Riding in Colorado with the Master

This is Charlie6, author of Redleg's Rides, my host for a couple days of unexpected riding in Colorado. Anyone who's followed his blog knows a few things about him:

1. As much as he can he rides all year through all kinds of weather.

2. Riding takes him far afield and into the Rocky Mountains.

3. He racks up miles -- over 60 thousand in the last three years.

4. There's little boasting in his writing.

5. Unless you search carefully you can't quite tell who's behind the helmet. I've taken care of that.

I'll share a few things learned from observation. And a few other things can remain secret -- like the significance of certain street signs and the jungle in Panama.

The casual Redleg's Ride reader may have missed the author's name is Domingo Chang. Or that he's published an article in the BMW Motorcycle Owner's Association's Owner News magazine.

The article is titled Monument Valley via the Million Dollar Highway. It's a good read.

He's a serious rider. A look at his machines, gear, and attention to them give the strong impression that Mr. Chang is not a casual, fair weather rider.

I could go on but I don't want to embarrass him or screw up any chance of further riding should I return to Colorado.

Last Saturday morning Dom gave me the choice between Vikki, the V-Strom I had ridden the day before, or his beloved Brigitta, a beautiful 1987 BMW R80 airhead. With the thermometer reading 29F at departure time I chose the BMW because it had heated grips.

Our destination was about an hour away -- Red Rocks Park -- a little taste of the mountains before I had to fly back east. Once we arrived Dom told me to take the lead, go where I wanted, stop whenever I wanted to shoot pictures, we had plenty of time.

The bad feeling I get of having people waiting for me is one of the reasons I ride alone. I can stop a lot. The day quickly can become about photography and not riding.

As I scrambled up the red clay towards the rocks Dom probably was wondering what the hell I was doing. By the time I returned he said he would ride on ahead and I could catch up. He shot a video of me when I finally caught up. The startling slowness should serve as ample warning for anyone who thinks of riding with me.

The place was beautiful. The sky, the landscape, the feeling unlike anything I experience in Pennsylvania.

Charlie6 is all about the motorcycles. Whenever I turned the camera towards him he commented that the pictures should be about the motorcycles. So I had to switch to stealth mode, useful for reluctant or nervous subjects.

While Dom composed his artistic motorcycle arrangements I grabbed a shot of an R1200 GS (?) putting by.

Dom does look like a police officer. You would think people would steer clear. While we were here an SUV drove up and a woman leaped out and came running over and asked us if we wanted her to shoot our picture. First thought in my head was of Jack Riepe and the stories this encounter could generate. Then I wondered if she thought we looked like the Village People.

We politely declined the offer and I noted a scooter decal in her back window as she drove away. Obviously just a fine, friendly human.

It kind of bothers me that Jack Riepe pops into my head when I'm out riding. What the hell is that about?

Dom shoots as many, perhaps more, pictures as I do. He was curious how our pictures would compare. I'm always interested in how different people see the same places.

Nothing like big, red rocks for subject matter.

I learned something else about Dom when making this picture. He likes his motorcycles just so. When I set up the bike I had turned the front wheel to the left. Opposite of how one learns to leave it when you dismount in an MSF class. But I like the way the bike looks when the wheel is askew.

Dom likes the wheel straight and trotted over to fix things.

We rode to the top of Lookout Mountain and walked up to Buffalo Bill's grave. Only a foothill of the Rockies I still felt the 7500 foot elevation. At this point I wasn't shooting many pictures because the clock was starting to tick in my head and visions of security checkpoints at the airport were dancing in my head.

Going down the other side of the mountain towards Golden, Colorado placed us in clusters of bicyclists making their way up and down the mountain. I was glad to have a motor. At least for a few more moments.

After shooting this picture I couldn't get the BMW started. Dom came over and swore there should be gas in the tank. A quick dismantling of the fuel bowl of one of the carbs confirmed there was gas. Turned out I put the fuel shutoff valves in the wrong position. How would I know? I ride a Vespa.

