Avon
The other day a member of our riding club had purchased a new scooter. He wanted to put some miles on and get out on the open road. There was a chance of rain. The weather channel ominously told of the potential of heavy rains, large hail and straight line winds. Tom's intent was to show me his new scooter and hopefully miss the bad weather in his less than five minute ride home.
After he hung up I went on line to get a better picture of what was coming in the skies. While the Weather Channel screamed warnings the radar site I use showed the pattern splitting to the north and south right over our town. Once Tom got here I showed him what I saw and we agreed we would clean the bikes and talk a while to see what transpired.
We cleaned the bikes, talked about bikes and spent about an hour just hanging out in my garage. More clouds moved in from the southwest. Black thunderheads, the kind that roll in fast and seem to boil their way across the sky broke a line of trees to the south. Tom thought this was it. There would be no ride.
Again, the clouds split wide soon after they appeared. It was like an invisible wedge blocked them from finding us. Some stormclouds moved north of us, and splitting eastward they stayed well to the south. We went in and check the computer again. It appeared this thunderhead was the last in a strong line of storms. We walked back outside and into the back yard to see to the southwest better.
Blue sky. Behind the roiling lightening sparked darkness was clear sunshiny blue sky. In moments the storm was east and while the deep thunder was clear, it was past us.
The two of us grinned as we donned our gear and started the bikes. In moments we were riding the countryside that begins just outside my neighborhood.
But it gets even better...
After we returned we talked about the ride. We decided that the next day (yesterday) we would ride again when Tom got off work. At about five he was here and we were ready to go.
I wanted to ride the Avon area. Its a small town off the expressway. Surrounded by lakes and quite a bit more hilly than some areas around here it boasts some incredible riding potential for early weekend mornings. I just haven't been able to do it yet.
The sun was hot yesterday. It actually set a record. Upper seventies and bright clear skies. We rode in a general direction and found a back way into the town. Gassing up at the Shell we talked about which way to head out of town. Town being oh, approximately a mile long give or take. Back north we went.
At this point its any one's game and Tom picked some great roads. Long sweeping bends climbing hills through still bare stands of trees. Rivulets and ponds. The sun heating the black fabric of my Corrazo.
There's a term the classic rock stations use when they play a number of songs in succession by a certain band. Getting the lead out. I'd say that's a fair description of what this ride felt like to me.
From Avon to St. Stephen and back home again. We put on roughly fifty miles and it felt so good. Tom said this is only the beginning and I believe him. How could I not? There is so much to explore in the Avon and surrounding area. We have only just begun.
The Roadbum
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
Whose Ride is It Anyway?
When learning to ride we all probably dealt with people who told us how dangerous motorcycles are to ride. Suicide machines. Hondacides. Name some derogatory term for the machine or the sport and I bet I can recall a time it was said to me. Without fail non riders' eyes would get suspicious and some advice or story about someones brother, cousin, or friend of a friend would fill my ears.
Oddly the reason for the crash or accident wasn't given. I had to ask that question on my own. Because we all know people don't cause accidents, the machines they're using suddenly take over and operate independently of the user. It happens all the time and motorcycles are notorious for displaying this characteristic normally reserved for living things.
People rule the majority of things and situations they find themselves involved in. They either take control or relinquish it. Its that simple. The responsibility lies with the individual.
When people relate these fearful stories about how Bob sent himself into a ditch some early morning sometime after bar closing they always leave out the part about the bars closing. Never mind that Bob helped close a certain bar. Bob was the victim and his dastardly motorcycle forced the liquor upon him.
They might tell the story with vivid detail but ask a few questions and chances are you're going to make them angry because they just got caught in a half truth or a flat out lie. If you point out Bob relinquished his control of the situation voluntarily or that Bob just assumed he could operate a motorcycle the way he would anything else in his life, they'll walk away angry.
People tell me how dangerous motorcycles are all the time. I tell them in all the years I've owned them, going into my teens, I've never walked by them in the garage and had one jump out and try to bite me yet.
Is that a dumb reply? No it really isn't. Because it always reminds them responsibility lies with the operator. Before they can utter another word the gears in their heads are turning. They stop talking and start thinking. The common response afterward is "just be careful out there" and that's something I appreciate hearing.
Now something new is happening and I can't seem to get past it. Riders who normally understand the individualism imbued in the spirit of riding motorcycles are giving faux warning about riding in bad weather. Here's the point those folks are missing: When someone tells you about a ride in bad weather and they're still a fully functioning human being, it means they rode well enough to get through it just fine. Regardless what the naysayers whine about, it already happened. Its a done deal. It happened without incident. And its up to the teller of the tale to decide if such a ride will be undertaken again. The person begging them not to do it again is forgetting two important things. First, Teller of said Tale doesn't need any one's permission to ride any time anywhere on the public roads of these United States. Secondly, Teller of said Tale probably learned a few things about being safer about riding in any conditions that the naysayers may need to know for their own safety someday.
When someone makes the choice to ride, they already took a leap against the grain. They've determined its worth the experience even if becoming the focus of naysayers' attention is drawn to them. Why? Because they really don't worry about what other people think. And they shouldn't, either.
People have ridden truly bad weather and did more than survive they found they enjoyed the experience, they explained to others how they got through it and then others learned to be better riders. Some riders have been in those same conditions and said they would never do it again. But from what I've seen both groups will share what they did and how they got through it.
We all have our limits where we feel we can handle a given condition well enough to get through it with relative comfort. Its not the same bar for any two people. Trying to bring anyone to our personal level of operation or comfort is an exercise in futility. Some riders will lay a bike low through the turns even on wet pavement. Others will baja off through the woods, beginning at the fire trails and working their way deeper and deeper into the steep terrain of canopied forests. Some take a go at snow while others like me enjoy riding in the rain on a warm afternoon.
It all starts with the idea that you or I could actually get through this situation. After all, none of us in this generation are going to be the first to do it. Millions have done it. They remember riding motorbikes through the woods. Or across fields, soaking themselves in muck. They remember the fun it was, the little two strokes tooting at high rpm for all they were worth.
No, before the naysayers condemn us for riding in bad weather or deride us for the way we're "influencing" the riding public with our disregard for safety and the "image" we present, they should remember some of us did these things before. Maybe as kids. They should also take notice that we ourselves are using all of our fingers to tell the stories. What riders who've done these things know, the rest of us can learn.
The Roadbum
When learning to ride we all probably dealt with people who told us how dangerous motorcycles are to ride. Suicide machines. Hondacides. Name some derogatory term for the machine or the sport and I bet I can recall a time it was said to me. Without fail non riders' eyes would get suspicious and some advice or story about someones brother, cousin, or friend of a friend would fill my ears.
Oddly the reason for the crash or accident wasn't given. I had to ask that question on my own. Because we all know people don't cause accidents, the machines they're using suddenly take over and operate independently of the user. It happens all the time and motorcycles are notorious for displaying this characteristic normally reserved for living things.
People rule the majority of things and situations they find themselves involved in. They either take control or relinquish it. Its that simple. The responsibility lies with the individual.
When people relate these fearful stories about how Bob sent himself into a ditch some early morning sometime after bar closing they always leave out the part about the bars closing. Never mind that Bob helped close a certain bar. Bob was the victim and his dastardly motorcycle forced the liquor upon him.
They might tell the story with vivid detail but ask a few questions and chances are you're going to make them angry because they just got caught in a half truth or a flat out lie. If you point out Bob relinquished his control of the situation voluntarily or that Bob just assumed he could operate a motorcycle the way he would anything else in his life, they'll walk away angry.
People tell me how dangerous motorcycles are all the time. I tell them in all the years I've owned them, going into my teens, I've never walked by them in the garage and had one jump out and try to bite me yet.
Is that a dumb reply? No it really isn't. Because it always reminds them responsibility lies with the operator. Before they can utter another word the gears in their heads are turning. They stop talking and start thinking. The common response afterward is "just be careful out there" and that's something I appreciate hearing.
Now something new is happening and I can't seem to get past it. Riders who normally understand the individualism imbued in the spirit of riding motorcycles are giving faux warning about riding in bad weather. Here's the point those folks are missing: When someone tells you about a ride in bad weather and they're still a fully functioning human being, it means they rode well enough to get through it just fine. Regardless what the naysayers whine about, it already happened. Its a done deal. It happened without incident. And its up to the teller of the tale to decide if such a ride will be undertaken again. The person begging them not to do it again is forgetting two important things. First, Teller of said Tale doesn't need any one's permission to ride any time anywhere on the public roads of these United States. Secondly, Teller of said Tale probably learned a few things about being safer about riding in any conditions that the naysayers may need to know for their own safety someday.
When someone makes the choice to ride, they already took a leap against the grain. They've determined its worth the experience even if becoming the focus of naysayers' attention is drawn to them. Why? Because they really don't worry about what other people think. And they shouldn't, either.
People have ridden truly bad weather and did more than survive they found they enjoyed the experience, they explained to others how they got through it and then others learned to be better riders. Some riders have been in those same conditions and said they would never do it again. But from what I've seen both groups will share what they did and how they got through it.
We all have our limits where we feel we can handle a given condition well enough to get through it with relative comfort. Its not the same bar for any two people. Trying to bring anyone to our personal level of operation or comfort is an exercise in futility. Some riders will lay a bike low through the turns even on wet pavement. Others will baja off through the woods, beginning at the fire trails and working their way deeper and deeper into the steep terrain of canopied forests. Some take a go at snow while others like me enjoy riding in the rain on a warm afternoon.
It all starts with the idea that you or I could actually get through this situation. After all, none of us in this generation are going to be the first to do it. Millions have done it. They remember riding motorbikes through the woods. Or across fields, soaking themselves in muck. They remember the fun it was, the little two strokes tooting at high rpm for all they were worth.
No, before the naysayers condemn us for riding in bad weather or deride us for the way we're "influencing" the riding public with our disregard for safety and the "image" we present, they should remember some of us did these things before. Maybe as kids. They should also take notice that we ourselves are using all of our fingers to tell the stories. What riders who've done these things know, the rest of us can learn.
The Roadbum
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
What's in a Name?
In October of 1900 sponge fishermen in the Mediteranian were trying to find safety from a storm. They ducked into the shelter of an island until the storm passed. After the skies broke they decided to try their luck in the area. The first diver went down and came up with fear in his eyes. With what must have seemed a halucinating fear to his mates he described a sea floor littered with bodies. The captain was next to dive and he returned with the arm of a bronze statue. The men of that small fishing expedition brought everything they could carry to the surface.
Two years later an archeaologist returned. Much more was found but the crowning interest he discovered on that sea floor was a mechanism in which he could see a gear. The machine was cloaked in mystery. There was not the one gear but several. No one was able to tell this machine's purpose. Originally believed to be an early clock, it was later presumed to be some kind of analog computer. Later studies would show it to be an astronomical tool. You could turn any of the three dials on its surface to calculate the position of the sun and planets for a past or future date. Astoundingly accurate and containing over thirty gears, the tool is credited to have been made by Posidinius around 150-100BC. More amazingly there are two more mentioned in the scrolls of Greece and later the great library of Alexandria. The first is said to have been made by Archimedes.
