BMW Off-Road Academy

A self portrait from this past weekend. I was riding a BMW F650 GS through the Tiadaghton State Forest tracing a route from the site of the BMW International Rally in Bloomsburg, PA back to Kissell Motorsports in State College, Pennsylvania. I'll be posting details soon of that beautiful ride.

Craig and the gang are going to be having a pig roast for BMW riders attending the rally on July 22 and suggested I try out a scenic route that showcases the great riding landscapes.  I'll post all the details on the ride and the pig roast over the weekend.

When I returned the bike on Monday I noticed an interesting poster.

BMW motorrad North America and RawHyde (official training center endorsed by BMW) will be offering an off-road clinic at the rally.  It's free and you can sign up on a first come, first serve basis with Kissell Motorsports.

Give Craig or Nate a call and tell them you want to reserve a spot.  814-861-7890.

Here are the details as I know them now:

Event:
Friday, July 22 · 10:00am - 1:00pm

Location:
BMW MOA Rally Site
Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania

This is a FREE intro to an off-road clinic being held for Kissell Motorsports customers.  Your chance to learn how to ride a GS in the dirt from experts.  Maybe they can save you some headaches and bike drops in the process.

Imagining a Ride to the 2011 BMW International Rally in Bloomsburg, Pennsylvania

Last Saturday morning I was on the road early, just before sunrise.  Not early enough for my plan to ride to the Kutztown Family Diner to visit the MAC-PAC breakfasteers.  The alarm went off shortly before 4am so I would have enough time to make the 175 mile trip and get to the diner by 8, but as luck would have it I cursed the alarm and slept for another hour and a half.

Riding at dawn is satisfying on many levels not the least of which being empty roads.  The drunks are already home, in a ditch or in jail by this time and the crazy cagers aren't up yet.  So with the road clear and some time to ride I decided to pay a visit to the Bloomsburg Fair Grounds -- the site of the upcoming BMW International Rally.

I stopped in Spring Mills hoping to grab something to eat having left home without breakfast. The Fairlawn Store wasn't open yet.  No food, no bait.

Many years ago, before the Vespa, during a time when I was more serious about riding a bicycle, I appeared at this same store on a Sunday morning to buy some snacks and something to drink.  A group of men were sitting on the front porch eying me balefully as I went into the store and made my purchases.  I thought they might have been bothered by the black Spandex riding shorts and unusual riding shoes I had on until I looked down and realized I had one of my wife's shirts on -- a beautiful black t shirt with cute pink kitties on the front.  From that time on I've become more careful of what I drape over my body.

Just east of Aaronsburg I came across the Amish equivalent of the abandoned car.  A back wheel fell off the wagon and it ground to a halt.  Instead of pulling the plates they just unhitched the horse and moved on.

One of the ugliest Amish wagons I've seen.

The road between State College and Lewisburg cuts through some beautiful farmland with great views of the countryside.  Riding is a pleasure.  This is PA Route 45 about a half mile west of Woodward, home of Camp Woodward, one of the biggest BMX, skateboarding, snowboarding and gymnastics camps in the East.  ESPN is often here to televise events like X Games.  Whatever that is.

The road promptly enters the 193 thousand acres of forest comprising the Bald Eagle State Forest.  I was beginning to feel warm when the temperature descended to 59 degrees under the trees.  This stretch of road often gives me the creeps though I'm not sure why.  It passes a place called Hairy Johns Picnic Area.  Seems Mr. Johns was accused of murdering his wife in the early 1800s -- she was found hanging on a meat hook in the cellar.  I've not fully investigated the story but perhaps some of that energy is still floating around, enough for a sensitive Vespa rider to absorb.

It doesn't take long before you cross into Union County and the wide valleys leading through Hartleton, Mifflinburg and on to Lewisburg.  If you come this way on Route 45 make sure you slow down in Hartleton.  They have an ambitious speed trap running that I think funds their schools, water system and sewage plant.  And an educational fund that sends all their kids to college and provides, room, board and a fast car.

I stopped for a gratuitous picture of the Vespa and a vanishing railroad track.  I can't remember why but I think these kinds of pictures make it possible for someone to get out of bed and ride on an old motorcycle or something.

I'm always glad to help when I can.

Crossing the river at Catawissa takes you through some beautiful roads running along the creek with lush moss covered rock outcrops.  If I had time I could stay here with the camera all day.