After another Panama jungle experience we gassed up and hit the freeway to get back home and to the airport before I would have to buy another ticket. Brigitta followed Vikki and at times I saw the speedometer needle pegged at the maximum. Smooth and stable despite a nice crosswind.

Bikes safely back in the garage Dom checks to make sure I've not left anything behind before we go the the airport. Unfortunately we both forget the long underwear I borrowed. (They're in the wash now and I'll mail them back soon.)

At the airport I say my goodbye and head through security to meet motorcycle blogger Richard Machida as he heads back to Alaska. Dom must be a puppet master to pull off all this interaction so smoothly.

By the time my ass sinks into the seat of the Boeing 757 I am really tired. Five hours of riding is a nice sedative before flying. And a great way to end a great week in Colorado. I hope I can return the favor should Dom and his family visit Pennsylvania.

Dom -- thank you for your kind hospitality and trust with your motorcycles. The keys to the Vespa are yours whenever you want.

An Unexpected Ride

Arriving in Denver last week to attend the CASE Editor’s Forum the last think on my mind was riding. Walking the streets it was hard not to think about it as I passed scooters on the sidewalk and watched riders pass by on the street. Riding gets in your blood and it doesn’t take much to trigger desire.

The city seemed to belong to scooters. Maybe the motorcycle riders bloom later this time of year. The Triumph was the first motorcycle I saw all week but would not be the last. Serendipity, a stroke of good luck, or just a fortunate chain of coincidence, Dom Chang, aka Charlie6, author of Redleg’s Rides, determined I was in Colorado and contacted me about meeting at the end of the conference.

The conference ended early Friday afternoon and I was soon standing at the light rail station waiting for the train to take me to Nine Mile Station. The ticket cost four dollars but no one on the train ever asked to see it. As I suspected Denver residents are exceedingly honest.

As trains go this one was first rate with lots to see inside and out. Loved how much is invested in artwork along the train route and highways – etched images in the concrete of buffalo and prairie. Pennsylvania puts its cash into wildflowers.

At one point we passed the place Union Pacific locomotives go to die. There were hundreds of them decorated nicely by enterprising artists for their eventual move to the recycling graveyard.

Riders are everywhere in Denver including on the train. I asked this young woman if I could take her picture as she leaned against the back of the car with her bicycle. After removing her earphones and listened to my question she nodded and I made the shot. Everyone in Denver was nice. Even the two young people I gave money to the day before because they needed bus fare after losing their wallets.

This is where Charlie6 lives.

A plainsman who also rides in the mountain wilderness of Colorado. Well, not quite. After picking me up at the Nine Mile Station in a new BMW X5 we made our way to his home where he introduced me to Vicki and Brigitta. Natasha was away. After telling me he had some work to do he suggested I take Vikki for a ride. For a moment I wondered what Jack Riepe would say.

Not every rider offers up their motorcycle to another rider and I was honored that Dom trusted me enough to take care of Vikki, his DL1000 Suzuki V-Strom. After cobbling together some gear he suggested I ride east towards the plains. After about 20 minutes the traffic lessened and the development gave way to more open and rolling roads.

Dom suggested I return in about an hour to have dinner with his family. When questioned about directions I assured him I would find my way back. After riding for half an hour I parked the bike, took a few pictures, and promised Vikki I would take her home. I assumed she knew the way.

Watching the clouds move in from the mountains I had to stop and make another picture. It was hard not to think about those mountains in the distance but people would be waiting for me.

I should probably comment on the V-Strom. Nice bike. It has always been on my list of machines to consider owning and now I know why. Tall but easily managed. Fast. Nimble. Reliable. Couldn’t ask for much more. The soft sand and fine gravel mix on the sides of the road meant I had to be careful to not park in a place where the kickstand would descend into the softness and tumble Vikki to the ground.

And still, those mountains in the distance were calling. I couldn’t ride to them but I did stop often to make pictures. And the clock continued to tick. As I rode back into town the landmarks got blurrier until I found myself lost. Dom chuckled when I called on the cell phone. He knew no one could find his or her way back to his place. An hour late I met his wife and kids and sat down to a fine dinner.