Now this brings up another point of interest to scooter and motorcycle enthusiasts. Archimedes made the first odometer. There are still mileage markers in existance which were built during the Roman empire. Their distances apart were measured by the same device Archimedes invented. Until recently it was only by evidence of some scroll that such a tool was even thought to exist. The problem was that each attempt to build Archimede's odometer met with failure. Recently a scientist of antiquity discovered how the thing actually worked and built a working model. One interesting part of the design was as so many gears followed a certain pattern of rotation, a stone would drop into a lower box, or tray, signifying one mile for each stone that fell.
Archimedes, father of the Antikythera Mechanism. He who also created a way to measure the distance we travel. Were it not for those fishermen off the island of the same name, would there be any way to know of the genius within this man's thoughts? To imagine just how much depth of understanding lay in his hands, consider that these functioning tools were made how many generations before Da Vinci? A full fifteen hundred years between on great mind and the other.
In this day science is still trying to work out the solutions left by the great authors of design such as Archimedes. If just for another page of discription then we would have what he did, what he meant by thus and such. Just one more scroll or parchment and we could solve another ancient mystery.
That name reminds me of my own insignificance. It also reminds me of the greatness man can create. A tool to set the place of the stars. Another to tell us how far we've come.
Tonight the Vespa has been given a name.
Kythera
The Roadbum
In October of 1900 sponge fishermen in the Mediteranian were trying to find safety from a storm. They ducked into the shelter of an island until the storm passed. After the skies broke they decided to try their luck in the area. The first diver went down and came up with fear in his eyes. With what must have seemed a halucinating fear to his mates he described a sea floor littered with bodies. The captain was next to dive and he returned with the arm of a bronze statue. The men of that small fishing expedition brought everything they could carry to the surface.
Two years later an archeaologist returned. Much more was found but the crowning interest he discovered on that sea floor was a mechanism in which he could see a gear. The machine was cloaked in mystery. There was not the one gear but several. No one was able to tell this machine's purpose. Originally believed to be an early clock, it was later presumed to be some kind of analog computer. Later studies would show it to be an astronomical tool. You could turn any of the three dials on its surface to calculate the position of the sun and planets for a past or future date. Astoundingly accurate and containing over thirty gears, the tool is credited to have been made by Posidinius around 150-100BC. More amazingly there are two more mentioned in the scrolls of Greece and later the great library of Alexandria. The first is said to have been made by Archimedes.
Now this brings up another point of interest to scooter and motorcycle enthusiasts. Archimedes made the first odometer. There are still mileage markers in existance which were built during the Roman empire. Their distances apart were measured by the same device Archimedes invented. Until recently it was only by evidence of some scroll that such a tool was even thought to exist. The problem was that each attempt to build Archimede's odometer met with failure. Recently a scientist of antiquity discovered how the thing actually worked and built a working model. One interesting part of the design was as so many gears followed a certain pattern of rotation, a stone would drop into a lower box, or tray, signifying one mile for each stone that fell.
Archimedes, father of the Antikythera Mechanism. He who also created a way to measure the distance we travel. Were it not for those fishermen off the island of the same name, would there be any way to know of the genius within this man's thoughts? To imagine just how much depth of understanding lay in his hands, consider that these functioning tools were made how many generations before Da Vinci? A full fifteen hundred years between on great mind and the other.
In this day science is still trying to work out the solutions left by the great authors of design such as Archimedes. If just for another page of discription then we would have what he did, what he meant by thus and such. Just one more scroll or parchment and we could solve another ancient mystery.
That name reminds me of my own insignificance. It also reminds me of the greatness man can create. A tool to set the place of the stars. Another to tell us how far we've come.
Tonight the Vespa has been given a name.
Kythera
The Roadbum
Monday, March 19, 2007
Everyone Needs to Eat
Therefore our young and small club is going to have a food shelf run. All the details are here: http://www.stcloudscoots.net/
Part of the ride will take us through orchards and by some lakes. This is a countryside ride over, as they say, hill and dale.
The Roadbum
Therefore our young and small club is going to have a food shelf run. All the details are here: http://www.stcloudscoots.net/
Part of the ride will take us through orchards and by some lakes. This is a countryside ride over, as they say, hill and dale.
The Roadbum
Friday, March 16, 2007
Spirited not Dangerous
When I was young I sometimes rode dangerously. Well by my standards today I would think so. Back then it was nothing to rely on quick reflexes and utterly trust my motorcycle to come through in the clinch. I would skip the tires, pour the bike into turns and throttle out with the dual forty millimeter Mikunis sucking in as much air and fuel as they possibly could. I hung her low and I was proud of it.
Over some years I mellowed but on occasion the young me, the former Rb would need to take the controls and set the tone. I've always been reading and listening to what skilled riders taught and I employed more and more of it. One day it felt like I was trying to duplicate the edge of my seat feeling I used to get, but it wasn't there. I realized I'd crossed some invisible line where I employed skill instead of hope and a little prayer. I was doing the same things I had in the past but the fear was gone. I also felt smoother through that turn. Confidence and more knowledge caught up with sheer youthful bravado. I'd made it this far with a bit of grace and luck. My style changed and improved over these many years and instead of the gritted teeth and bare knuckles, I was reading the information the bike and road were feeding me.
This was new...?
I began paying attention to the feeling I was looking for. The sensation of the right lean angle combined with the right entrance speed. Ahhhh that's the thing I was looking for!
When you do it right you get that same rush without the adolescent's anxious impatience. Sound familiar? A boy.. a girl... a passionate embrace leads to... (ahem) where were we? Oh yes. Attention to detail and practice brings about skill. Skill leads to being able to draw out the moment with (hey, you... stop thinking about the two young lovers. It was just an illustration) better self control.
I learned to slow a little more and build up more gradually in the turns. As my confidence increased I realized I could pitch the bike per speed and ride through the way I wanted. Not that all out crap, but really soak up the moment in a broad sweeping bend. Make it last.
Kids swill beer and coffee. Adults know what it tastes like.
I used to pour it on in the straights too. Looking for a natural high. But there's something about going the speed limit. You know, it really is about the right speed for this road.(ohmygoddidIjustwritethat?) Well, I suppose my attitude is improving and that's a good thing.
Spirited.
I bet in some ways I ride as hard as I ever did but those times are farther in between now. There's more skill in the saddle and its employed being smooth rather than trying to be blitzkrieg fast. Scooters are nimble little machines but they're not "fast". You can swing them into decent lean angles without much effort and throw them around a little bit. Its that near effortless compliance which allows me to enjoy them so much. Like the little bikes I grew up around. As happy with the ride now as I was then.
The Roadbum
When I was young I sometimes rode dangerously. Well by my standards today I would think so. Back then it was nothing to rely on quick reflexes and utterly trust my motorcycle to come through in the clinch. I would skip the tires, pour the bike into turns and throttle out with the dual forty millimeter Mikunis sucking in as much air and fuel as they possibly could. I hung her low and I was proud of it.
Over some years I mellowed but on occasion the young me, the former Rb would need to take the controls and set the tone. I've always been reading and listening to what skilled riders taught and I employed more and more of it. One day it felt like I was trying to duplicate the edge of my seat feeling I used to get, but it wasn't there. I realized I'd crossed some invisible line where I employed skill instead of hope and a little prayer. I was doing the same things I had in the past but the fear was gone. I also felt smoother through that turn. Confidence and more knowledge caught up with sheer youthful bravado. I'd made it this far with a bit of grace and luck. My style changed and improved over these many years and instead of the gritted teeth and bare knuckles, I was reading the information the bike and road were feeding me.
This was new...?
I began paying attention to the feeling I was looking for. The sensation of the right lean angle combined with the right entrance speed. Ahhhh that's the thing I was looking for!
When you do it right you get that same rush without the adolescent's anxious impatience. Sound familiar? A boy.. a girl... a passionate embrace leads to... (ahem) where were we? Oh yes. Attention to detail and practice brings about skill. Skill leads to being able to draw out the moment with (hey, you... stop thinking about the two young lovers. It was just an illustration) better self control.
I learned to slow a little more and build up more gradually in the turns. As my confidence increased I realized I could pitch the bike per speed and ride through the way I wanted. Not that all out crap, but really soak up the moment in a broad sweeping bend. Make it last.
Kids swill beer and coffee. Adults know what it tastes like.
I used to pour it on in the straights too. Looking for a natural high. But there's something about going the speed limit. You know, it really is about the right speed for this road.(ohmygoddidIjustwritethat?) Well, I suppose my attitude is improving and that's a good thing.
Spirited.
I bet in some ways I ride as hard as I ever did but those times are farther in between now. There's more skill in the saddle and its employed being smooth rather than trying to be blitzkrieg fast. Scooters are nimble little machines but they're not "fast". You can swing them into decent lean angles without much effort and throw them around a little bit. Its that near effortless compliance which allows me to enjoy them so much. Like the little bikes I grew up around. As happy with the ride now as I was then.
The Roadbum
Second Hand Happiness
Old Scoot mentioned having what's now becoming thought of as a classic old model, the Honda Helix. His bike has lots of miles meaning its getting ridden. Far too often I hear about scooters from the mid eighties on being sold for a song with three to five thousand miles on the clock. Bikes which are probably due for a tune up and good going over from sitting in the back corner of a garage somewhere.
These bikes were fun while their owners used them but some reason caused them to be put aside, relegated to storage. Maybe the owner decided it was time to move into something larger or life just changed as often happens. Great scooters, low miles.
You can find these machines for a song by listening to the grapevine. They were running when put aside. Gummed carburators, oil and brake fluid changes usually accomplish enough to get them back on the road. Oh, and this is important; you will require new tires. Going over the details starting with a good cleaning could show a nice gem underneath. Just some loving care. If the prospective seller finds the title, you might have just found yourself a very inexpensive ticket to ride.
A friend was recently given a Yamaha Riva 180. He literally sprayed some carb cleaner through it, changed the oil, drained the tank and added fresh fuel just to see if it would run. He replenished the old battery with distilled water and trickle charged it. You can thumb the starter and that old '83 Riva will fire and run every time. Cost of the Riva? His time into it so far.
Japanese scooters have been in the states a long time. They made their mark here with an ad campaign that anyone over thirty can quote. "You meet the nicest people on a Honda." Suddenly everyone wanted to ride the little Honda scooters. They had larger wheels, a version of legshields and they had a look all their own. Because of the placement of ads, everyone had seen the 70cc scooters. Honda placed the commercial in mainstream magazines. Everyday people riding and smiling while riding. The company founded by Hoshiro Honda had had created an icon.
Since the early seventies Japanese scooters developed their own reputations of reliability. They became thicker looking. More plush. They boasted good power and larger models could get above sixty miles per hour. The little 50cc models were seen hanging around college campuses, waiting for their owners to take them to the local watering holes. The bigger models had their own niche. People who rode them might've started on the smaller and just enjoyed them so much they had to have the next model up. Even in the seventies and eighties the Japanese scooter manufacturers carried automatic scooters. They were stone simple to use and pretty basic to maintain. And they were dependable.
