Suffering and Joy

Sometimes, when desire meets reality, you come face to face with suffering.  Most recently it was unexpected physical discomfort related to the cold and my newly arthritic feet.  Out early yesterday with the temperature hovering around 20F should have been like a walk in the park.  Instead I was served a big bite of suffering.

Looking back I can see how my love of winter has decayed into a state of annoyed acceptance that it's a fact of life in central Pennsylvania.  This first cold ride of the season really surprised me and has me wondering how much cold I can tolerate.  A question every year round rider wrestles with at some point.

After an hour I planted myself in Starbucks to hold a paper cup full of hot chocolate in my hands, let my feet warm, and scribble a few notes on index cards about the challenges ahead.  I wrote "Suffering" at the top of the first card intending to post under that title.  But things have a way of changing.

The iPhone vibrated on the table displaying an image of my friend Gordon.  He and his wife Val bought their 14 year old son a .22 rifle for Christmas, a Ruger 10/22.  Nice gun.  And since he had never shot a gun before he asked if I could go with them to the local shooting range and get them started.  I remember the .22 rifle my father got for me around the same age and the joy I found going out with him to plink away at tin cans.  

Funny how warm some of my memories are related to weapons.

Last time I fired a gun at this range was in the early 1970s when a serendipitous encounter with gun dealer led to firing thousands of round of ammunition via an array of automatic weapons.  My first experience with a Thompson sub machine gun, M16, UZI, and an Ingram MAC-10 with a suppressor.  I learned two things.  Automatic weapons are fun to shoot.  Loading magazines isn't.  It's an interesting story that I'll share someday.

Gordon's son wasn't the only one surprised on Christmas morning.  Gordon's wife Val gave him a pair of riding gloves and some scooter brochures.  The meaning is obvious.  More joy at Christmas.

Went riding again today with no suffering.  Suppose there is a yin and yang to it all.  Didn't realize polar forces of opposite strength were at work in my riding life -- the suffering and the joy.

The Cold Weather Riding Frame of Mind

A morning drive, minivan, on the way to pick up my Vespa GTS.  But not until I pick up my daughter who's agreed to drive the van home.

Not until we have breakfast at the Corner Room in State College, Pennsylvania, a place I've been eating at for the past 40 years.  When I find something I like I stick with it.  Training for an upcoming half marathon accounts for her wet hair.  I don't understand running.

The scooter is home, safe in the driveway again.  The ride home was cold, 25F and windy.  Neglected to plug in the electric gloves and found myself warming my hands on the headlight at each traffic light.  Like the old days.  The pre-Gerbing gloves days.

Riding in the cold takes mental preparation that I've not done yet.  It's more than gear, it's a frame of mind that a rider has to place themselves in.  And right now it seems a far away place.

Left the scooter in the driveway thinking I would go for a ride later -- after I warmed up.  I've been warming up for hours and am no closer to a ride.  In another hour it will be dark and even colder.  Maybe a good night's sleep will help me enter the cold weather frame of mind.

Vespa Maintenance

My Vespa is nearly ready for the road again.  Snow tires mounted, drive-belt and rollers replaced, new spark plug, wire, and cap, oil and filter changed, everything ready to hit the road.  Aaron Grove, the technician at Kissell Motorsports who was working on the scooter, showed me the faulty plug and cap.  Somehow the threaded end of the plug stripped out and fused itself in the cap of the plug wire.  Not sure how it happened but with the new parts I should have another 30K kilometers of trouble free riding.

At least.

Aaron is a year round rider like me which meant he understood why my exhaust system was so heavily rusted.  You ride in the winter with salt on the road and things happen to metal.  He rides a vintage, (I think I can call it that) 1970s Honda CB400.  Raining hard outside he assured me that he would have ridden to work if the bike wasn't apart in his garage.  I'll have to keep my eye open for him this winter.

Most of the work was finished when I arrived but it was nice to watch a skilled craftsman work.  Aaron has a confident manner as he methodically moves through a task.  I watched him connect the battery leads and Battery Tender wires with a speed I can only dream about.  Not a single curse word to be heard.  That's probably just one of the differences between a professional and myself. 