Before dark I was invited to take a ride on Natasha, a Ural sidecar rig. The light was fading fast and I asked Dom if there was a place with a big sky to make a picture. He knew a place. Minutes after we arrived a fellow raced up on a Royal Enfield screaming, “Hey, that’s a motorcycle with a sidecar.” As he bent Dom’s ear I made a few pictures of this modern version of a motorcycle classic.

A quick portrait with the Ural. When I commented how much he looks like a police officer Dom told me that he had heard that before. He’s one serious rider.

I wasn’t sure if I would be able to spend the night until later in the evening. With the promise of more riding in the morning we headed into town to pick up my stuff at the Grand Hyatt. If necessary I bet Dom would pull a tux out of the trunk of the sidecar.

The valet raced out when we arrived, not to welcome us to the hotel – he was a scooter rider enthralled with the Ural. It is an interesting machine and Dom wanted to make sure I fully appreciated a properly setup rig after my less than pleasing ride on Piaggio MP3 with a sidecar.

After an enjoyable ride in the sidecar and enough time piloting the rig to determine how it handled I can say that it was a pleasure to ride. Even with all the weird characteristics of the Ural. Things like marginal braking and grinding gears.

I could see myself with one.

The ride home was fast on the freeway. With temperatures dropping into the thirties I just pulled the sidecar cover up around my neck and enjoyed the ride.

A great first day of riding in Colorado!

Denver by Pavement

Friday morning and things are beginning to blur. My brain can only absorb so much information. Copious notes and a rewrite on Monday when I'm back at the office will allow a more thorough reflection on the week.

Views from almost every window of the hotel seem to reveal another odd view of Denver. The weather has been wonderful. Snow back in Pennsylvania. It has to be gone by the time my plane lands.

A walk after the conference to let the swirl of the day dissipate. Scooters are everywhere. At 6:30pm the downtown is rather quiet. I could ride my Vespa here.

A last picture before going to dinner. Pegasus reminds me of the sense of power and freedom riding can deliver. Not horsepower -- a power of reflection, a recognition of life. On the road, alone, and with my thoughts, I can appreciate what parts of destiny are beyond control and what parts aren't.

That's power.

The Denver Riding Nightlife

I raced across the street in downtown Denver last night to catch these two young women with my iPhone. It's not often I see anyone riding side saddle on a vintage Vespa.

Two days in Denver and I have not seen a single motorcycle. Lots of scooters though -- zipping along on the streets and parked on the sidewalks. Being in the wild west I sort of thought the place was going to be a motorcycle town full of cowboys who had abandoned their horses for Harleys and Triumphs.

Between meetings I have a chance to look out the window at the still snow-covered Rockies in the distance and wish I had an extra week and my Vespa to do some exploring.

Sunrise in Denver a few minutes ago. Day three in Denver. Life can be simple on the road. Right now the only decisions I have to make is Starbucks or the hotel restaurant for breakfast.

Up in the Air

Parked the Vespa in favor of bigger, faster transport yesterday. Flying west for a few days of work. That's the Colorado landscape you see below. A lot more pivot irrigation being used here than I saw the last time I came through. That was in 1970.

I know I am in the wild west now. On the way to the hotel from the airport I saw one motorcycle. A scooter actually. And a pink one at that. Yee Haw!

View from my hotel room this morning just before 6am. Like the view but it's hard to beat the bed at home.

Should be back on the Vespa soon.

Riding Out of Winter

With morning temperatures consistently near 40F and above the ride to work is effortless. The chore of putting on a lot of gear to insulate from the cold is in the rear view mirror. And the extra time allows me to take more leisurely and relaxing routes to work. The above picture was made on a lane crossing one of Penn State's farms on Friday morning. Often the gates are closed when cattle or horses are put out to pasture.

