter seemed to her the more desirable option and I didn't disagree.

We began the search at Kissell Motorsports and she was attracted to a fine silver Vespa LX150 and a gleaming blue Vespa GTS250ie.  Had we stopped there it's likely we would have ridden away with the GTS.

But fate often intervenes.  At the first discussion of riding the scooter of note was the Honda Ruckus, a small, cool looking 49cc machine.  A visit to the Honda dealer (and subsequent calls to dealers throughout the region) revealed an absence of these little scooters anywhere.  Track 'N" Trail had a number of Yamaha Zuma scooters that looked pretty nice and one lone, raspberry colored Vino.  Aleta walked towards it grinning and the word, "Shiny" passed her lips.  It was the one.

It definitely has a lot of chrome compared to the Vespa scooters and it is shiny.  A quick deal on the scooter and I'll soon begin trying my hand as a scooter riding instructor.

I had to run into town last night and decided to take the Vino.  I was pleasantly surprised by it's handling and pep for a scooter with an engine half the size of my GTS.  Aleta will have no problem dealing with traffic in and around town and I'm certain I could ride this thing almost anywhere other than on the expressway.  And if I rode it long enough I would try it there as well.

The Vino starts as if by magic.  Press the starter button and the engine instantly runs -- almost as if it was already running and you just turned on the sound.  And it has a nice engine sound as well.

Did I say it was shiny?  I understand Yamaha is no longer importing these into the United States and instead it placing their hopes in the Zuma basket.  So we got a great deal on this little guy.

Aside from the obvious acceleration differences between the Vino and GTS the scooter runs through the sticks without complaint, cruising comfortably at 45mph.  On a flat straight section of road it could haul my 210 pound body at about 55mph.  Aleta should see better performance.

We'll start the instructor-student relationship next week and see how long it takes before Aleta suggests she doesn't need my help.

Out Standing in the Field

Drawing a deep breathe in the middle of a quiet field -- a simple pleasure costing no more than the time it takes to get there.  This morning, stepping carefully through a pasture normally inhabited by Quarter Horses and Angus cattle, I stand and take in the world.

Complaining to a friend how difficult I always found it to relax -- having tried yoga and meditation on and off through the year -- I've found it by way of the Vespa.  Regardless of what crap inhabits my head a ride clears away the noise and leaves me weightless.

Out standing in the field.

The narrow paths, seldom traveled roads and lanes, each offering up their own tapestry of experience.  If only for a few minutes.  It hardly matters anymore where I go or what I see.  The act of riding surfaces supreme.

What a fine day it is.

Seven Seconds

A flash of lightning and my mind immediately begins counting to seven -- the time it takes the associated sound to travel one mile.  I've been doing this for a long as I remember and apply it now as a tool to manage risk while riding home.

First trip to the scooter at the end of the day abandoned as I gazed at the blackening sky.  The iPhone displayed an angry orange line of storms approaching quickly and forcing a decision to return indoors.

An hour later, after the lightning and heavy winds it was time to ride home in a light rain with scatter rumbling and an occasional flash of electrical menace. The new windscreen does a surprisingly good job of keeping rain off my body, at least while in motion, and providing a small sense of weather protection.  Like the topcase before it the screen has proved a valuable investment.

Stopping at the grocery store I made this picture and posted to Twitter with the message "Necessary stop for groceries. #Vespa waits while lightning crackles overhead. #dumb".

The current count was 12 seconds.

Almost home, one last stop, one last questioning of the reasoning behind choosing to ride during inclement weather.  There is a rigor to it, a testing and questioning, "Are you made of stern stuff?".

Whatever the answer I arrive home satisfied.  And still counting.