Almost had me wishing I would take the time to reacquaint myself with the tools in my tool chest.  Someday.  Just not today.

Snow showers forecast for tomorrow with the temperature hovering near the freezing mark.  If all goes well I should be riding the Vespa late tomorrow morning.  It's about time I got back on the road.

I keep telling myself that but with a week off for the holidays I am getting pretty comfortable laying on the couch...

Searching for the Christmas Spirit

A week ago I borrowed a motorcycle from the selection of pre-owned machines of Kissell Motorsports --a 2005 BMW F650 GS. I’ll often find myself looking at their web site listings or trolling eBay for the quintessential deal. For a lot of riders a used motorcycle is the best route into the world of riding.  And during those rides I found myself thinking about Christmas.

Junior and I walked in the park this morning to the tolling of bells from a nearby church, announcing Christmas Day. Blue sky, bright sun and the temperature pushing forty degrees doesn’t feel like Christmas.

I’ve been thinking about Christmas all week, trying to bring to life those feelings I had as a kid when Santa Claus was real. Memories of candle light services on Christmas Eve singing Silent Night, the anticipation of presents under a tree seem to fade away a bit more every year. Charles Dickens wrote that Christmas can, “...win us back to the delusions of our childhood days, recall to the old man the pleasures of his youth, and transport the traveler back to his own fireside and quiet home.”. Maybe that’s what I was looking for.

Roaming the countryside on a motorcycle often fuels a flood of thinking. I found my thoughts leaning towards the past, to things that would not come again. Each stop along the road seemed to trigger a memory of Christmas time. Each memory bringing another, and another.

Looking at motorcycles (when you tend to obsess about them) isn’t a lot different than coveting a BB gun or some other must have item of childhood.  The evening I picked up the BMW was like that -- the proverbial kid in the candy store -- so many things to desire.

A festive red Ducati should feel like Christmas shouldn't it?

Or certainly a pink Vespa would conjure some sort of magic if only given a chance.  But maybe what the Grinch said is true: "Maybe Christmas, the Grinch thought, doesn't come from a store."

The pink Vespa will have to wait for another day along with the Triumph Tiger 800 XC and the flat screen TV I was thinking about.

The BMW F650 GS in its 2005 incarnation is a marvelously nimble motorcycle on the gravel roads that crisscross the central Pennsylvania forests. Aggressive knobby tires provide a surefooted ride at speeds I don’t normally attempt in these environs. The bike is completely comfortable from the start.

I felt like Charlie Brown. Christmas time is coming and I don’t feel the way I’m supposed to feel. Or at least that was what I was thinking. Riding through beautiful landscapes I can’t quite appreciate because I’m searching for the Christmas spirit. The little red-haired girl is waiting at home for me, my black dog too, and here I was along a creek, watching the cold, clear water sweep by and nothing. I’m blessed but don’t quite appreciate it.

The F650 GS leads me to the Pump Station Cafe in Boalsburg where I can appreciate a cup of tea and a scone, and the blessings of the motorcycle's heated grips when I take out my journal to write.  BMW has great heated grips.  They feel hot even through thick winter riding gloves.

I suppose there is no connection between riding and Christmas save for the incidental juxtaposition of machine and iconography.  But I did find that missing Christmas spirit.

Last night family and friends gathered on Christmas Eve, for fellowship and food, to spend time together and acknowledge what's special this time of year.  Maybe it just becomes more difficult to see past all the wrappings and tinsel to the meaning of Christmas, a time of transformation and forgiveness where, for a time, the world is a more gentle place.

Merry Christmas to all and best wishes for the holidays.

A Sunday Afternoon Ride

Despite the cold it was good to get out for a ride this afternoon.  I don't watch enough sunsets; my life can be filled with chores and tasks.  On this ride I stopped to smell the roses.