Tremendous clouds and piercing light this morning demanded a slight detour to make a picture of Meyer's farm outside of State College. When the weather is frigid I am far less likely to stop, especially in locations I have photographed before.

While this scene is pretty what you don't see it the fresh manure I walked through to get the picture.

Worn brick and written admonishments contrast the usual bucolic landscapes I seem to be drawn to. Passed this scene on my way to meet a friend at Saint's Cafe. Last time I photographed this place I was on a Triumph Bonneville. The Vespa looks fine here too.

Alleys are magical places. Whenever I have the chance to explore in towns and cities alleys are my first plan of attack. While Calder Alley in State College, Pennsylvania is pretty tame as alleys go, it still offers some interested colors and textures.

Notice how I am slowly digressing away from any direct riding references? The Vespa is the perfect foil in this area.

My friend Paul Ruby usually parks his motorcycle here. He thinks it belongs to him but I still belong to the school of who ever gets their first owns the space. Seem the American thing to do.

Another morning in Saint's Cafe. Sitting at the table getting ready to write a few notes in my journal I could not help but notice the odd juxtaposition of characters. The beam of light on a red head of hair was just gravy in my book.

Paul Ruby.

I stole his space for nothing because he arrived in his 1962 Mercedes Sedan. Paul is a collector of machines and you never know what he might show up with. An old Vespa, Ferrari, Harley, or bicycle. A few weeks ago he stopped by my office at lunch time so I could take some pictures of his latest acquisition.

Now he has a Ducati 1198. This is a class of motorcycles outside my experience or desire. I've sat on them but my body cries out, "Please, no, don't make me ride on this."

So far I've ceded to my body's wishes.

The weatherman says it will be almost 70 degrees tomorrow. I'm convinced winter has passed and my whole life as relaxed. As much as I enjoy riding year round I admit that this winter was tough. I'll have to reflect awhile to discern the reasons. Something to think about on these nice, warm day rides...

A Piaggio MP3 with a Sidecar

I’ve never ridden a motorcycle with a sidecar. I've read about them. Follow the Redleg's Rides blog and Dom's adventures on Ural sidecar rig. And Ara’s adventures with his dog spirit on Oasis of the Soul have created a myth of riding across the country with my dog. A lot of information floating around my head with absolutely no first hand experience. Seems I am constantly reviewing things as a beginner with no room to puff and strut. With a bit of nervous energy and apprehension I approached the rig.

After I saw this picture I went to Wal-Mart for a haircut. The kind you get with a number 3 red clipper attachment that takes only three minutes.

Dom sent me a link to the online bible of sidecars and suggested I read it before venturing out and killing myself. Well, I don’t think he put it that bluntly but the meaning was plain. So the night before I knew I would be stepping up to take the rig for a spin I went through the bible. Most of it common sense. And the rest incidental to a slow rider like myself.

Arriving at Kissell Motorsports after work I parked my Vespa in the place it belonged and wandered out front where the Piaggio MP3 and sidecar rig was sitting not far from a visiting Zeppelin.

Standing straight, gut pulled in, acting cool I climbed aboard the MP3 and promptly smashed the visor of my new Shoei helmet into the windshield of the rig. It hit me so hard that all the pictures of it were out of focus and I am irrationally opposed to posting any soft focus images.

But try to picture this. The owner had mounted a very tall windshield and then using heat (or something) bent the top back so it would cover his head like a small roof. When I saw it I chuckled but had to admit that it might be nice in the rain. What I failed to consider was the guy must have been five feet tall. After whacking my head and spending a few minutes trying to position myself on the seat in a manner where my helmet wasn’t hitting the shield. Anyone watching probably assumed Mr. Bean was in town and looking at a new toy.

A tribute to ingenuity I figured out that I could lean out to the left beyond the windshield and ride just fine. This new kind of rig that I had never ridden before. A few hundred yards up the road convinced me I’m an idiot and I turned around to tell Craig Kissell I couldn't ride this thing because of the windshield.