I like to surf the internet looking at all the different scooters that have been made since the seventies. Different designs, interesting solutions to one thing or another, they all had something worth taking a second look at. There are websites dedicated to common problems one model or another had and the solutions to those problems. Most often its really not expensive even by today's standards. For a fraction of the cost of a new scooter you can be into something you used to think was pretty nice. For not that much more you can have it running as new. Hard to beat that logic against the rising cost of virtually everything in today's economy.
I'm developing an interest in finding a certain model Honda I've always liked. This thing was considered plush in its time and still looks it today. Those bikes have never looked "cheap" to me and they still don't. They're out there. In a garage, basement or barn. Waiting for someone to put them back on the road.
Is there a model you remember that caught your eye?
The Roadbum
Old Scoot mentioned having what's now becoming thought of as a classic old model, the Honda Helix. His bike has lots of miles meaning its getting ridden. Far too often I hear about scooters from the mid eighties on being sold for a song with three to five thousand miles on the clock. Bikes which are probably due for a tune up and good going over from sitting in the back corner of a garage somewhere.
These bikes were fun while their owners used them but some reason caused them to be put aside, relegated to storage. Maybe the owner decided it was time to move into something larger or life just changed as often happens. Great scooters, low miles.
You can find these machines for a song by listening to the grapevine. They were running when put aside. Gummed carburators, oil and brake fluid changes usually accomplish enough to get them back on the road. Oh, and this is important; you will require new tires. Going over the details starting with a good cleaning could show a nice gem underneath. Just some loving care. If the prospective seller finds the title, you might have just found yourself a very inexpensive ticket to ride.
A friend was recently given a Yamaha Riva 180. He literally sprayed some carb cleaner through it, changed the oil, drained the tank and added fresh fuel just to see if it would run. He replenished the old battery with distilled water and trickle charged it. You can thumb the starter and that old '83 Riva will fire and run every time. Cost of the Riva? His time into it so far.
Japanese scooters have been in the states a long time. They made their mark here with an ad campaign that anyone over thirty can quote. "You meet the nicest people on a Honda." Suddenly everyone wanted to ride the little Honda scooters. They had larger wheels, a version of legshields and they had a look all their own. Because of the placement of ads, everyone had seen the 70cc scooters. Honda placed the commercial in mainstream magazines. Everyday people riding and smiling while riding. The company founded by Hoshiro Honda had had created an icon.
Since the early seventies Japanese scooters developed their own reputations of reliability. They became thicker looking. More plush. They boasted good power and larger models could get above sixty miles per hour. The little 50cc models were seen hanging around college campuses, waiting for their owners to take them to the local watering holes. The bigger models had their own niche. People who rode them might've started on the smaller and just enjoyed them so much they had to have the next model up. Even in the seventies and eighties the Japanese scooter manufacturers carried automatic scooters. They were stone simple to use and pretty basic to maintain. And they were dependable.
I like to surf the internet looking at all the different scooters that have been made since the seventies. Different designs, interesting solutions to one thing or another, they all had something worth taking a second look at. There are websites dedicated to common problems one model or another had and the solutions to those problems. Most often its really not expensive even by today's standards. For a fraction of the cost of a new scooter you can be into something you used to think was pretty nice. For not that much more you can have it running as new. Hard to beat that logic against the rising cost of virtually everything in today's economy.
I'm developing an interest in finding a certain model Honda I've always liked. This thing was considered plush in its time and still looks it today. Those bikes have never looked "cheap" to me and they still don't. They're out there. In a garage, basement or barn. Waiting for someone to put them back on the road.
Is there a model you remember that caught your eye?
The Roadbum
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Time to Slake Your Thirst
I've always had an unspoken distance I needed to ride in order to feel... rested. I don't know about you but I feel more refreshed after a proper ride than after a good night's sleep. Since I can remember I could never sleep more than six hours unless physically ill. Sleep is a non active sort of activity. You're not really involved. You sort of have to trust that nothing will happen while you're "away".
Riding on the other hand, is a hands on in the moment experience. You control what happens and so you ultimately control most of what you feel. Pick the road, the third of the lane, the time of day or night or the company you choose to ride with. Its all yours to tune to your liking.
The only variable left is how long do you need to be out there, to be riding at your own pace in order to feel like the ride has reached its fullness? How long a ride will it take to satisfy your lust for the experience of The Ride?
When I was a single Roadbum it had to average a good thirty miles to even qualify as a ride. With groups it seemed the ride had to be longer. Much longer. I was given the nickname Marathon Harv after a certain nighttime sojourn I led brought us to the Minnesota state line. This was back when I lived in Milwaukee. Some riders complained I'd gotten us lost. My friends knew I was loosely following the stars.
So what comprises a satisfying ride? I think its being in the moment you'd planned for when you started. Sometimes creativity needs to work in one's favor but the general rule is we have expectations for each ride. If we meet them it becomes a memorable experience.
I'm married. I've got soon-to-be four year old twins to think about. Time is less my own than it ever was. I've resorted to skimming a little time here or there in order to get some time in the saddle. Subconsciously I must have come to the conclusion something about the ride had to change if I was to capture the same satisfaction I used to find in the longer rides.
I had to rediscover what it was about the ride which has always drawn me in so completely.
When the Honda Express came along the little scooter turned out to be a hoot to ride. The little bike's bare minimum capabilities not only brought back the livelihood of the ride it somehow managed to compact fun into shorter distances and thus shorter spans of time. It felt like starting over again. Fresh.
When I got the Vespa LX150 I could have gotten the GTS250. I passed on it because it crossed an invisible line which would have put it in the same category as the other full on motorcycles I have. If it can get on the expressway its a motorcycle as far as I'm concerned. I've got several of those. I don't need another. No, the line had to remain or I would be confusing the issue. And I'm not selling the others. The Harley carried Annette and me on our honeymoon nearly eleven years ago. She loves that bike for sentimental reasons. The Nighthawk is hers and her decision alone regarding whether it stays or not. The Yamaha has been with me twenty years. The only bike I've ever named. Tamera is "the other woman". She looks as good as the day we met. The GL is something I haven't decided about just yet.
Tamera.
The Harley.
These bikes require being ridden longer distances on principle alone. They warm themselves into the ride in a different way. Some people say bikes like these need to "stretch their legs". Short rides on Tamera and the Sporty just don't feel right. Unsatisfying.
The Vespa can be ridden short distances or long because it distills the whole riding experience in a different way. It imbues a sense of getting back to the roots of why we ride, in each ride. Its just fun whether you're going to the grocery store to pick up odds and ends or riding straight through a couple tank fulls worth on a Saturday.
A new cup filled with good vintage wine. Not like the adolescent thirst I once had, a craving to just go go go, but a more mature interest in the full body of the ride. Lesser roads on the way to better roads. For me this Vespa puts more fun into all of it.
It goes to show the ride is what you make it.
The Roadbum
I've always had an unspoken distance I needed to ride in order to feel... rested. I don't know about you but I feel more refreshed after a proper ride than after a good night's sleep. Since I can remember I could never sleep more than six hours unless physically ill. Sleep is a non active sort of activity. You're not really involved. You sort of have to trust that nothing will happen while you're "away".
Riding on the other hand, is a hands on in the moment experience. You control what happens and so you ultimately control most of what you feel. Pick the road, the third of the lane, the time of day or night or the company you choose to ride with. Its all yours to tune to your liking.
The only variable left is how long do you need to be out there, to be riding at your own pace in order to feel like the ride has reached its fullness? How long a ride will it take to satisfy your lust for the experience of The Ride?
When I was a single Roadbum it had to average a good thirty miles to even qualify as a ride. With groups it seemed the ride had to be longer. Much longer. I was given the nickname Marathon Harv after a certain nighttime sojourn I led brought us to the Minnesota state line. This was back when I lived in Milwaukee. Some riders complained I'd gotten us lost. My friends knew I was loosely following the stars.
So what comprises a satisfying ride? I think its being in the moment you'd planned for when you started. Sometimes creativity needs to work in one's favor but the general rule is we have expectations for each ride. If we meet them it becomes a memorable experience.
I'm married. I've got soon-to-be four year old twins to think about. Time is less my own than it ever was. I've resorted to skimming a little time here or there in order to get some time in the saddle. Subconsciously I must have come to the conclusion something about the ride had to change if I was to capture the same satisfaction I used to find in the longer rides.
I had to rediscover what it was about the ride which has always drawn me in so completely.
When the Honda Express came along the little scooter turned out to be a hoot to ride. The little bike's bare minimum capabilities not only brought back the livelihood of the ride it somehow managed to compact fun into shorter distances and thus shorter spans of time. It felt like starting over again. Fresh.
When I got the Vespa LX150 I could have gotten the GTS250. I passed on it because it crossed an invisible line which would have put it in the same category as the other full on motorcycles I have. If it can get on the expressway its a motorcycle as far as I'm concerned. I've got several of those. I don't need another. No, the line had to remain or I would be confusing the issue. And I'm not selling the others. The Harley carried Annette and me on our honeymoon nearly eleven years ago. She loves that bike for sentimental reasons. The Nighthawk is hers and her decision alone regarding whether it stays or not. The Yamaha has been with me twenty years. The only bike I've ever named. Tamera is "the other woman". She looks as good as the day we met. The GL is something I haven't decided about just yet.
Tamera.
The Harley.
These bikes require being ridden longer distances on principle alone. They warm themselves into the ride in a different way. Some people say bikes like these need to "stretch their legs". Short rides on Tamera and the Sporty just don't feel right. Unsatisfying.
The Vespa can be ridden short distances or long because it distills the whole riding experience in a different way. It imbues a sense of getting back to the roots of why we ride, in each ride. Its just fun whether you're going to the grocery store to pick up odds and ends or riding straight through a couple tank fulls worth on a Saturday.
A new cup filled with good vintage wine. Not like the adolescent thirst I once had, a craving to just go go go, but a more mature interest in the full body of the ride. Lesser roads on the way to better roads. For me this Vespa puts more fun into all of it.
It goes to show the ride is what you make it.
The Roadbum
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Genuine Success
About a week ago my dad picked up the Genuine Buddy scooter he'd ordered. The reason he bought it was the scooter he's ridden until now is a 50cc. While it'll run an honest 40mph and 45 if you strain it down a hill, traffic generally moves a little quicker than the posted limits. Keeping up with traffic flow can become a safety issue.
We brought it home in his Tacoma as my work on making my boat trailer a dual purpose design hasn't begun.
The other day it was beautiful here. In the fifties and light winds. Dad was itching for a good day to ride his new prize. I called him and said I thought this would be a good day to take it on a little spin. Kind of get the feel for it and break it in a little. You could hear the anticipation in his voice. Within half an hour the little red truck was parked in the driveway.
I rolled my midnight blue LX and his ruby red Buddy into Annette's spot and began wiping them down. It's the little details which surprised me about the Buddy. The fit is nicer than you might expect from a Taiwanese import scooter. By looking at the quality of the fit and finish a person might be hard pressed to come up with the actual price of this bike.
My dad commented that I didn't have to wipe it down but it's a habit I developed somewhere along the line and I'm not about to quit now. To me it's part of the fun of owning a motorcycle or scooter.
We rolled the two scooters out of the garage and onto the driveway, each of us starting his respective bike. Both started immediately. Both worked themselves down to a warmed idle and settled into that familiar one lunger loping sound. So nice.