An hour earlier I stopped for another reason -- to search for a view of a local landmark.  I rode the 2005 BMW F650 GS I had on loan from Kissell Motorsports up a winding, muddy path through a small patch of woods and stopped as it led into an expansive hayfield.  Less than a minute after arriving the farmer who owned the property sped towards me on an ATV with a look of displeasure on his face.

After an apology for trespassing and explaining what I was doing we determined that I had photographed him before.  Back in 1984.  He said he still has the picture of he and his dog in his home.  Just one of the serendipitous moments on the road.

Later in the ride I crossed through land owned my Penn State as I searched for light sweeping out of the sky in what I like to call "God light" -- those instances when the light is drawn in beams from the heavens.  Never did find the right spot but was impressed by the performance of the BMW.  First bike I've ridden in years with real knobby tires.  Makes a world of difference in gravel.  And mud.

I've put some time on this bike and will post more about it later in the week.  A lot of good values in the pre-owned category with this being one of them.  Liked it a lot.

Junior is barking outside so I can't write more.  Tired and drained.  No stories or words left for today.  Just a few pleasant memories of a Sunday afternoon ride...

The Aging Rider

My father used to tell me “It’s hell to get old”. I’m beginning to understand and move that comment from the joke category in my brain to the section reserved for current events. My friend Gordon recently made this picture of me at one of our Sunday morning print meetings and I see my father. And I’m saying to myself “It’s hell to get old”.

Standing at the kitchen sink last night with a handful of Methotrexate I realized something had changed. Almost overnight I’ve traveled from oblivious through denial and on into acceptance that I’ve become an aging rider and with it all the rights and responsibilities attendant to a change in physical ability.

A week ago I was standing in a hospital gown with my back to a wall while two rheumatologists at Johns Hopkins Medical Center recorded measurements of joint flexibility, pain and range of motion, and finally confirming the diagnosis of my family doctor -- “You have psoriatic arthritis Mr. Williams.”

Great.

Aging is a natural, nearly invisible process until it isn’t. And one day a light is turned on and you realize some new limitation has formed, some new element to be managed. And it reaches out to every detail and aspect of living and informs a new life. It branded me an aging rider.

Men live in denial though.  I can't speak for women.

Two months ago I was deep in it, telling myself that my arthritis would have no effect on my riding. Sitting astride the Vespa was easy and I could ride all day but stopping was another story. The joints in my toes were on fire and walking was a problem. Pushing the scooter onto the centerstand was a challenge. And walking to make a photograph along this winding gravel road in Rothrock State Forest was near torture.

But I ignored it and pushed onwards in the rain.

I see pictures when I ride and especially ones where the scooter plays a role. Standing some distance away from the Vespa, thinking about this shot, I was regretting wandering so far from the seated comfort of my ride. Not yet thinking of myself as an aging rider I rode on.

Fear of aging generates denial. It takes time to acknowledge the fear and more time to understand what the march of time means. Personal dishonesty in this area can lead to bad decisions. An acquaintance comes to mind -- a fellow in his early 70’s who purchased his first motorcycle two years ago -- a Harley Davidson Ultra Glide. He had never ridden before but was persuaded by a friend that he would love riding.

Whenever I run into him I ask if he still has the Harley. His face lights up and he responds with a bright “Sure do!”. What I’m careful not to ask is if he rides it (which I’m sure he doesn’t) Not long after his purchase he discovered that riding a big motorcycle is not an innate skill and after a few scary moments on the road he parked it in the garage for good.

Denial is a wonderful thing and is helpful in making irrational decisions. I’m not saying a 70 year old can’t ride but I might suggest a different path to the road for a first time rider of any age. The accumulation of years (and wisdom) will quickly raise its case in these kinds of situations.

Back on the road I continued to ride and find opportunities for more pictures. Picking my way through the rocks on sore feet finally illuminated my limitations. I was going to have to change the way I think about my capabilities.

The Death Equation.

