PIston and Pints: Back for 2013

Piston and Pints is back for another season of motorcycles, scooters and moto talk. The first event took place on April 18th at Ken Hull's moto shack and lounge in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania. The next event will take place on Thursday May 2nd at 6pm.  It you are within riding distance of Boalsburg jump on your motorcycle or scooter and stop by.  Below is the invitation Ken sent out to everyone he knew.  

SPRING IS HERE! And a new season of Moto Hang is too! Over the next few days, I will be transforming the Moto Shack & Lounge back to that super sweet place we so enjoyed last year. This year a mini fridge will replace the styrofoam cooler for our stock of "Pints" as well as non-alcohol drinks. The donation can will be there for sure as it proved to be a huge blessing to the group last year by providing such a wonderful surplus of cash that it totally funded our end-of-season cookout! Thank you everyone!

This year I'd like to ride more, but as before, it will depend on the crowd and mood. If not, that's cool, because one of the best parts of Moto Hang is the Hang - hanging out with fellow riders - talking, swapping stories, and sharing the life and love of Motoing.

Pistons & Pints will be the 1st & 3rd Thursdays of the month this year beginning at 6pm.

NEXT EVENT, May 2nd.

LOCATION, Rockey Alley and Academy Street, Boalsburg, Pennsylvania

Below are a few pictures from the April 18th event.  You can see more on my Scooter in the Sticks Facebook page.

Unwinding by Dog and Vespa

Morning, strong light, cool air, quiet walk.  Sunshine pours in and the energy level rises in response.  A fine way to begin another day on the earth. Poor Junior, sitting again, awaiting whatever happens with the small black box in my hand.  He would be more animated if it dispensed dog biscuits.

If sunlight adds energy then the sight of the scooter awaiting departure provides excitement, the kind that promises an electric flow through the body as the spine straightens and mouth tightens into a grin regardless of destination.

A few spare moments to chase the light at the end of the day, a brief distraction along a small stream in the mountains, a flicker of silver and sparkle that reminds of the small gifts found along a ride.  And with the slowly fading light comes that satisfied feeling that I've been part of something good, a life, a stumbling along a path like no other.

Just a short ride, some miles through the countryside and up along the graveled roads into Rothrock State Forest, the flush of pale green creeping towards a day when the forest is a sea of leaves.  A ride like so many others yet unlike any other in the sights, smells and thoughts burning along the way.

Unwound and free, relaxed and breathing easy -- small gifts of a dog and a Vespa.

A URAL to Alaska: Redleg's Rides Author on the Road Now

Each time I get on the Vespa I consider it the beginning of an adventure.  A ride to work, a trip to the grocery store, or an extended wandering to points unknown -- each writes its own story of experience and enlightenment.  

Well, enlightenment may be a bit strong.

But I do look to each ride for what it can offer and I call that adventure.  At least until I'm faced with capital "A" adventure.

Like Dom Chang's (author of Redleg's Rides) ride to Alaska on his URAL.  He's doing that right now, in the snow.  No waiting for the perfect weather window for him.  To get a flavor for how things are going check out his DAY 14 post.  He's in the Yukon heading up the Alaska Highway, snow, cold, and more.  I've bookmarked it as something to read whenever I get into the "woe is me" mood.

I met Dom about two years ago while I was at a conference in Denver and he was still piloting his URAL Sportsman of mid '90s vintage (I think).  He and his wife Martha and kids were gracious hosts and I had an opportunity to ride with him.  His approach was focused and methodical from gear to maintenance to riding.  Those traits are serving him well on the road to Alaska on a much newer URAL -- the same one I was riding not too long ago.

If you have a few minutes it's worth a visit to Redleg's Ride and follow Dom's Alaska journey in near real time!

Operator Error

Less than two hours ago, a stop along the road on the way home from work, the freshly fixed Vespa under the post-sunset glow.

Operator error.  Me.  The cause of the recent mechanical failures of the scooter.  Turns out there is a screw that holds the plug wire into the boot of the plug wire and unless you tighten it the wire will come lose. Go figure.

I saw the wire disconnected and interpreted "must have burnt off".  That's what it would have been on my '62 Ford Falcon.  And there's the problem -- my mechanical skills are a bit dated.  Add to that a level of mechanical inattention and assumption and it's no wonder I missed the screw thing.

Sincere apologies to any of you Vespa owners or thinking of being a Vespa owners -- no inherent flaw in the machine as long as you put it together right.

As I think of it, operator error is far more prevalent in my life than design flaws.  But that's water under the bridge.  I'm just happy to have the scooter back on the road and able to take advantage of this fine spring weather.  Special thanks to Craig, Josh and the rest of the gang at Kissell Motorsports for not laughing when I came in to get the scooter!