We went over the switches again and decided the route. A familiar loop we'd ridden all of last summer. Some straights, some hills and a few sleepy bends to round out the ride.
Compared to last summer this first ride with pop was already better. We weren't limited by his speed. Cautious and a more spirited ride is what this turned into. My dad rolled his throttle and moved through the rpm's and the bike never stuttered. When we turned I could only smile as once we were rolling again he remembered to flick off the signal. The audible clacking of the switch is a great feature to remind us to thumb it off. Dad could hear it again. He never missed a beat.
Now there is a section of plumbline straight road. Pockmarked and rippled its a sore spot on the run but it gets you to the better stuff. I sometimes think of it as the price you have to pay for what's coming afterward. Something I hadn't thought of before came to mind as I watched my dad riding ahead of me on this road. You really get to see how a bike deals with rough pavement. You don't visialize it like you might when you critique your own experience, you actually witness it.
I don't know why but for a split instant I saw my dad on the old 50cc. I blinked and there he was on the Buddy. As strange as this was it also caused me to notice something. The Genuine Buddy's supension works extremely well. It's rider wasn't being jostled but the feedback appeared to be about as close to right as I would suppose one would want from a scooter. My dad wasn't fighting the ride, he was rolling with right along with it. He certainly appeared comfortable.
Once we got to the roads where a little lean angle is employed he moved right along through them. Instead of the wandering line he used to follow, using the whole lane to negotiate each arc, he held the line consistantly. When he started in the left third of the lane he rode that third all the way through and maintained it on the following straightway. After the ride he spoke of the Buddy's design inspiring his confidence. Hey, I can't argue, I witnessed it.
The true testament to the Buddy's quality and attention to details regarding how it works came in the words my dad spoke upon shutting the bike down. He looked me square in the eye and said, "Son, if it was a bit warmer I would say let's just keep going."
The only thing he thought the bike could use is a wider legshield. Coming from him that's pretty impressive. We'll revisit his thoughts later in the season once the newness of the bike wears off and he's put some miles and time in the saddle.
That says enough about how my dad feels about his new Buddy.
The Roadbum
About a week ago my dad picked up the Genuine Buddy scooter he'd ordered. The reason he bought it was the scooter he's ridden until now is a 50cc. While it'll run an honest 40mph and 45 if you strain it down a hill, traffic generally moves a little quicker than the posted limits. Keeping up with traffic flow can become a safety issue.
We brought it home in his Tacoma as my work on making my boat trailer a dual purpose design hasn't begun.
The other day it was beautiful here. In the fifties and light winds. Dad was itching for a good day to ride his new prize. I called him and said I thought this would be a good day to take it on a little spin. Kind of get the feel for it and break it in a little. You could hear the anticipation in his voice. Within half an hour the little red truck was parked in the driveway.
I rolled my midnight blue LX and his ruby red Buddy into Annette's spot and began wiping them down. It's the little details which surprised me about the Buddy. The fit is nicer than you might expect from a Taiwanese import scooter. By looking at the quality of the fit and finish a person might be hard pressed to come up with the actual price of this bike.
My dad commented that I didn't have to wipe it down but it's a habit I developed somewhere along the line and I'm not about to quit now. To me it's part of the fun of owning a motorcycle or scooter.
We rolled the two scooters out of the garage and onto the driveway, each of us starting his respective bike. Both started immediately. Both worked themselves down to a warmed idle and settled into that familiar one lunger loping sound. So nice.
We went over the switches again and decided the route. A familiar loop we'd ridden all of last summer. Some straights, some hills and a few sleepy bends to round out the ride.
Compared to last summer this first ride with pop was already better. We weren't limited by his speed. Cautious and a more spirited ride is what this turned into. My dad rolled his throttle and moved through the rpm's and the bike never stuttered. When we turned I could only smile as once we were rolling again he remembered to flick off the signal. The audible clacking of the switch is a great feature to remind us to thumb it off. Dad could hear it again. He never missed a beat.
Now there is a section of plumbline straight road. Pockmarked and rippled its a sore spot on the run but it gets you to the better stuff. I sometimes think of it as the price you have to pay for what's coming afterward. Something I hadn't thought of before came to mind as I watched my dad riding ahead of me on this road. You really get to see how a bike deals with rough pavement. You don't visialize it like you might when you critique your own experience, you actually witness it.
I don't know why but for a split instant I saw my dad on the old 50cc. I blinked and there he was on the Buddy. As strange as this was it also caused me to notice something. The Genuine Buddy's supension works extremely well. It's rider wasn't being jostled but the feedback appeared to be about as close to right as I would suppose one would want from a scooter. My dad wasn't fighting the ride, he was rolling with right along with it. He certainly appeared comfortable.
Once we got to the roads where a little lean angle is employed he moved right along through them. Instead of the wandering line he used to follow, using the whole lane to negotiate each arc, he held the line consistantly. When he started in the left third of the lane he rode that third all the way through and maintained it on the following straightway. After the ride he spoke of the Buddy's design inspiring his confidence. Hey, I can't argue, I witnessed it.
The true testament to the Buddy's quality and attention to details regarding how it works came in the words my dad spoke upon shutting the bike down. He looked me square in the eye and said, "Son, if it was a bit warmer I would say let's just keep going."
The only thing he thought the bike could use is a wider legshield. Coming from him that's pretty impressive. We'll revisit his thoughts later in the season once the newness of the bike wears off and he's put some miles and time in the saddle.
That says enough about how my dad feels about his new Buddy.
The Roadbum
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
When Owning a Chinese Scooter isn't so Bad
Let me preface this by saying I have nothing against Chinese scooters if they're brands like TN'G or Schwinn. Actually both are the same scooters with different badges but that's another story. TN'G has been making scooters for decades overseas and has entered the US market with a fairly decent support line. Unfortunately unless the trend of sales remains strong they too may fade away. I hope they stick around because from what I've seen locally dealer support is pretty darn good for this particular Chinese company.
What companies like TN'G offer is an inexpensive scooter which fits a small niche of people just getting their feet wet. Unfortunately there are many [used car] lots selling Chinese brands I've never heard of, even in this college town of St. Cloud. These lesser known companies have gained a sales network of people willing to make a quick buck and it bodes poorly for those of us who are scooterists first and foremost. When a no name brand comes along for a season or two of spiking gas prices the money is made on the sale. Once sales decrease the no name scooter brands fade away, leaving buyers with machines needing only slight maintenance from sitting quietly through a winter, without anyone to turn to. People who would have been avid scooterists are left with regrets and a sour taste against the sport in general.
But what if you're a new scooterist? What if you've never ridden a motorized two wheeler before?
You might be one of the millions who plunked down anywhere from an unbelievable 700 dollars to under two grand for the better models. The bikes have done what you asked. You're learning to ride and you're have a blast in the breeze and sunshine.
The day of truth arrives. The day you discover if you're a rider or someone just testing the waters.
You have your first spill. It could be a slide, or something as simple as what my dad did just two days ago. He started the bike for the first time after a long winter without riding. He managed a simple newbie mistake and the bike rolled away from him. He tried to grab it but by standing on the wrong side and not keeping a hand on the brake the little 50cc "scooted" away from him and went over on its side. Damage was a cracked upper legshield along with a turn signal bracket snapped off. In the accident he tripped and fell but no injuries. Just a little pride and a (thankfully) gentle reminder that these things need to be taken seriously. I don't think he even suffered a bruise that's how light this little tip over was.
My dad has no intention of giving up. He loves to ride. As I mentioned in an earlier post he now has the new Genuine Buddy. He wisely intended to run in the older TN'G to get himself back in the groove before getting on the new scooter. After his little mishap he checked the 50cc out as well as he could and even took it for a little spin. Seems there's nothing wrong with the bike other than a chipped plastic legshield and a snapped turn signal bracket.
To me the TN'G runs exactly as I remember it last season. But it suffered a little cosmetic... individuality. My dad made some fairly common new rider mistakes. He assumed a few things and now knows not to. But I have to tell you he's thankful it happened on the little 50cc rather than his brand new Genuine Buddy 125. Mechanically the TN'G is no worse for the wear. Neither is my dad.
I can't imagine how upset he would have been with himself had it happened on his cherished ruby red Buddy. I'm just glad the little low speed scooter was the bike to remind him to always think about every detail of what he's intending to do when it involves two wheels. He's set in his ways and there's no changing his patterns from the son to father perspective. Sometimes he just does things his way and learns on the uptake. I wish it didn't have to be this way but its his choice. In that respect an inexpensive Chinese scooter was the better of the two he owns upon which the lesson was to be learned.
The Roadbum
Let me preface this by saying I have nothing against Chinese scooters if they're brands like TN'G or Schwinn. Actually both are the same scooters with different badges but that's another story. TN'G has been making scooters for decades overseas and has entered the US market with a fairly decent support line. Unfortunately unless the trend of sales remains strong they too may fade away. I hope they stick around because from what I've seen locally dealer support is pretty darn good for this particular Chinese company.
What companies like TN'G offer is an inexpensive scooter which fits a small niche of people just getting their feet wet. Unfortunately there are many [used car] lots selling Chinese brands I've never heard of, even in this college town of St. Cloud. These lesser known companies have gained a sales network of people willing to make a quick buck and it bodes poorly for those of us who are scooterists first and foremost. When a no name brand comes along for a season or two of spiking gas prices the money is made on the sale. Once sales decrease the no name scooter brands fade away, leaving buyers with machines needing only slight maintenance from sitting quietly through a winter, without anyone to turn to. People who would have been avid scooterists are left with regrets and a sour taste against the sport in general.
But what if you're a new scooterist? What if you've never ridden a motorized two wheeler before?
You might be one of the millions who plunked down anywhere from an unbelievable 700 dollars to under two grand for the better models. The bikes have done what you asked. You're learning to ride and you're have a blast in the breeze and sunshine.
The day of truth arrives. The day you discover if you're a rider or someone just testing the waters.
You have your first spill. It could be a slide, or something as simple as what my dad did just two days ago. He started the bike for the first time after a long winter without riding. He managed a simple newbie mistake and the bike rolled away from him. He tried to grab it but by standing on the wrong side and not keeping a hand on the brake the little 50cc "scooted" away from him and went over on its side. Damage was a cracked upper legshield along with a turn signal bracket snapped off. In the accident he tripped and fell but no injuries. Just a little pride and a (thankfully) gentle reminder that these things need to be taken seriously. I don't think he even suffered a bruise that's how light this little tip over was.
My dad has no intention of giving up. He loves to ride. As I mentioned in an earlier post he now has the new Genuine Buddy. He wisely intended to run in the older TN'G to get himself back in the groove before getting on the new scooter. After his little mishap he checked the 50cc out as well as he could and even took it for a little spin. Seems there's nothing wrong with the bike other than a chipped plastic legshield and a snapped turn signal bracket.
To me the TN'G runs exactly as I remember it last season. But it suffered a little cosmetic... individuality. My dad made some fairly common new rider mistakes. He assumed a few things and now knows not to. But I have to tell you he's thankful it happened on the little 50cc rather than his brand new Genuine Buddy 125. Mechanically the TN'G is no worse for the wear. Neither is my dad.