I like to think that I’m not the only one doing death mathmatics in their head -- calculating the difference in years between your current age and the age of your father or grandfather when they died. I can’t remember when I started doing this but it’s definitely related to aging and a growing awareness of the finite number of days at my disposal. I should add that it’s not depressing or obsessive but a result of an awareness and acceptance of my mortality. And fueled by my latest medical adventure.

Right now the only thing keeping me from riding to work is the fact that the Vespa is in for service. I postponed the work until a time I can meet with the technician to photograph him for a blog post. But soon the scooter will be parked again outside my office like it is in this picture expect the sportbikes will cease to appear as winter descends.

In the meantime Junior continues to keep me busy though our walks have diminished in favor of drives to the part where I can stand in one place and heave the ball across the field for him. He’s a potent reminder of the mobility that I have lost for now. He’s always in motion. I’m always.... not.

The change is something new to manage. Like rain or snow or darkness. As I assess routes and weather I now have to assess my physical state. Reading the current issue of the BMW Owners News I’m impressed by the number of aged riders piling up tens of thousands of miles every year. During murky thoughts it helps remind me that the passing of years doesn’t have to relegate me to the rocking chair, or worse, a trike. Actually, I’ve never ridden a trike. Experience has shown me that I really need to try something before judging it harshly.

A shiver of excitement swept over me as I stood in the road with the Leica. Despite any current physical ailments the road still rolled on ahead. There are more rides to make and things to see. And I'll view these rides through a new filter...

...as an aging rider.

My Dead Vespa

It happened today -- pressed the starter on the Vespa but it would not start. First thought was an empty fuel tank but that couldn't be true; I monitor fuel closely.

With Kissell Motorsports a mile away and pressure mounting to get back to work I made the call. Fifteen minutes later the scooter was on the back of a truck headed to the shop.

Good fortune had my friend Paul and his girlfriend Mary just down the road.

In a few minutes Paul was inspecting the Vespa and quickly found the spark plug lead had come off the plug. Worse, the end of the plug had come off and was lodge in the plug boot.

So the Vespa will get a new plug along with the 30K kilometer maintenance . I'll be ready for winter.

I'm posting from my iPhone using an app I've never used before so I'm unsure where the picture of Paul and Mary will appear.

Paul is serious with his inspections.

Should have the Vespa back soon.

The Simple Night Ride

 

The past two evenings I've found myself on the road at night and with it a renewed appreciation of riding.  Many riders tell me they don't ride at night -- too dangerous, too cold, or no fun.  I read in riding books about the misguided riders who venture forth at night, in the rain, or in cold weather. 

Make no mistake; the risk of riding at night is greater than it is during the day.

This evening I was sitting at the traffic light at the corner of Allen Street and Beaver Avenue in State College, Pennsylvania looking at the Christmas lights when I turned off the engine and pushed the Vespa up onto the sidewalk to make this picture.  And to look a bit longer at the lights.  Just long enough to be on my way before finding out that there is a law against having the scooter posing for pictures on the sidewalk.

Off into the night, a changing pattern of color and light as I made my way home, a visual treat that just doesn't exist during the day.

 

The night before I rode to the grocery store for supplies -- empty streets and a quiet parking lot.  The night air was crisp but not cold at 42F.  What struck me most was the tapestry of fragrances arise from the darkness offering an experience unique to the night.

Riding home through the smell of charred meat at the steakhouse and on past gasoline fumes from a busy island of gas pumps.  Passing through a tony section of State College my helmet filled with the acrid smell of coal -- someone burning coal for some unfathomable reason in a neighborhood.  I remembered the same smell from childhood driving through less tony neighborhoods in Mckees Rocks and Coraopolis.

Passing into the sticks I was greeted by the unmistakable smell of fermenting liquid cow manure from a nearby dairy farm, the farmer no doubt adding or withdrawing from a lagoon and releasing a reminder of food production.

At some point I shuddered for a moment, just a bit of excitement from my senses being roused to life, realizing (again) at how powerful a ride can be.  Walking into the house, skin warm, eyes bright and a spring in my step I was sure a grin was painted on my face.  

All courtesy of a simple night ride.