The Yin and Yang of Riding

After a long absence from the back of the Vespa is was good to be on the road again on a Saturday morning.  Spring is sweeping through the valley and the scent of fresh turned earth filled the cool air.  The chill from the ride was opposed by the fire to be riding again, the interconnected opposing forces of physical cold and psychic heat, a yin and yang experience.  I didn't know it at the time but this philosophical opposition would raise it's head again later in the ride in a more dramatic and challenging fashion.

As the tempo of the work week slowly unwound the little details of life began to emerge. Or at least I noticed them.  The lone tree in the middle of a field, that tree left behind to give a team of plow horses a place to rest under the noon day sun.  On the Vespa, riding slowly through the countryside, I become more willing to stop and smell the roses.

The roads in Penns Valley meander through farms and villages; the emptiness at times allowing a fantasy of isolation and aloneness I usually associate with the West.

Millheim, Pennsylvania.  Amish buggies are a familiar site here, especially on a Saturday morning.  Watching this one pass serves as a reminder of the range of definitions of simple living.  The goals I reach for seem complicated as I pointed the digital camera.  But only for an instant -- I was in Millheim for breakfast and my first visit to the Inglebean Coffee House.

I feel as if I've stepped into a scene from an LL Bean catalog shoot as I make my way to a chair to eat and make some notes in my journal.  For a moment a wave of nostalgic sadness sweeps over me as I realize that I grew up in a time when spaces like these were real and not replicas.  Hunting camps, sportsman's clubs, places my father took me.  Suddenly I feel old and at the same time alive, memories dancing like flames across a broad tapestry of experience.

A great place to pause the ride and have breakfast.  While sitting in that room I knew with certainty that I would not be there without the Vespa.  The ride -- the capital "R" ride -- brings forth an experience that would otherwise lay dormant within the plain monotony of an automobile.

Riding, it's like a dream.

Flying, that's what's it's like, riding along a sweep of asphalt through the forest.  Onward, forward, ahead and beyond.  It's good to be riding.

On the road again, the scooter running faster and smoother than I remember.  Anything is possible as I turn off the main road to ride over the mountain.  Not far from this spot the road turns to gravel and dirt and isn't maintained through the winter -- the promise of a more challenging ride on the Vespa.

And then, from the blue, the scooter stalls.   Restart, ride a few hundred feet and the engine cuts out again.  Not wanting to engage any mechanical issues alone on a mountain road I turn around and head for home.

Smart.

Minutes later something isn't right -- engine cuts out, restart, ride for a few moments and lose power.  Repeat the sequence again.  Each time the riding interval shortens until the scooter finally stops for good. A quick survey of the engine reveals the sparkplug wire has burnt off again where the wire meets the sparkplug boot.  I know how to replace the wire but no extra on hand.  The only course of action is to sit along the road, against a utility pole, and make the call.

So another kind of riding adventure began. I always wondered how the whole "broke down along the road" thing worked.  Now I know.  The scooter is with the dealer and I'll await the mechanic's verdict on what happens next.  The yin and yang of riding.  Strangely, I had fun throughout.

Hot Damn -- Vespa Back on the Road

The Vespa GTS250ie on the road last night, freshly repaired by Kissell Motorsports, the local Vespa dealer.  Oh my, how I missed that machine.  A long workday meant a short ride at dusk but satisfying nonetheless.

The final assessment on the GTS failure was a bad battery and not the fuel pump.  Hooray for that.  The repair I did was fine so I didn't introduce any problems -- just an unfortunate chain of coincidence.

The glow of State College, Pennsylvania in the distance.  Standing along the road making this picture I couldn't think of anything more perfect that being out in the world courtesy of a riding machine -- surely a result of the "distance makes the heart grow fonder" phenomenon.

I had forgotten how quick the scooter is.  It's always felt quicker than any motorcycle I've ridden.  Quick.  I'll have to ponder how to define that another time.

The lure to ride on into the night was strong but being a mature, thinking man I made the choice to return home and think about income tax forms and swapping out a toilet -- other equally soul enhancing activities.

One last stop in Boalsburg, Pennsylvania, just a block away from the Piston and Pints Moto Hang Lounge, for a picture of the Vespa in front of some of the local commercial establishments.

Late in the evening I said part of the Real Rider's Prayer:  Please, please let it only be the battery and that there be many more rides ahead.

Morning Fall: a video reminder of the risk of riding

Morning Fall from Boss Boyd on Vimeo.
Morning Fall
by Edward McGinty

The riding season approaches and with it a kind of tradition I've been building of presenting the Morning Fall video as part of a reminder to myself and other riders, beginners and experienced, of the risks we face and accept when we take to the road.  I don't believe we can ever afford to be complacent or deny what it means to ride.

So like the annual appearance of the Wizard of Oz or It's the Great Pumplin Charlie Brown, have a look at Morning Fall.