I can't imagine how upset he would have been with himself had it happened on his cherished ruby red Buddy. I'm just glad the little low speed scooter was the bike to remind him to always think about every detail of what he's intending to do when it involves two wheels. He's set in his ways and there's no changing his patterns from the son to father perspective. Sometimes he just does things his way and learns on the uptake. I wish it didn't have to be this way but its his choice. In that respect an inexpensive Chinese scooter was the better of the two he owns upon which the lesson was to be learned.
The Roadbum
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Splashing Around
This is the time of the year when I've always had the least patience waiting for the roads to become "passable". As a motorcyclist, spring always made me wish the snow would melt in the span of a day or two. A week at the most and then during the work days so you could ride by the time the weekend rolled around.
Was the weather too cold? Too much sand on the roads? You would think either of these things could be dealt with easy enough. No, these weren't the reasons to wait. Its been easy enough to wear proper gear. We knew how to stay warm. And the sand has been taken with extreme caution with our routes planned around areas where heavy traffic meant the plows had spread alot of it.
Do you know what keeps the majority of motorcyclists off the roads this time of year?
Water.
Puddles large and small. Pools of water which anyone on two wheels will eventually be unable to avoid riding through. The front tire hits, the water splits and sprays. It goes in directions that seem unnatural. It sprays everywhere. To put it bluntly, it really sucks to get slushy, dirty, sandy water up your pant legs only to run back down and soak your socks. I don't know what the laws of physics are that cause this strange pattern of flying muck to fan itself the way it does once a tire's force splits the puddle, but it'll manage to hit you in the most inexplicable ways.
I've hit puddles and had water shoot up my nose. Inside my full face helmet! With the visor clamped shut no less. You want a good reason to pull over? This is one that definitely makes the Late Night with David Letterman Top Ten list.
But today I thought about one of the great features of scooters. They have these wonderful design functions known as legshields. And they work as advertized.
Today I went for a glorious little roundabout into the countryside a cup of coffee. In the next town. Actually a few towns away but that's not the point. The point is I traversed large puddles of standing water and was not sprayed once.
Ahhhh the joy. The simple pleasure of finding yet another reason to appreciate these little gigglemachines called modern scooters.
Not that I went out of my way to split the waters, but where I more or less needed to, I crossed them cautiously and slowly. Sure, the Vespa shows its been ridden. The bottom is not so much midnight blue anymore as it is a splattered canvas in shades of brown. Like a Pollack using only earthtones.
For the true riding enthusiast the design of the legshield and floorpan ought to elicit praise. Its functionality provides comfort where other designs might force the rider to choose between putting on extra gear, or waiting for the roads to become dry again. I've ridden hundreds of miles with blown out rain pants. Soaked to the point of numbness and unable to stop because there was a storm ahead of me and another creeping up behind. Where I was it was not raining but the roads were beyond capacity to move the water to the side. While we were not being hit by the rain we were definitely being hammered by the spray coming up to greet us from the surface.
To think of having been on my Vespa that day. Yes, I believe I would have been drenched just the same in the end. The difference being water plowing its way up at you from the road, drenching you the way it had versus the new experience of the scooter's solution to the problem. What comes up to you with such force meets the legshield and floorpan. The mist of it will get you in the end if you need to be riding long enough in the stuff. Think of it as getting hit by a Supersoaker full of very cold water versus a seeping mist, a gradual heavy dampness.
Scooters are incredibly well thought out machines. If form follows function they may be the best for the average riding enthusiast.
The Roadbum
This is the time of the year when I've always had the least patience waiting for the roads to become "passable". As a motorcyclist, spring always made me wish the snow would melt in the span of a day or two. A week at the most and then during the work days so you could ride by the time the weekend rolled around.
Was the weather too cold? Too much sand on the roads? You would think either of these things could be dealt with easy enough. No, these weren't the reasons to wait. Its been easy enough to wear proper gear. We knew how to stay warm. And the sand has been taken with extreme caution with our routes planned around areas where heavy traffic meant the plows had spread alot of it.
Do you know what keeps the majority of motorcyclists off the roads this time of year?
Water.
Puddles large and small. Pools of water which anyone on two wheels will eventually be unable to avoid riding through. The front tire hits, the water splits and sprays. It goes in directions that seem unnatural. It sprays everywhere. To put it bluntly, it really sucks to get slushy, dirty, sandy water up your pant legs only to run back down and soak your socks. I don't know what the laws of physics are that cause this strange pattern of flying muck to fan itself the way it does once a tire's force splits the puddle, but it'll manage to hit you in the most inexplicable ways.
I've hit puddles and had water shoot up my nose. Inside my full face helmet! With the visor clamped shut no less. You want a good reason to pull over? This is one that definitely makes the Late Night with David Letterman Top Ten list.
But today I thought about one of the great features of scooters. They have these wonderful design functions known as legshields. And they work as advertized.
Today I went for a glorious little roundabout into the countryside a cup of coffee. In the next town. Actually a few towns away but that's not the point. The point is I traversed large puddles of standing water and was not sprayed once.
Ahhhh the joy. The simple pleasure of finding yet another reason to appreciate these little gigglemachines called modern scooters.
Not that I went out of my way to split the waters, but where I more or less needed to, I crossed them cautiously and slowly. Sure, the Vespa shows its been ridden. The bottom is not so much midnight blue anymore as it is a splattered canvas in shades of brown. Like a Pollack using only earthtones.
For the true riding enthusiast the design of the legshield and floorpan ought to elicit praise. Its functionality provides comfort where other designs might force the rider to choose between putting on extra gear, or waiting for the roads to become dry again. I've ridden hundreds of miles with blown out rain pants. Soaked to the point of numbness and unable to stop because there was a storm ahead of me and another creeping up behind. Where I was it was not raining but the roads were beyond capacity to move the water to the side. While we were not being hit by the rain we were definitely being hammered by the spray coming up to greet us from the surface.
To think of having been on my Vespa that day. Yes, I believe I would have been drenched just the same in the end. The difference being water plowing its way up at you from the road, drenching you the way it had versus the new experience of the scooter's solution to the problem. What comes up to you with such force meets the legshield and floorpan. The mist of it will get you in the end if you need to be riding long enough in the stuff. Think of it as getting hit by a Supersoaker full of very cold water versus a seeping mist, a gradual heavy dampness.
Scooters are incredibly well thought out machines. If form follows function they may be the best for the average riding enthusiast.
The Roadbum
Friday, March 09, 2007
Scooterville equals Happiness
My father has a TN'G Venice. He wanted a scooter to occupy his time. As a retired widower he's got lots of it and he'd like to stay active. The scooter was a fun machine but it does a steady forty mph and forty five if you're willing to push it. It lacks some features which make it less the kind of machine he wanted to live with for too much longer. First, the location of the gas cap is in line with the rear rack and Dad likes to carry a few extra things besides what fits under the seat. Second, I've not seen a workable windscreen for the model. Here in central Minnesota the flying insects in your headlight beam can seem of plague proportions in the early morning and evenings. He lives two blocks (the short way) from the banks of the Mississippi. I live about a mile from it. There are days when cars and bikes can be covered with little six legged carcases. A wind screen is almost a necessity around here.
So dad began thinking about faster scooters and wind screens.
Like my dad I'm no giant but he's even shorter than I am. He tried my LX150 and didn't like the height. He needed something with a lower seat height. Apparently this riding bug really took hold of him. Every couple of weeks he would tell me about some motorcycle dealership he'd gone to looking for scooters. Nothing really appealed to him.
I told him I was going to a place in Minneapolis for their winter swap meet. A store dedicated to scooters and accessories. His eyes got big so naturally I invited him along.
Scooterville is near the "U". Its located in what used to be a factory of some kind. Once you're inside the place is big. There are three main rooms chock full of all manner of scooters, jackets, helmets, accessories and literature. A scooterist's mecca.
The week of the swap meet had crowds of people coming and going. Scooterists and soon-to-be scooterists filled the place. You know something is really good when everyone around you is smiling or laughing. There were great old Vespas and Lambrettas for sale. Stellas, The Genuine brand imports that look near identicle to the Vespa PX series. New Kymcos and TGB's.
There was another brand of bike there which has been making quite a splash among scooterists. The Genuine Buddy. Due to a little priveleged information (I won't say whom) came to me that a red Buddy was on its way to America. It turned out to be the color my dad wanted and he put an order for one of the red ones.
Yesterday we had the chance to make it to Scooterville to see the bike. Its beautiful. Dear old dad is completely enamored with it. He got the front and rear chrome racks and a mid sized wind screen. The guys at Scooterville answered all our questions and set the bike up. They even helped us load it into dad's Tacoma. We talked about the fun we were going to have this year.
That whole ride home the smile never left my dad's face.
Thank you Scooterville.
The Roadbum
My father has a TN'G Venice. He wanted a scooter to occupy his time. As a retired widower he's got lots of it and he'd like to stay active. The scooter was a fun machine but it does a steady forty mph and forty five if you're willing to push it. It lacks some features which make it less the kind of machine he wanted to live with for too much longer. First, the location of the gas cap is in line with the rear rack and Dad likes to carry a few extra things besides what fits under the seat. Second, I've not seen a workable windscreen for the model. Here in central Minnesota the flying insects in your headlight beam can seem of plague proportions in the early morning and evenings. He lives two blocks (the short way) from the banks of the Mississippi. I live about a mile from it. There are days when cars and bikes can be covered with little six legged carcases. A wind screen is almost a necessity around here.
So dad began thinking about faster scooters and wind screens.
Like my dad I'm no giant but he's even shorter than I am. He tried my LX150 and didn't like the height. He needed something with a lower seat height. Apparently this riding bug really took hold of him. Every couple of weeks he would tell me about some motorcycle dealership he'd gone to looking for scooters. Nothing really appealed to him.
I told him I was going to a place in Minneapolis for their winter swap meet. A store dedicated to scooters and accessories. His eyes got big so naturally I invited him along.
Scooterville is near the "U". Its located in what used to be a factory of some kind. Once you're inside the place is big. There are three main rooms chock full of all manner of scooters, jackets, helmets, accessories and literature. A scooterist's mecca.
The week of the swap meet had crowds of people coming and going. Scooterists and soon-to-be scooterists filled the place. You know something is really good when everyone around you is smiling or laughing. There were great old Vespas and Lambrettas for sale. Stellas, The Genuine brand imports that look near identicle to the Vespa PX series. New Kymcos and TGB's.
There was another brand of bike there which has been making quite a splash among scooterists. The Genuine Buddy. Due to a little priveleged information (I won't say whom) came to me that a red Buddy was on its way to America. It turned out to be the color my dad wanted and he put an order for one of the red ones.
Yesterday we had the chance to make it to Scooterville to see the bike. Its beautiful. Dear old dad is completely enamored with it. He got the front and rear chrome racks and a mid sized wind screen. The guys at Scooterville answered all our questions and set the bike up. They even helped us load it into dad's Tacoma. We talked about the fun we were going to have this year.
That whole ride home the smile never left my dad's face.
Thank you Scooterville.