Becoming a URAL Adventurer

The 2012 URAL Patrol is a perfect drug for my addictive desire to explore.  With hand over my heart, I believe this thing will go anywhere I want to go and not lead to my untimely demise in the process. This conclusion was derived after 200 kilometers of experimentation on the road and some hours of mental gymnastics with my backside firmly ensconced in a big easy chair.

For those reading this review who have never ridden a motorcycle with a sidecar but plan to try one out in the future I offer these words of advice -- give it some time.  It's not what you expect and it's not a motorcycle.

The first day of riding consisted mostly of getting a feel for the machine on the road -- gaining asense of how wide it is so I didn't run the rig into a post or have it drop off the side of the road into a drainage hole.  With ample open roads around I had a lot of good practice routes.

One of the first things I noticed is that I would spans ditches along the side of the road or navigate uneven surfaces without trouble.  The motorcycle and sidecar wheel are far enough apart that I could negotiate obstacles or run through them without fear of falling or getting stuck.

 Last Sunday morning I left early to determine how well the URAL would perform on the endless miles of gravel roads in the Pennsylvania forests and what kind of gaps existed between the motorcycle and my riding skills.  This picture was made after about 10 miles of gravel.  Two things surfaced -- first, I felt a bit anxious when the URAL drifted left on uneven stretches of road or when the traction differences between loose gravel and hard packed gravel would cause the machine to move one direction or the other.

A motorcycle without a sidecar feels fluid and moves along a line in a relatively smooth and easy manner compared to the URAL.  The sidecar rig tends to move back and forth, at least it feels as if it is moving back and forth on the road controlled by unknown forces for unknown reasons.  Because of this I kept my speed to 25 to 40 mph depending on specific road conditions.

After 20 miles of gravel roads I had to stop for mental reasons.  I needed some time to process what was going on with the machine.  I wanted to understand the forces at work and allow myself the chance to drop into a more intuitive riding experience.

Physically the machine was extremely comfortable.  After six hours on the road I found no issues at all with the seat or riding position.  

Through the power of photography I was able to diminish the size of the URAL.  Through a few minutes of relaxation and a couple of chugs of water I did the same things mentally.

Looking the machine over you can't help but notice the relative simplicity of construction compared to almost any other modern motorcycle.  The speedometer provided indicated speed, odometer, trip odometer and a couple indicator lights --nothing fancy at all.  Add to that a four speed transmission, electric start, front disc brake and a reverse gear and you've pretty much summed up the available technology as far as I was concerned.

And there is a kick starter too.  Didn't try it but would be nice to know there was some chance of moving on should the battery or starter die.  And there is a nice URAL tool kit in the trunk along with a spare tire.  And the carburated motorcycle was of simple enough design that it appeared entirely possible that a rider could learn to do some real roadside service.  No computers or sophisticated technology necessary to keep this machine running.

The URAL had no trouble running up and down the mountain roads and with each mile my comfort level grew that I would not suddenly burst over the edge of the road and on into oblivion.  I could see myself riding up here in the snow.  This URAL is a 2WD version which means the wheel on the sidecar has power when you want it -- just engage a level and you're in business.  A fine winter time feature.

Amidst the riding and familiarization process I kept noticing how much I like this vintage look.  Along with the vintage look though comes some vintage processes.

Not wanting the URAL to roll down the road and over the cliff if the thing popped out of gear.  I learned later that the rig has a parking brake but I opted for the tried and true rock behind the wheel solution.

I'm clever that way.

Looking at the mufflers in the picture I want to say the URAL makes a wonderful sound.  Not too loud but definitely a barrel chested rumble that inspires some confidence that the engine can deliver what you need in terms of torque.

Forest roads around here are often no more than glorified jeep trails kept open to allow fire control vehicles into areas in an emergency.  They're not very wide and steeped than they look.  I descended this one with care trying to decide where to put the motorcycle wheel to provide the most stable line possible.  Any sudden veer or swerve could have me riding in places I wouldn't want to ride.