Arriving at the 2011 BMW International Rally site in Bloomsburg was anticlimactic.  The place was dead and looked pretty ordinary in the hazy light.  But add thousands of motorcycles and it will probably have a completely different feel.

For those of you thinking of going it runs from Thursday, July 21 through Sunday, July 24.  And the ride from State College to Bloomsburg is an easy ride.  Easy pretty much from anywhere in Pennsylvania.  Or the United States.

I didn't linger.  It was Father's Day and I wanted to get home and see if Kim got me a new motorcycle or something.  And my daughter was going to take me out for tea and cookies.  (That sounds kind of weird.)  The scooter was running well and I headed back through some winding country roads until picking up US 11 in Danville.

An Apology to a Band of Harley Riders

I'm usually a rather quiet, sedate rider and keep to myself.  But there are times when I find myself caught up in a surge of deviling energy.  This was one of those mornings.

I was standing along the road shooting a picture of something when a group of about 15 Harley riders roared by on full dress motorcycles and a bunch of near-chopper type machines.  Each without helmets and a general collection of gloveless hands, leather and t-shirts, the common fashion statements that one associates with this riding subculture.

I got back on the scooter and headed down the road in their direction.  They weren't traveling very fast and after a few miles I joined the group, hanging back a couple car lengths as we all headed towards Northumberland.

And then a fascinating thing happened.  The rider at the back of the pack saw me and began a series of hand gestures that were passed forward to the leader of the pack.  In moments the pack sped up to put some distance between their mighty throng and my Vespa.

The devil whispered in my ear and I rolled on the throttle.  The Harleys moved faster, 60, 65, 70, 75mph but I was still riding along as if I were a member of the group.  They probably didn't know that another mile per hour of speed would have left me behind as I had reached the limit of the Vespa.

I have to apologize for intruding in their fantasy and possibly ruining their day.  There are days when I can be a bit assholish.  I have no business taunting anyone on the road regardless of how harmless I think it is.

They eventually slowed and turned into a parking lot of a breakfast establishment as I went by.  Talking later with a Harley riding friend I suggested they were either talking about what a jerk that scooter rider was OR how fast that Vespa could go.

He assured me that it was the former.

Across the Susquehanna River and on towards home. Once the sun gets higher the temperature hovers near 80.  For a moment a swim sounds like a good idea.

After a short break to look around the riverbank and make a few pictures I plot a route home including one more break for gas and a bite to eat.  While sitting on the sidewalk in the shade of a trash can at the Sheetz in Mifflinburg a BMW R1200 GS rides up.  I talk with the rider and he's planning to attend the rally in July.  I ask if he's going to ride in the big GS event, ride over those log piles and through the water.  He looks and me and smiles, looks over at the Vespa, grins, and tells me, "It's a new motorcycle."

We didn't say anything else, both nodding and doing that thing guys are so good at --- leaving a conversation with incomplete information.  He headed east and I west towards a nap.

Five miles from home I stop to make a picture of the round barn near Centre Hall, one of the few left anywhere.  I heard a Harley coming towards me and wondered if I could fit it into the frame as it went by.  By dumb luck everything fit.  It's a challenge to do considering the shutter lag on a point and shoot camera.

Home, a nap, tea and cookies, and lounging around like a lazy bum with Kim's complete approval.  Ah if Father's Day couldn't come twice a week every week.  Junior on the other hand was not pleased that I left early without his usual four mile walk.  He was at me every moment trying to get some action.  Or at least a portrait for his website.  So he and I strolled out to the garden and I made this picture.

While he was nosing around for chipmunks I raced into the house and leaped onto the couch with him hot on my tail.  If he could talk I'm sure he would have said something like, "You're one lazy bastard."

And that's a good thing.

First Date with the BMW K1600 GTL

This is the 2012 BMW K1600 GTL that Kissell Motorsports provided me with to find out what a Vespa rider thought of this serious touring motorcycle. I made this picture later in the evening after a few hours of riding.  I had to sit down for a minute and compose my thoughts, think about where I would ride in the morning, and wonder how I had come in a short period of time to think it wasn't such a big motorcycle after all.

This isn't really a review of the bike.  That will come in the next installment.  This is just our first date.