The Roadbum
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
The Shop
The shop is an actual shop. Up until now its been a section of a building in an industrial park less than a mile from my house. No, the shop doesn't belong to me but its a kind of hangout for a few guys. Better than any bar and chock full of tools. The Shop has been owned by my friend Loren for the last year or so. The rent was cheap and he set the place up very nicely.
Loren started the shop as sort of a giant hobby room in which to work on his ever changing assortment of snowmobiles and motorcycles. He's got antique sleds and bikes dating from the seventies. Two stroke engines are what he loves.
I've done some very minor work on my own things there but mostly it was a place to hang out and talk about anything that came to mind. Motorcycle design, parts he's made to fit a certain need. Snowmobiles especially. Scorpions are his favorite. He's got a couple of those too.
There's a Yamaha Riva 180 waiting for a variator and rollers there. A CT70(?) and some other ancient red 65cc or 90cc Honda. Cool bikes. He gets them in trade for work he's done for people fixing their everyday rides. People want new everything so they give Loren what they think is pretty much useless and within a short time he's got some early seventies small displacement machine running smoothly again. Its fun to ride them and see what it was like when these were the only machines people had to choose from. Back then it seemed bikes were designed around real world needs intead of looking or riding like they were track bound. To me they were more honest in that fashion. You can see it today in the insanely fast sport bikes and dirt machines. Ya gotta look like a pro. Credibility on the street is all about appearance.
Maybe its why the market for cruisers is so huge. You get to sit on your bike in a very normal almost ergonomic position. People do what they have to in order to ride and they'll take the best they can find. I wonder if another standard four hundred cc Japanese motorcycle would stand a a chance in today's market. Would people accept it?
When I look around Loren's shop its a very different history lesson. We always hear about the venerable Honda CB750. A motorcycle which ushered in a new era in motorcycling. But while the magazines and that guy down the street were singing its praises, many models were still in use and variants appeared right along side the CB. There were large displacement two strokes like the H1 and 2 by Kawasaki. These machines tipped the displacement scales at around 750cc's. Huge in those days. But people were still riding and loving the little screamers. They were just fun.
Loren constantly has offers to take some small displacement UJM from someone's barn or shed and he gladly does every time. By today's standards the way they ride is definitely timeworn but at least he's getting them rideworthy again. Back on the road to someone whose been hoping to reconnect with something they remember.
The shop is going away at the end of this month. To be seperated into storage units and Loren's garage. It's taken a tremendous amount of time away from his riding both his sleds and his bikes. Not to mention some of his family time. You just don't get those things back.
The Roadbum
The shop is an actual shop. Up until now its been a section of a building in an industrial park less than a mile from my house. No, the shop doesn't belong to me but its a kind of hangout for a few guys. Better than any bar and chock full of tools. The Shop has been owned by my friend Loren for the last year or so. The rent was cheap and he set the place up very nicely.
Loren started the shop as sort of a giant hobby room in which to work on his ever changing assortment of snowmobiles and motorcycles. He's got antique sleds and bikes dating from the seventies. Two stroke engines are what he loves.
I've done some very minor work on my own things there but mostly it was a place to hang out and talk about anything that came to mind. Motorcycle design, parts he's made to fit a certain need. Snowmobiles especially. Scorpions are his favorite. He's got a couple of those too.
There's a Yamaha Riva 180 waiting for a variator and rollers there. A CT70(?) and some other ancient red 65cc or 90cc Honda. Cool bikes. He gets them in trade for work he's done for people fixing their everyday rides. People want new everything so they give Loren what they think is pretty much useless and within a short time he's got some early seventies small displacement machine running smoothly again. Its fun to ride them and see what it was like when these were the only machines people had to choose from. Back then it seemed bikes were designed around real world needs intead of looking or riding like they were track bound. To me they were more honest in that fashion. You can see it today in the insanely fast sport bikes and dirt machines. Ya gotta look like a pro. Credibility on the street is all about appearance.
Maybe its why the market for cruisers is so huge. You get to sit on your bike in a very normal almost ergonomic position. People do what they have to in order to ride and they'll take the best they can find. I wonder if another standard four hundred cc Japanese motorcycle would stand a a chance in today's market. Would people accept it?
When I look around Loren's shop its a very different history lesson. We always hear about the venerable Honda CB750. A motorcycle which ushered in a new era in motorcycling. But while the magazines and that guy down the street were singing its praises, many models were still in use and variants appeared right along side the CB. There were large displacement two strokes like the H1 and 2 by Kawasaki. These machines tipped the displacement scales at around 750cc's. Huge in those days. But people were still riding and loving the little screamers. They were just fun.
Loren constantly has offers to take some small displacement UJM from someone's barn or shed and he gladly does every time. By today's standards the way they ride is definitely timeworn but at least he's getting them rideworthy again. Back on the road to someone whose been hoping to reconnect with something they remember.
The shop is going away at the end of this month. To be seperated into storage units and Loren's garage. It's taken a tremendous amount of time away from his riding both his sleds and his bikes. Not to mention some of his family time. You just don't get those things back.
The Roadbum
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Snow, blown furnaces and Cycle Empire
Its been a harrowing week in some ways. My kids are a little under the weather and they passed it along my way. Must be some part of the homework program I'm unfamiliar with.
The upper midwest got some snow (finally) which also put me in gear to get a certain 29 year old Allis Chalmers snow thrower here and running again. A lovely safety orange beast sporting an old iron Briggs and Stratton five chuffer.
Then my furnace decides to cough nothing but cold air. Turns out it was a minor fix and if I'd looked a little more intently I could have saved quite a bit of money. Insulation fell into the fan negating the sensor to allow the thing to ignite. Point of the insulation? You got me...
Which brings us to Cycle Empire.
If you live in an area conducive to motorcycling, chances are you'll eventually find a strange store in your general locale. Usually on the outskirts of town. The kind of place which doesn't sell any particular brand of actual new motorcycle but its loaded to the rafters with out of date parts for any model you can think of from the last thirty years. Its also the kind of place where the owner puts out one of those huge chrome coffee makers you find at outdoor parties. Styrofoam cups still in the filmy plastic are stacked upside down next to it. Coffee Mate products on the other side. If he's a generous man there are little stir sticks but usually its a spoon on a napkin for everyone to use. He's got some local papers on the counter and if you're as lucky as we were, you showed up after work every Thursday for your own copy of The ONION. If you've never read the ONION its satire I rank with some of the finest. In those days it was incredible.
Behind you were some of the used bikes for sale. On occasion there would be a Vespa or two. I never knew where they came from and I wished I'd picked one or two of them up over the years. Less often would be the Cushmans. More like tiny motorcycles. The Vespas were cooler. We knew it even back then. The scooters were always put along the wall. The bikes more haphazardly rolled into sort of a line. Anywhere from five to ten motorcycles were for sale and they ranged from mid eighties UJM's to the occasional true antiques. It was there that I saw my first Indian Scout. A small machine commanding alot of money to part from its current owner. Apparently there was a little bidding war going on with that one as master was on vacation and told the store to give him the best offer when he returned.
Once you'd had your coffee, ONION, and a cigarette with the guys talking by the bikes and scooters, you moved to the right of the coffee counter and into another room. Saddle bags, oil, and literal stacks of parts seperated by brand and not much else greeted you in the isles. Old grey men lost deep in thought, hunting their own strange grails.
Turn right after the register and up a half flight of stairs brought you into a large room filled with every kind of riding gear you could imagine. Jackets, rain gear, protective gear, every imaginable brand of helmet.
Heading back out, you had to look up before you went down the steps because there hung the strangest brown Triumph custom motorcycle you may ever see. This thing looked like it formed itself out of a bad acid trip. They might do some interesting shaping on the discovery shows but they've got nothing on this thing. Its been hanging from the ceiling since at least the mid eighties and was present in the nineties when I last was there. I can't begin to describe it, you have to see it for yourself. All I know is the engine is definitely Triumph. The rest? From the mind of an insane visionary.
The beauty of Cycle Empire was it drew creativity to itself. It carried parts for the Harley crowd, the UJM crowd, sport bikes and things that sometimes left you wondering to yourself. Its lot could be filled to capacity with every concievable style of ride, the picnic tables crammed with people just hanging out and enjoying themselves. It was a mecca of bike-ness on the south side of Milwaukee and I miss it.
The Roadbum
Its been a harrowing week in some ways. My kids are a little under the weather and they passed it along my way. Must be some part of the homework program I'm unfamiliar with.
The upper midwest got some snow (finally) which also put me in gear to get a certain 29 year old Allis Chalmers snow thrower here and running again. A lovely safety orange beast sporting an old iron Briggs and Stratton five chuffer.
Then my furnace decides to cough nothing but cold air. Turns out it was a minor fix and if I'd looked a little more intently I could have saved quite a bit of money. Insulation fell into the fan negating the sensor to allow the thing to ignite. Point of the insulation? You got me...
Which brings us to Cycle Empire.
If you live in an area conducive to motorcycling, chances are you'll eventually find a strange store in your general locale. Usually on the outskirts of town. The kind of place which doesn't sell any particular brand of actual new motorcycle but its loaded to the rafters with out of date parts for any model you can think of from the last thirty years. Its also the kind of place where the owner puts out one of those huge chrome coffee makers you find at outdoor parties. Styrofoam cups still in the filmy plastic are stacked upside down next to it. Coffee Mate products on the other side. If he's a generous man there are little stir sticks but usually its a spoon on a napkin for everyone to use. He's got some local papers on the counter and if you're as lucky as we were, you showed up after work every Thursday for your own copy of The ONION. If you've never read the ONION its satire I rank with some of the finest. In those days it was incredible.
Behind you were some of the used bikes for sale. On occasion there would be a Vespa or two. I never knew where they came from and I wished I'd picked one or two of them up over the years. Less often would be the Cushmans. More like tiny motorcycles. The Vespas were cooler. We knew it even back then. The scooters were always put along the wall. The bikes more haphazardly rolled into sort of a line. Anywhere from five to ten motorcycles were for sale and they ranged from mid eighties UJM's to the occasional true antiques. It was there that I saw my first Indian Scout. A small machine commanding alot of money to part from its current owner. Apparently there was a little bidding war going on with that one as master was on vacation and told the store to give him the best offer when he returned.
Once you'd had your coffee, ONION, and a cigarette with the guys talking by the bikes and scooters, you moved to the right of the coffee counter and into another room. Saddle bags, oil, and literal stacks of parts seperated by brand and not much else greeted you in the isles. Old grey men lost deep in thought, hunting their own strange grails.
Turn right after the register and up a half flight of stairs brought you into a large room filled with every kind of riding gear you could imagine. Jackets, rain gear, protective gear, every imaginable brand of helmet.
Heading back out, you had to look up before you went down the steps because there hung the strangest brown Triumph custom motorcycle you may ever see. This thing looked like it formed itself out of a bad acid trip. They might do some interesting shaping on the discovery shows but they've got nothing on this thing. Its been hanging from the ceiling since at least the mid eighties and was present in the nineties when I last was there. I can't begin to describe it, you have to see it for yourself. All I know is the engine is definitely Triumph. The rest? From the mind of an insane visionary.