Unfazed, I think I detected a slight smile, he asked one of the technicians to take off the windshield.

In the shop Justin made quick work of the windshield and installed the factory shield that the previous owner returned when he traded in the MP3 rig.I wandered around looking at the Triumphs and Ducatis wondering what I was doing with this contraption. I thought about my heroes. Pee Wee Herman. My friend Howard. The Highlander. What would they do? Justin tells me I’m good to go. I’m thinking about immortality.

Before I leave I had to photograph the rig with the big Victory bike. Not sure which was less appealing. I will say for the first time I rode away from Kissell's without worrying about wrecking the bike. I figured I would be doing Craig a favor.

I felt like I was sailing in a storm, constantly fighting to keep the thing on course, feeling each wheel had a mind of it’s own. At 35mph I fully expected the rig to fly off the road on into oncoming traffic and my wife could begin spending the life insurance. With much concern and careful navigation I made it home in the dark. Then I realize the little spot in the garage where I park the Vespa isn’t big enough for this monster. And I am not about to clean out the garage. So I pull it up against the garage door, pull the truck right up behind it and the VW to the side so unless someone picks it up and carries it this machine is going nowhere.

6am. With renewed energy and the power of a gloomy day I ask Junior if he wants to go for a ride. Don’t let the smile on his face fool you. It took a handful of dog biscuits and a few minutes to get him in the sidecar. Good training meant he would stay there for a picture but he was far too smart to go for a ride. And I would not take him either for a couple reasons. The sidecar was far too small for him.

After some experimentation I realized the rig was more stable than it felt. It tracked pretty well and after several miles I was comfortable at 45mph on the narrow back roads.One of the immediate problems was stopping along the road to take pictures.The rig is almost as wide as a car so it’s not easy to tuck it into places. With a lot of winter gravel still on the roads the extra stability was readily available. With that in mind I turned off onto the first gravel road I could find.

The rig handled pretty well on the packed surface but wandered around in the loose stuff. And because of the way the MP3 mounts to the sidecar, the MP3 angled slightly towards the sidecar, I felt like I was always sliding off.

Moving into the mountains of Rothrock State Forest I found a lot of hard wet ice still on the roads. The rig stays upright but more than once I was losing traction. Not far from where I made this picture I turned around before finding myself stuck or worse.

By late morning my stomach took over and I stopped at the Pump Station in Boalsburg for something to eat. Parking wasn’t a problem because I could just swing the rig around. But pushing the MP3 with the sidecar around on level ground was a chose. Don’t even think about it on a hill. I guess you learn to anticipate such things.

The good news is that I figured out the rig was stable. I even began to enjoy riding it a bit. The bad news for this one was with the throttle wide open all I could manage was a bit under 55mph on flat open roads. Fine for exploring and touring around on back roads but I would definitely not want to ride on the freeway.

Sidecar as conversation starter? Hardly. This runner didn’t bat an eye as he went past. And no one said a word about it wherever I stopped which sort of surprised me since it looked so, well, unusual. I might have well been invisible.

On the bright side it meant my ego didn’t take any hits either.

One more short tour on a dirt road. If this thing had a shiny side to it I would have to say it was off the pavement. Not off-road, just on less than perfect surfaces. But in the end this setup took what is perhaps the most stable machine I have ever ridden (Piaggio MP3) and turned it into the most unstable thing I have ever ridden.

Back to Kissell Motorsports.

I’m glad I got to ride the rig and also glad I could give it back. In my book it was just work to ride and while I chalked up the bad handling and performance to the weirdness of the MP3 sidecar combination someone with more experience with sidecars assured me that what I was describing is how sidecars and motorcycles respond. One big, hot mess. Feel free to pipe in if your experiences say otherwise. I’ll just say I admire all you sidecar rig captains.

This is Craig Kissell and he’s smiling because someone bought the rig. Different strokes and all. Or sidecars could be an acquired taste. Maybe someone can tell me what I’m missing.

For now, I'm happy to be back on the Vespa. And the weather is getting warmer too!