Does anyone else think about risk or has it drifted into the background?

Resignation and Acceptance

The view in my rear view mirror.  That's not a funeral procession, it's my friend Paul Ruby hauling my Vespa in for repair.  His big blue truck doesn't fly along as fast as some motorists would like. I finally gave up trying to fix the scooter myself, resignation and acceptance.

A lot of email has come my way about the mechanical problems.  I will have to post a more detailed description of what happened.  It's not a design or reliability failure of the machine.  Responsibility rests solely with me and my slothful approach to taking care of mechanical business.

I could fit the GTS into the back of my van if I removed the windshield and mirrors.  And if I had a ramp.  The big blue truck solution was easier -- just cheated the scooter in between the sidewall and a panini press.  (Paul makes a living selling stuff on eBay).

Kissell Motorsports.  THE place to find BMW, Ducati, Triumph, Vespa and URAL.  It's like a candy store for grown men.  And women I guess though I seldom see any female riders there.  They're probably all out riding and not wasting time drooling over machinery.

But I digress...

Inside, in the back, in the garage, someone will have a look at the Vespa and figure out what it will take to get me back on the road.

Here I am, sitting on the back of Paul's truck with a dead Vespa inside.  The last time I sat like this my LX150 was inside.  I didn't know it at the time but the drive belt change I attempted a day earlier led to the complete and total destruction of the engine.  I also led to the acquisition of a new Vespa GTS250ie.  The thought was going through my head about what I would be getting next.  And I still don't know the verdict.

If you want to read that old sad LX150 story, a reminder to anyone attempting their own maintenance when they are a sloppy worker like me, it's called NON-RIDING ADVENTURE.

My poor Vespa.  It's in the place where Ducatis go to die.  Like a bright colored metal elephant's graveyard.  At least that's what was going through my head when I made this picture.

The plus side of hauling an ailing scooter or motorcycle into a dealership is you get to immerse yourself in a sea of dreams.  Paul pointed out a lovely BMW 1200 RT that he would like to trade in his K1200 for save for this comment, "It costs more than a new Honda Accord." Craig Kissell can spot non-buyers like Paul and I a mile away.

I left with this list rolling in my head:

Triumph Bonneville
Triumph Scrambler
BMW F800GS
BMW F700GS
Vespa GTS300
Triumph Tiger 800 in Phantom Black

Stay tuned-- the mechanic should be returning with a verdict soon and I"ll know if I'm sentenced to life on a Vespa or sent to some alternative mechanical system.

Sweet and Sad Ride

Got the Vespa running this afternoon and had to go for a ride.  That was sweet and in the weather I love.

The sad news -- I think the fuel pump died miles from home.  Tomorrow the GTS gets trucked to Kissell Motorsports in State College, PA.  I've had enough -- I just want to ride.

Riding Makes the Heart Beat Swift

The familiar pattern, an errand, a chore, any chance to be on two wheels, moving, traveling, riding in the world.  The memory was almost dim until this evening the spell drifted like smoke on a calm night through mind and flesh.

Whispering.

Ride, ride, ride...

And suddenly the scooter is parked in the woods, the sun dying in the west, a simple pleasure of being pulsing through veins, heart beating with a swift lightness.

Riding again, a small scooter, a humble errand.

Remember how it feels, alone on the road, cares washed away revealing enchantment, a trance lined with bliss at just being alive?  The magic of riding -- forgotten somehow.




The last remnants of winter, dark, gray, dirty with the heavy feelings of a world too long cut off from the light yet I feel impervious to it's power.  I only want to ride, if only for a few minutes on a short, ordinary errand.

I remember the bewitchment, the alchemy of air and movement, sound and smell, images sweeping by like a fast stream in spring.

Almost home, a quick stop for a picture of the warm weather location of the Piston and Pints Moto Hang in warm weather.  For those nearby, there will be a Piston and Pints get together tomorrow -- March 30 at 6pm at Legends -- a lounge at the Penn Stater Conference Hotel in State College, PA.

A few miles on the road rewired my brain, introduced a heaping dose of thrill cut with desire and electricity. Side effects:  quickened heartbeat, easy smile, temporary reversal of the aging process.

Holy shit -- I love to ride. I have to fix the Vespa...

Mechanic Off-Duty

The Vespa GTS 250ie still sits in the garage awaiting the rise of the Vespa mechanic.  Tools are ready, parts on hand, even a sign hailing service was acquired hoping to prod the mechanic into motion.  All reports indicate an unusually resistant strain of procrastination.  Theories are mixed to the cause and lasso everything from cold weather to indolence.  Regardless, scooter riding has ground to a halt along with a list of other creative and spiritual endeavors.

Still, some things continue on -- more from coercion than desire.  These images, all made during the past week, markers along a narrow trail seeking a way out of a mental winter.