The beauty of Cycle Empire was it drew creativity to itself. It carried parts for the Harley crowd, the UJM crowd, sport bikes and things that sometimes left you wondering to yourself. Its lot could be filled to capacity with every concievable style of ride, the picnic tables crammed with people just hanging out and enjoying themselves. It was a mecca of bike-ness on the south side of Milwaukee and I miss it.
The Roadbum
Friday, March 02, 2007
Bigger Faster Louder. Better?
When I was young the talk was always about the bike each of us wanted to get. If the money for Bigger Faster Louder wasn't readily available, what parts could get us close on the shoestring budgets most of us had.
The funny thing was, as time went along we often talked about the bikes we once had. Slim small displacement machines. We would tear around on anything from 125cc on up to the four hundreds. Bikes with drum brakes, points, and character.
Funny thing is, I can't recall any of us actually wearing one of these small machines out.
It seemed the days to ride were Thursdays through the weekends for group rides and any other chance we could wring a little time out of our schedules the rest of the week. The bikes would be anything from any company. Some friends rode two strokes and others rode two fifty Harley Sprints. Most often the consensus was if you had a four hundred you could do it all.
As time went on and our incomes improved each of us moved past the early prizes of our youth to "full sized" motorcycles. But any time we got together the conversations would draw us back to the pure unadulterated fun those early bikes brought us. None of us realized it then but we had gotten caught up in the classic sales pitch: What you have isn't good enough. What you need is this.
What we had before we bought the inevitable this, it turns out, was Better.
The old machines gave us few complaints. They were a little more labor intensive, but that goes with the period. Small bikes of relatively simply design. The average rider could tinker on that CB 400 on a Saturday afternoon and actually accomplish making it run better than when that rider loosened the first fastener. And those were some of the easiest bikes to maintain. I would love to see a CB400 in the garage. Better yet a CB400F.
The beauty of these small displacement motorcycles was how they inspired confidence in the rider. You absolutely owned that thing while it was rolling underneath you. You could power it through a corner or you could toodle along at neighborhood speeds. Small displacement motorcycles always seemed to meet one's requirements. Agile little gigglers where your skills could really shine because they were built to meet the needs of real riders at a time when anyone from a teen to a middle aged man was the target market. The bikes were meant to be ridden by people who may not have had that much time to be out on extended trips, but could be with the right gear. Flickable, yet compliant and easy going. Not perfect, but Better.
Over the years those small displacement motorcycles have become harder to come by. Nothing new on the market seems to quite capture the same essence of what satisfied me about The Ride as it had in the past. I always kept an eye out for the modern equivalent. Over that same period of time I also came to a few important realizations.
I don't need a bike to go one hundred miles an hour. What I need is a bike with enough torque to get me up some steep hills without me gritting my teeth while I'm climbing.
I wanted something on the unique side of life (little did I know...)
I wanted something distinctly classic but current.
The machine that met my requirements surprised me. What made me cross over to the world of scooters was the modern CVT. No more shifting! I could have had that feature for a lot less money in other brands but I wanted the Wasp. You see, the '07 LX150 is not the first scooter I've owned. Its actually the third. The first being my 1964 Vespa GL. Literally a fourteen year exercize in boxing and unboxing through consequent moves. The quintessential antique the owner fully intends to finish. Someday. But its a shifter and a different story in its own right. No, what brought me around to my current thinking was a 1978 Honda Express 50cc I rebuilt last spring. Top speed of 27mph and fully automatic. The time spent getting that little city scooter running involved tuning and riding, tuning and riding. So much so that I put over five hundred miles on it before summer. It got me thinking about why I like two wheelers.
The ride itself was simply... fun.
It was the most fun when the bikes were... smaller. Somehow traditional and classic. Maneuverable. The little machines almost seem bouyant compared to the behemoths I've ridden since my youth. And comparatively speaking, some of these aren't even considered that large!
The modern Vespa LX150 is that fun for me. I really didn't expect it to to turn out this way but there you have it, I've become a scooterist. The LX does enough of what I need well enough. Should I ever want that bit extra to get on the expressways the GTS250 would fill the need. That one's more of a modern automatic motorcycle wrapped in scooter skin if you ask me.
We all wish for a little of the past in the present. Modern machines which emulate some aspect of riding we grew up with. I have to admit that while the ride of the modern Vespa itself is not the same as the small displacement motorcycles we grew up with, it retains why we rode them in the first place.
The Roadbum
When I was young the talk was always about the bike each of us wanted to get. If the money for Bigger Faster Louder wasn't readily available, what parts could get us close on the shoestring budgets most of us had.
The funny thing was, as time went along we often talked about the bikes we once had. Slim small displacement machines. We would tear around on anything from 125cc on up to the four hundreds. Bikes with drum brakes, points, and character.
Funny thing is, I can't recall any of us actually wearing one of these small machines out.
It seemed the days to ride were Thursdays through the weekends for group rides and any other chance we could wring a little time out of our schedules the rest of the week. The bikes would be anything from any company. Some friends rode two strokes and others rode two fifty Harley Sprints. Most often the consensus was if you had a four hundred you could do it all.
As time went on and our incomes improved each of us moved past the early prizes of our youth to "full sized" motorcycles. But any time we got together the conversations would draw us back to the pure unadulterated fun those early bikes brought us. None of us realized it then but we had gotten caught up in the classic sales pitch: What you have isn't good enough. What you need is this.
What we had before we bought the inevitable this, it turns out, was Better.
The old machines gave us few complaints. They were a little more labor intensive, but that goes with the period. Small bikes of relatively simply design. The average rider could tinker on that CB 400 on a Saturday afternoon and actually accomplish making it run better than when that rider loosened the first fastener. And those were some of the easiest bikes to maintain. I would love to see a CB400 in the garage. Better yet a CB400F.
The beauty of these small displacement motorcycles was how they inspired confidence in the rider. You absolutely owned that thing while it was rolling underneath you. You could power it through a corner or you could toodle along at neighborhood speeds. Small displacement motorcycles always seemed to meet one's requirements. Agile little gigglers where your skills could really shine because they were built to meet the needs of real riders at a time when anyone from a teen to a middle aged man was the target market. The bikes were meant to be ridden by people who may not have had that much time to be out on extended trips, but could be with the right gear. Flickable, yet compliant and easy going. Not perfect, but Better.
Over the years those small displacement motorcycles have become harder to come by. Nothing new on the market seems to quite capture the same essence of what satisfied me about The Ride as it had in the past. I always kept an eye out for the modern equivalent. Over that same period of time I also came to a few important realizations.
I don't need a bike to go one hundred miles an hour. What I need is a bike with enough torque to get me up some steep hills without me gritting my teeth while I'm climbing.
I wanted something on the unique side of life (little did I know...)
I wanted something distinctly classic but current.
The machine that met my requirements surprised me. What made me cross over to the world of scooters was the modern CVT. No more shifting! I could have had that feature for a lot less money in other brands but I wanted the Wasp. You see, the '07 LX150 is not the first scooter I've owned. Its actually the third. The first being my 1964 Vespa GL. Literally a fourteen year exercize in boxing and unboxing through consequent moves. The quintessential antique the owner fully intends to finish. Someday. But its a shifter and a different story in its own right. No, what brought me around to my current thinking was a 1978 Honda Express 50cc I rebuilt last spring. Top speed of 27mph and fully automatic. The time spent getting that little city scooter running involved tuning and riding, tuning and riding. So much so that I put over five hundred miles on it before summer. It got me thinking about why I like two wheelers.
The ride itself was simply... fun.
It was the most fun when the bikes were... smaller. Somehow traditional and classic. Maneuverable. The little machines almost seem bouyant compared to the behemoths I've ridden since my youth. And comparatively speaking, some of these aren't even considered that large!
The modern Vespa LX150 is that fun for me. I really didn't expect it to to turn out this way but there you have it, I've become a scooterist. The LX does enough of what I need well enough. Should I ever want that bit extra to get on the expressways the GTS250 would fill the need. That one's more of a modern automatic motorcycle wrapped in scooter skin if you ask me.
We all wish for a little of the past in the present. Modern machines which emulate some aspect of riding we grew up with. I have to admit that while the ride of the modern Vespa itself is not the same as the small displacement motorcycles we grew up with, it retains why we rode them in the first place.
The Roadbum
Monday, February 26, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Where the Blue is
In an age when eletronic equipment can keep a rider from getting lost and music can be had by a slender thread from a modern Walkman to an ear bud, there is something still to be said for the old ways. The only music you had came from your own thoughts, blended with the sound of wind and the machine you were riding.
The old script of this play worked itself out this way; you got a little lost and tried to read the horizon for signs. At night it could mean aiming in the direction of light pollution in the sky signifying a town or city. Shutting the bike down to listen for the sound of a busy thoroughfare. It may have been a small main road leading through a town of a few hundred people but the greater the sound of traffic the better your chances were. During the day you had the chance to find an open country store to find out just where you were. Small towns with friendly people who offered a free coke for no other reason than just because. Small towns have always bolstered my faith in humanity.
If you were lucky enough to chance upon an establishment with a map on the wall, so much the better. It could show you the way back but it could also show you the best roads to get there.
Somewhere along the line I got a little smarter. I began buying maps instead ofjust looking at them when I was lucky enough to find them. I started applying them to find the best routes between A and B. I began using them to make the most of the ride. Much better to have the giant folding puzzles with you than to hope to remember what you saw at the last gas station.
************
Two friends on the gravel shoulder of a country road at midnight. They'd ridden to the peak of a hill. One pulls out a small piece of paper and begins unfolding it into a huge expanse. Two Bic lighters flash near the paper as they try to determine where they are. First one lights a cigarette, then the other. Their heads are close to the paper and the occasional exhaling of smoke billows around the edges of the unfolded map. One rider looks up and points over the horizon. The other agrees and begins to refold the map, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Moments later the two are off the shoulder and on their way.
**********
It was then that I noticed the best roads ran past rivers and lakes. In summer, twisted green canopies of old growth trees shadowed me from the sun and made for incredible bursts into the starry night on these meandering two-lanes. Vacation homes with bonfires and children by the water. On a starlit night a glance can etch an indelible memory of their existance in one's mind. So quickly, barely a glance as I pass. But the peace I felt in the briefest moment I saw them will remind me of that ride.
On quiet nights as these I often felt my speed settle into an acknowlegement of the moment. The bike would slow of its own accord and I could lift a hand as to wave to them in the light of the streetlamps, and the people in their yards would wave back.
Summer rides where blue on the map indicated lakes and rivers have always been special occasions to me. Clear nights and waters shimmering the sky upon their surfaces.
The Roadbum
Where the Blue is
In an age when eletronic equipment can keep a rider from getting lost and music can be had by a slender thread from a modern Walkman to an ear bud, there is something still to be said for the old ways. The only music you had came from your own thoughts, blended with the sound of wind and the machine you were riding.
The old script of this play worked itself out this way; you got a little lost and tried to read the horizon for signs. At night it could mean aiming in the direction of light pollution in the sky signifying a town or city. Shutting the bike down to listen for the sound of a busy thoroughfare. It may have been a small main road leading through a town of a few hundred people but the greater the sound of traffic the better your chances were. During the day you had the chance to find an open country store to find out just where you were. Small towns with friendly people who offered a free coke for no other reason than just because. Small towns have always bolstered my faith in humanity.