After 30 miles of gravel I felt pretty comfortable with the changing surface, the response of the URAL, and my growing abilities in regard to throttle, steering, braking and shifting inputs.  Riding a URAL is like a dance and you need to know all the moves.  You can get away with some sloppy things on a motorcycle but on this rig it really helps to expand your skills.

I was able to spend more time looking at the landscape and exploring with the camera as the URAL and I came to terms.

So many beautiful places to ride.  A stop for a picture, a slurp or two of water, and a bite of a ham and cheese sandwich, all stored nicely in the sidecar.

The only pain related to this ride came while making this picture.  Picking my way up through the rocks I keep twisting my ankle in the loose rocks that lined this dry run.  It's a picture I will only make in the cold weather.  On warmer days I would have to spend too much time looking for rattlesnakes.

By the time I hit pavement I felt like an enthusiastic amateur URAL Patrol pilot.  The rig feels amazingly stable after nearly forty miles of gravel roads.  For anyone acquiring one of these I highly recommend some gravel riding to hone your skills.

Since the URAL doesn't have a fuel gauge and I didn't take the time to figure out how much fuel it carries I pointed the bike to the closest fuel stop.  I thought it appropriate that the place had a certain central Siberian feel to it.

While here a had the first of a few people approach me to ask questions about the URAL.  "How old is it?" and "That's a beautiful motorcycle." were the most common comments.  Spend anytime with one of these and you'll meet a lot of people.

The 749cc, 40 horsepower engine is plenty of power to push the URAL along secondary roads but if you think you're going to love touring along on the freeway things again.  This bike was designed before freeways were common.  The engine and transmission setup will have you straining to cruise at 60mph.  It's bred for winding twisting backroads in all weathers and conditions.  It's for adventure, not for traveling at 80mph all day long on the superslab.

I had to stop at my friend Dan's house.  I'm no longer allow to pass through his county without paying a visit.  The rig looked nice in his driveway looking off towards his barn.  He says it's 700 yards away and the green grass strip serves as a driving range for he and his son.  He thought the URAL had a lot in common with his Kuboda tractor.  Must be the color scheme.

There's something neat about being able to bomb down the road and just pull over and not worry much about the condition of the berm.  The URAL is like a tractor in the regard.  Just do it. And if you sink in somewhere or get stuck -- engage that extra drive wheel.

The URAL is so stylish in its un-stylishness.  And those shocks make it seem even more tank like.

One of my last side trips into a Siberian landscape, or at least as close as I could get on this day.  The rig is all about transportation, getting from here to there, and not allowing much to stand in your way.

Later in the evening I decided to take the URAL to the grocery store -- a chance to ride through town and a chance to test further its utilitarian capabilities.  I rode back and forth through State College through streets and alleys finding people pointing and waving.

Fun.  It has some pure fun possibilities.

Discovered a couple things at the grocery store.  First, the URAL had no trouble hauling $300 worth of groceries.  The sidecar is huge and there is a locking trunk at the back.  Didn't even need to strap anything onto the rack over the spare tire.  I could have easily carried another $150 worth of food.

Or a couple pigs or a goat.

And by the time I left it was dark.  The URAL has a nice big profile and is pretty well lit up.  Certainly more visible than my Vespa.  It was sad to take the keys out of it when I got home.

 

It was raining when I took the URAL back to Kissell Motorsports.  I tried a few times to get the rig to slide or spin on the wet pavement but it just kept tracking along without a care.  As the weather grows worse and we find some snow on the ground I'll have to talk to Craig Kissell about some further experimentation.

I can see why a lot of riders swear by these rigs.  They're a collection of traits and character that is unique in the motorcycle world.  I found myself thinking about the URAL all week.  Wondering where I could go and little concerned with the weather.  Or at least not as concerned as I am on the Vespa.

It's definitely not for everyone and in my case an acquired taste.  And something you have to try out.  Kissell Motorsports is going to keep this one as a demo bike.  Pay them a visit and try it out.  You never know if you might be cut out to be a URAL Adventurer...