Junior insists on walks.  Walk is too tame, runs, wild reckless forays involving blaze orange rubber balls that whistle and sore throwing arms.  No excuses accepted and minor variations in schedule are met with snorts of frustration.  Repairing the Vespa?  Junior couldn't care less.

Trudging to work to meet his needs is fine as long as the balls continue to fly.

Kim saw the doll first, captured it, resolved the strangeness with her camera as the totem reached out as if to make one last horrible shake of winter stupor, laughing and cursing the actions not taken by the man with the iPhone, the Vespa, darkroom, writing, photography and a dozen other paths thick with weeds and fast disintegrating beneath the sadness of winter.

Kim always sees things first.  And not just in regard to pictures.

Avoidance isn't limited to the Vespa.  It's locked cameras away and transformed the needed repairs to the darkroom into a mystical task of construction known only to long gone Druids or craftsman familiar to King Solomon.  With great effort and focus and days of meditation a few moments of photographic expression became possible with the iPhone using the Hipstamatic app, Tinto 1884 lens, D-Type Plate Film.

For a few moments I could pretend to be a photographer.

Two more rolls of black and white film through the Leica M6 and added to the growing collection of unprocessed images, quiet reminders of a road less traveled.

Under a bright blue sky and dreams of warm air a miracle occurred and prints were made.  An excited, agitated buzz of creative energy was quickly strangled by the harsh reality of returning snow.  Gordon Harkins captured this fleeting moment of hope.

A Walmart print.

After midnight, fiddling with Hipstamatic, watching Project Runway and the wild, driven antics of designers pursuing an idea. A dream.

I remember that feeling, that drive.  And I realize now, for no good or bad reason, at a pace all its own, things recede, there's an ebb and flow to what the mind demands.  Last night I looked at the shop manual for the Vespa again, shaking my head at the simplicity of the repair that has kept me grounded all winter.  Over the weekend I looked at the sink and the minor nature of the repair.

Winter was for rest and reflection.  And with the coming of spring things will change and grow.  The Vespa will return to the road, the camera will fall into compulsive use and the world will be different.

Damn, I am having fun.  And I didn't even know it.

Stranger in a Strange Land

Hot tea, a pen and small notebook provide company until friends arrive at Saint's Cafe on Sunday morning.  Familiar rituals, touchstones, reminders along the road which makes up a life.  And until recently a ride on the Vespa played an important part.

The morning sun and blue sky was strong enough to have me thinking about sunglasses instead of the scattered snow showers predicted.  Last night the desire to ride was strong, insistent, whispering until I found myself on my daughter's Yamaha Vino under a sliver of moon just before midnight.

Silent and waiting in the garage the Vespa still suffers from a simple mechanical failure.  Soon, soon I'll make that repair.

Winter remains on the road in the form of gravel and grit, just part of the additional risk a rider must consider in cold weather.  Walking the dog before the ride an argument grew in my head between the rider experience in sub-freezing travel and a stranger who questioned the wisdom of riding a scooter at 19F.  With a mental hand gesture I left it behind and soon found myself on the road again if only for a short ride into town.

Saint's Cafe on a frigid morning, a cold world outside well seen through freshly washed windows.

Something was different this morning, I felt a stranger to this frigid world.  The expected rush didn't come, only the noise of the earlier mental arguments. Maybe it was just the cold but I felt oddly mortal standing on the gravel lane when I recalled a line from Robert Heinlein's book Stranger in a Strange Land: "There is no safety this side of the grave."

I need to remember that.

Stalled But Still Moving

It's been months since I've ridden the Vespa.  Any adventure on the road occurs inside the comfortable confines of a Honda Odyssey van.  Driving to Altoona, Pennsylvania today in the fog plucked chords of longing for being on the scooter.  All I need do is repair the Vespa, brave the cold concrete floor of the garage and do a little work.

A little work; finding the time has been difficult.  But the repairs are slowly rising up on my todo list.

Some things remain the same.  Junior continues to insist on quality time in the world and I am inclined to try and deliver.  This morning was nice as the temperature was already in the 40s when as we made our way through the park. There has been a lot of good riding weather this winter and I've missed pretty much all of it save for a few trips on my daughter's Yamaha Vino.

For now both the Vespa and Vino continue to quietly sip electricity from the Battery Tenders wondering what the hell has happened to me.

Soon though, soon...

Junior and I made the end of the day walk in State College, Pennsylvania.  Calder Alley offers a nice, long stroll at night with a lot of things for me to look at with the camera and many fine aromas for Junior to consider behind the many bars and restaurants.

Just a quick note to let you know your RSS feeds aren't dead and neither am I.  Just consumed with other more pressing matters at the moment.

This picture would look better if there was a Vespa in it.