Craig Kissell doesn't offer these motorcycles lightly, especially something as expensive and complicated as the K1600.  Arriving after work I saw a group of machines in the parking lot near the bike.  Nate Mattern, sales manager for Kissell Motorsports, and I had planned to ride together for awhile and compare notes.  I thought they were going to have me ride the pink Vespa until I realized Nate would eventually have to take a turn with it.  Not that I have anything against pink machines, my mountain bike is a more subdued version of pink, but I really didn't want to have to manage a 150cc machine against a six cylinder powerhouse like the BMW.

Nate and I discussed routes, time limitations for him, and decided I would ride a BMW R1200 RT during the first leg of our trip.  I would take the lead so I control stops for pictures, set the pace, and generally make sure I didn't embarrass myself with an official representative of Kissell Motorsports.  I wanted to be able to do more reviews in the future.

I'd never ridden with Nate before but knew enough about him that I'd convince myself he would be uncomfortably fast on the road and I'd spend all my time wondering which way he went.  It was bad enough that he's a Ducati owner and rider, a gonzo mountain biker, (I've not met a slow Ducati rider yet) but he's also a commercial pilot having flown for a number of commercial carriers.

Pilots are all about speed right?

So I thought it best for my image that I stay in front. 

We left town in a hurry heading west on US 322.  Sailing over Skytop I was cruising at 75mph with Nate in the distance in my mirrors.  The RT was smooth and I felt almost no transitional weirdness from the Vespa.  It's easy to understand why riders like them.

It was a bright, clear evening and we owned the road.  That bubble burst as a Burgman 650 cruised by us like it was nothing for the rider in shirt sleeves and dress pants to commute home at 80mph.  For a moment I considered turning the throttle but I had Nate to worry about.  It's what you do when you're in the lead.

First stop at a familiar road cut on the way to Philipsburg. The GTL isn't that much bigger looking than the RT but to my eye it has a sportier look to it.  The topcase and big rear seating area does place it squarely in the tourer world but it still looked sleek.  Nate and I talked a bit and he shared his thoughts on the fly-by-wire throttle and how different it felt from conventional throttle cable systems.  I held my tongue and didn't ask what he was talking about.  I figured I would find out soon enough.

I turn off into a gravel parking area near Black Moshannon State Park, in part to take a few pictures and in part to make sure if someone is going to drop the K1600 Nate can go first.  You can't tell in the picture but the gravel is loose.  And it raises the question of how I am thinking about the motorcycles.  The RT seems completely manageable and not much different than riding my Vespa, something which indicates a mastery on my part of motorcycles or a wildly unreasonable idea of how big the K1600 really is.

For now, let's go with the idea that I'm a really great rider.

Nate shared with me later that he swallowed hard when I turned off into the gravel.  He's smiling in the picture because I think he thought I would be taking my turn on the big bike.

I told him I wanted to ride the RT a little longer.  What I should have said was that I wanted to ride to a paved swap point.

The moment finally arrives where I'm going to take the new machine.  Nate's pilot training surfaces as he begins a fluid expression of a K1600 checklist outlining every feature and mode on this seriously equipped motorcycle.  I didn't exactly quit listening but my brain quit accepting data as he was running through the various computer controlled riding modes.

So I didn't seem ungrateful I asked Nate to show me how to get the K1600 on the centerstand.  There is always a trick and he showed it to me.  I wouldn't want to try it in gravel or on soft ground but it wasn't all that difficult.

We also discussed the sensitivity of the throttle and Nate urged caution for a few miles as I got used to how touchy it could be.  It didn't take long to appreciate the advice.  He talked about his preferences leaning towards impractical motorcycles like his Ducati 696 or his favorite the Ducati Hypermotard 1100 EVO.  Fast, powerful, but not possessing much utilitarian value.

The BMW K1600 GTL is designed to meet utilitarian needs.  "Honey, I'm going to the store to get a loaf of bread.  Then I'm going to swing by Seattle and be home."  This is the machine for that kind of quick trip.  Nate has to get back and we head down the mountain towards home. 

Sitting on the bike I can sense the greater mass.  Or at least I've been telling myself this for the past hour.  The throttle is sensitive and the power response is instantaneous.  Sloppy throttle work won't be appreciated on this bike.  After a few miles the bike and the throttle seem to merge with my body.  I'm not pushing anything but it's kind of a marvel how easy it is to ride.

Nate heads back to the shop and I turn towards home.  I stop on campus for another picture and think about where I'm going to ride in the morning.  

The first date was almost over and with only 50 miles on the BMW I wanted a second.  At this early point I already knew a few things.  

1.  Without a doubt this was the smoothest motorcycle I have ever ridden.  Engine, road feel, everything.  An engineering marvel.

2.  It's surprisingly nimble for a big touring motorcycle.

3.  The fly-by-wire throttle takes a little time to acquire the right touch but once you do it is a pleasure to use.

4.  It's not my Vespa.  No room for sloppy handling.   Too much mass to think you can muscle this around.  It requires a rider who pays attention and understands what it means to manage this kind of weight.

5.  If I were buying a touring bike, this would be it.  I like the BMW R 1200 RT but this K bike is in a different league.

I'll be posting more involved review of the BMW K1600 GTL in the next week or so.  I have been letting the story simmer for awhile but it's time to write it down. 

If you can't wait stop by and have Craig or Nate show you the bike. 

A Pleasant Evening Ride

Harley greeted me for the second time in two weeks when I rode up to a party yesterday evening.  I appreciate a dog who remembers who you are.

 

I rode to the Happy Valley Vineyard and Winery for a farewell party for the College of Ag Sciences associate dean for undergraduate education, Marcos Fernandez.  Vineyards are fine landscapes for people to gather.  And the Vespa looks good with the vines.

Heading home as the sun goes down I can't pass up the chance to make another photograph.   I can't say for sure but I probably would not stop a car to make the picture or appreciate the moment.  Riding brings a person closer to the world.  You feel it, smell it, become part of it.  A treasured part of rider.

One last stop before heading to the grocery store across town.  One last glimpse to the sky and clouds, the light changing colors over a swift sunset, a last quiet moment before joining the flow of traffic through the places of commerce.

A pleasant evening ride.  A pleasant way to unwind the day.

Seeking Out the Man

Standing along US 322 in a soft drizzle, admiring the fog drift over Mount Nittany, letting my thoughts flow along without a care in the world when the steady, whining drone of some infernal contraption interrupted the zen moment.   Turning my head I caught a glimpse of what had to be a red, BMW K75 with a stocky rider astride the machine.  It took me a moment but it occurred to me that it just might be Jack Riepe on some wild, irrational ride in the rain.

In moments I was on the expressway and gaining ground on the BMW just a half mile ahead.  The rider exits and sweeps past a green light onto the road into State College that I watch turn red.  For a moment I consider running the light as Jessica by the Allman Brothers Band is playing in my head.  But I remember I want to take possession of my Honda minivan tonight.

Moving slowly through State College I make a logical search for the man in question and first stop at some of the downtown eateries.  Nothing.  Mist and smoke.

Not a soul at the local cigar and single malt establishment.  Standing in the alley I puzzle my predicament and move to the only other logical place.

After a tour around town and a stop at the only Irish Pub in town I decide I've been seeing ghosts, allowing my mind to play ethereal beings across my visor, riding wraiths and spectral devils on unholy machines.

Another day on a Vespa, riding to work, enjoying the road ahead.

The Pragmatic Rider

 

On the way home the other night after signing the buyer agreement for a 2003 Honda Odyssey minivan.  I hear they are great for going to bingo and hauling free government cheese.  I'll get back to everyone on that.  I am certain that a van won't hamper my riding and probably not my ability to get from point A to point B in any way either.  But more intelligent people than I have suggested otherwise so I need to test their theories.

The weather has been chilly the past week.  One morning had me riding just below 50 degrees and today at 60.  I enjoy the brisk air.  And it makes for some big, clear skies.  I pretend I'm crossing Montana instead of riding home to make pasta.

Rain today but the thought of adding a minivan to the fleet helped me endure the moisture.  The Vespa and the FIT make a nicely colored duo.

Rain forecast for the morning.  Being a pragmatic rider I can sensibly and realistically manage my way to work.  And now that the vehicle stuff is almost done (pick up the Odyssey tomorrow afternoon) I will be able to focus again on finishing some new blog posts.  

Emerging from the Fog

It's hell to get old.  A familiar utterance from my father for as long as I can remember but until recently I didn't fully appreciate it's meaning.  Over the last two weeks I've worked through real and imagined ghosts of aging.

Stood for awhile in the studio today staring at the camera LCD wondering who this guy is. Self-portraits often reveal uncomfortable things.  They're not for anyone who likes to avoid the truth. The recent ER visit may have been the wake up call but I hadn't realized how far down the scale I might have fallen.

And just so you don't think I spend my days at work taking pictures of myself I was working out photographic style issues for a new marketing campaign.  I was just a convenient test model.

Poor Junior. 

Opened my eyes on Sunday morning and peered out the window -- fog.  No long walk on this morning.  Fleeting, vaporous, no time to spare when an enchanted landscape appears like Brigadoon emerging from the mist.  

Fast shower, dog out just long enough for morning responsibilities and I'm off on the Vespa seeking the quintessential magic image.  I've been chasing it for years. My blue butterfly.

Less than a mile from home I realize the fog has already moved off leaving just a gray calmness over the morning.  Abigail, the M4 Sherman tank in the picture, is similar to the ones in a photo album of my father's recording his time in the United States Third Army in the 1940s.  I see his ghost when I look in the mirror and feel the biological clock ticking, reminding me that I have choices to make.

In the past two weeks I've lost 24 pounds.  Fueled by stress, medication and the flu it rendered my less than finely tuned body into what I can only describe as a frail, muddled organism.  A stoic denial of sodium in response to my blood pressure spikes I was so thorough that my arms and legs seemed to constantly be cramping.  Only some insistent advice from loved ones and friends was able to penetrate my hard head and adjust my diet.  The same hardheadedness that makes it possible for me to ride through the winter also makes it difficult to see the light shining.  

Sometimes.

I had to cancel my place in the MSF Experienced Rider Course.  I was weak and didn't believe I could withstand the seven hours in the sun.  So much of me wanted to ignore all the data and go anyway.

 

Riding frequency declined for a number of reasons including the sudden necessity to replace our vehicles.  Bad, bad planning and requiring an amazing amount of time and effort.  So when I was able to ride it was mesmerizing.  Every possible good feeling and nerve end tingling greeted me.  It was good to be home.

Standing along Spring Creek and listening to the water sing almost made me cry.  I don't know why I've been so lucky in life.  Or given so many chances to succeed.

 

Riding has a calming effect.  Or so I tell myself when I watch my blood pressure numbers decline to their normal levels.  The past week they have pumped steady between 110/65 and 125/75, the range they have been for the past 50 years.

As the early morning wanes I head back to town and cut across campus towards my weekly meeting at Saint's Cafe.  The streets are empty as I ride beneath the last remaining elm tunnels. 

All the magic is gone when the sun is out.  Any chance of depicting Gordon as some sort of character out of a Harry Potter story is impossible in this light.  I'm thinking sodium at this point and what I can eat to give myself a bit of salt.

Mushroom and bell pepper quiche.  Vespa rider fare.  With much encouragement and advice I've moderated my stoic diet.  Weight loss has ceased and I feel good again.  The results from a battery of tests still linger in the future when I see my doctor later this week.  Until then I'll continue to do what I'm doing.

Heavy skies were forming in the west when I departed Saint's and by the time I got to Lemont I felt it wise to stop for a few minutes at the cafe and let the storm pass.  And a good excuse for tea and a cookie.  My first in a long time.

A cool breeze blows across the porch, delicate ringing from small bell chimes fills the air as every suggestion of the heat from just a few minutes earlier is washed away.  As the first drops of rain begin to fall I know I could stand here all day.

In minutes a steady, hard rain makes me smile that I've made a good decision.  Similar decisions loom down the road in regard to diet, stress and exercise.  What, me worry?

My father used to tell me I reminded him of Alfred E. Neuman.  Must have been the ears.

The rain passes and I make my way towards home.  The road stretches ahead and I don't know what's around the bend.  I can guess but mostly it's paying attention to what happens next.  For now I'm ok.  Or so it seems.  

The business of living is moving along.  A new Honda Fit Sport has replaced our old VW Jetta.  My Ford Ranger will make it's debut on eBay later this week with a Honda Odyssey van taking it's spot in the driveway.

I've had no aspiration to be a minivan driver but years of all season Vespa riding has tempered me for the task ahead.

And my apologies for all of you still waiting for me to post my review of the BMW K1600 GTL.  And to make matters more daunting I also have to write reviews of the Ducati Diavel that Craig Kissell and I took a ride on.  The Ducati Multistrada and a second time out on the BMW 1200 RT.

Plodding wins the race.  Look for more soon.

And thank you to everyone for your kind regards and support.  I do appreciate it.