If you were lucky enough to chance upon an establishment with a map on the wall, so much the better. It could show you the way back but it could also show you the best roads to get there.
Somewhere along the line I got a little smarter. I began buying maps instead ofjust looking at them when I was lucky enough to find them. I started applying them to find the best routes between A and B. I began using them to make the most of the ride. Much better to have the giant folding puzzles with you than to hope to remember what you saw at the last gas station.
************
Two friends on the gravel shoulder of a country road at midnight. They'd ridden to the peak of a hill. One pulls out a small piece of paper and begins unfolding it into a huge expanse. Two Bic lighters flash near the paper as they try to determine where they are. First one lights a cigarette, then the other. Their heads are close to the paper and the occasional exhaling of smoke billows around the edges of the unfolded map. One rider looks up and points over the horizon. The other agrees and begins to refold the map, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Moments later the two are off the shoulder and on their way.
**********
It was then that I noticed the best roads ran past rivers and lakes. In summer, twisted green canopies of old growth trees shadowed me from the sun and made for incredible bursts into the starry night on these meandering two-lanes. Vacation homes with bonfires and children by the water. On a starlit night a glance can etch an indelible memory of their existance in one's mind. So quickly, barely a glance as I pass. But the peace I felt in the briefest moment I saw them will remind me of that ride.
On quiet nights as these I often felt my speed settle into an acknowlegement of the moment. The bike would slow of its own accord and I could lift a hand as to wave to them in the light of the streetlamps, and the people in their yards would wave back.
Summer rides where blue on the map indicated lakes and rivers have always been special occasions to me. Clear nights and waters shimmering the sky upon their surfaces.
The Roadbum
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
A day of celebration!
Over the last month or so I have had numerous and somewhat interconnected computer issues. I could not tell you what exactly has happened nor does it matter. All I can say is I'm back and things are going to be normal again. Phew!
A day of celebration!
Over the last month or so I have had numerous and somewhat interconnected computer issues. I could not tell you what exactly has happened nor does it matter. All I can say is I'm back and things are going to be normal again. Phew!
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Best CVT Advice Ever
Every now and then you run across something which reminds you of an important tech checksheet you put somewhere. A piece of paper you kept with a checklist of things to guage in the operation of some machine you use. Every now and then you find it again. Sometimes you find the sheet but the machine is long gone. Sold or given away.
Whenever that piece of paper reappears you read through its contents again. Chances are its oily. Maybe even a little filthy with that garage dampened dirt that sticks to everything. Just finding it and realizing what you're holding is kind of a momentary boon. There are little drawings accompanying some of the strange notes. Little more than quick doodles in the margin. But you remember them, you know their references.
Those kinds of notes have kept machines owned by every kind of garage and shade tree mechanic in the running for as long as machines have served man.
Today I found the modern equivalent in another blog by Combatscoot. I can't believe my good fortune because not only is it excellent advice but it also reminds me that I used to employ (apparently) more common sense than than I do now when it comes to these sorts of things.
These new modern scooters, these CVT final drive machines are almost too easy to maintain. Appliance easy. Maybe that's too easy a rut to get into and we need clear reminders that even so, maintenance needs to be balanced with common sense. To ask the right questions, as it were.
So without further adieu...
http://combatcommuter.blogspot.com/2007/02/screwy-drivers-and-belts.html
Best damn blog ever.
The Roadbum
Best CVT Advice Ever
Every now and then you run across something which reminds you of an important tech checksheet you put somewhere. A piece of paper you kept with a checklist of things to guage in the operation of some machine you use. Every now and then you find it again. Sometimes you find the sheet but the machine is long gone. Sold or given away.
Whenever that piece of paper reappears you read through its contents again. Chances are its oily. Maybe even a little filthy with that garage dampened dirt that sticks to everything. Just finding it and realizing what you're holding is kind of a momentary boon. There are little drawings accompanying some of the strange notes. Little more than quick doodles in the margin. But you remember them, you know their references.
Those kinds of notes have kept machines owned by every kind of garage and shade tree mechanic in the running for as long as machines have served man.
Today I found the modern equivalent in another blog by Combatscoot. I can't believe my good fortune because not only is it excellent advice but it also reminds me that I used to employ (apparently) more common sense than than I do now when it comes to these sorts of things.
These new modern scooters, these CVT final drive machines are almost too easy to maintain. Appliance easy. Maybe that's too easy a rut to get into and we need clear reminders that even so, maintenance needs to be balanced with common sense. To ask the right questions, as it were.
So without further adieu...
http://combatcommuter.blogspot.com/2007/02/screwy-drivers-and-belts.html
Best damn blog ever.
The Roadbum
Monday, February 05, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Potential of the New MP3
Its been a while since I've had the opportunity to put some good thoughts down for you to read. I had the chance to see the new Vespa MP3 at the Minneapolis motorcycle show this last weekend.
The MP3 is much smaller in person than pictures seem to suggest. The bike certainly has its own look. A lot of carrying capacity might make it an interesting travel capable vehicle but there are other prospects I've been thinking about. Both in the real world and on the track.
The real world:
The lean angle of that front end allows approximately forty degrees of lean if you want to keep both front tires touching tarmac. This is substantially less than what is possible considering how deeply the design of the standard two wheeled bikes can taken to their limits. Is this a problem? Depends how you ride.
Here's the advantage. You can use that third wheel design to lean less and use more power. You actually push the bike harder at less angle because that double hoop setup up front is going to provide roughly double the traction you had otherwise. But its contradictory to what we motorcyclists are familiar with. To the newer rider however, it might seem a real boon to have twin contact points leading the way. Lower levels of skill are could potentially train newer riders inexperienced with how much actual usable lean angle a traditional two wheeler has, to treat every scooter they ride with the same shallow lean angle at a higher speed than might be safe. Its as if once a rider owns an MP3, the necessary learned riding style is going to change dramatically to accomodate the way the MP3 has to be ridden. Unfortunately riding the current MP3 seems to have the potential to really mess with the heads of people like myself. I think the three wheeled design is going to have to be treated like a completely different animal. Its not a bad thing, but it is something to consider if one moves from a three wheeler to two wheelers at any time.
On the track:
Here's what I see that's going to be interesting. There are places which have created scooter racing divisions. There's one in Iowa and I hope to attend at least one event there.
Imagine racing MP3's. These machines, though complex, will offer a huge dividend for both racing participants and audiences. Harder racing, faster laps, innovative ways to increase the factory lean angles could really make such a race an exciting thing to watch. Even in stock form these machines could compete against deeper lean angle capable traditional two wheeled scooters because the "trads" may be able to lean all the way down to their limits through the turns, but the MP3 should be able to make up the difference in traction and the extra speed that traction can provide.
I can also see the skills of scooter visionaries coming up with ways to deepen the lean angle of the MP3 to the limits it could actually get down to. We're talking about a machine which would limited more by how well the rear tire performs in gripping the lane than the limits we've dealt with to this point.
Could it be that a slower engine, one generating less power, would be able to hold higher rpm's through a given course simply because it didn't have to slow as much in the turns? Keep the speed up and you have faster laps.
A mixed race of traditional scooters and MP3's could make for some incredible racing scenarios. I hope its in our future.
The Roadbum
Potential of the New MP3
Its been a while since I've had the opportunity to put some good thoughts down for you to read. I had the chance to see the new Vespa MP3 at the Minneapolis motorcycle show this last weekend.
The MP3 is much smaller in person than pictures seem to suggest. The bike certainly has its own look. A lot of carrying capacity might make it an interesting travel capable vehicle but there are other prospects I've been thinking about. Both in the real world and on the track.
The real world:
The lean angle of that front end allows approximately forty degrees of lean if you want to keep both front tires touching tarmac. This is substantially less than what is possible considering how deeply the design of the standard two wheeled bikes can taken to their limits. Is this a problem? Depends how you ride.
Here's the advantage. You can use that third wheel design to lean less and use more power. You actually push the bike harder at less angle because that double hoop setup up front is going to provide roughly double the traction you had otherwise. But its contradictory to what we motorcyclists are familiar with. To the newer rider however, it might seem a real boon to have twin contact points leading the way. Lower levels of skill are could potentially train newer riders inexperienced with how much actual usable lean angle a traditional two wheeler has, to treat every scooter they ride with the same shallow lean angle at a higher speed than might be safe. Its as if once a rider owns an MP3, the necessary learned riding style is going to change dramatically to accomodate the way the MP3 has to be ridden. Unfortunately riding the current MP3 seems to have the potential to really mess with the heads of people like myself. I think the three wheeled design is going to have to be treated like a completely different animal. Its not a bad thing, but it is something to consider if one moves from a three wheeler to two wheelers at any time.
On the track:
Here's what I see that's going to be interesting. There are places which have created scooter racing divisions. There's one in Iowa and I hope to attend at least one event there.
Imagine racing MP3's. These machines, though complex, will offer a huge dividend for both racing participants and audiences. Harder racing, faster laps, innovative ways to increase the factory lean angles could really make such a race an exciting thing to watch. Even in stock form these machines could compete against deeper lean angle capable traditional two wheeled scooters because the "trads" may be able to lean all the way down to their limits through the turns, but the MP3 should be able to make up the difference in traction and the extra speed that traction can provide.
I can also see the skills of scooter visionaries coming up with ways to deepen the lean angle of the MP3 to the limits it could actually get down to. We're talking about a machine which would limited more by how well the rear tire performs in gripping the lane than the limits we've dealt with to this point.
Could it be that a slower engine, one generating less power, would be able to hold higher rpm's through a given course simply because it didn't have to slow as much in the turns? Keep the speed up and you have faster laps.
A mixed race of traditional scooters and MP3's could make for some incredible racing scenarios. I hope its in our future.
The Roadbum
Monday, January 29, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Where Are We Going?
There seems to be a new scooter culture evolving and folding itself into the fabric of the US today. Its got its long time collectors but in some cases these vintage-only riders are coming face to face with what companies are bringing to our shores in since the mid nineteen nineties and they don't like it. New scooterists are buying into modern models due to the ease of use. Twist and go. Electric start. These latest automatic machines are adequately powered, unlikesome of their predecessors. My 1978 Honda Express 50cc comes to mind. A slow machine with a top speed of 27 mph.
Many of these new scooters have the advantage of underseat storage. Some can be equipped with luggage racks both on the legshield and behind the seat. The largest models are simply motorcycles with automatic transmissions. They're roughly the same size but generally have lower seat heights. Another huge selling factor when all the shifting motorcycles are becoming taller and broader.
You've got machines designed with enough power to reach traffic flowing speeds, available storage built right into the vehicle from the start, legshields and windshields to protect the rider and make the whole experience of modern day two wheeled riding that much more enjoyable. Suddenly the advantages that these fuel efficient "scooters" become serious contenders for work commuting.
And they are loads of fun.
New rider's clubs are forming. People are finding a sense of togetherness in their scooterist friendships. Rides are being done for charities.
Where does that leave the diehard two stroke left grip shifters? The people who look upon the new scooterist with an eye of disdain.
Well you can certainly join us. We welcome your knowlege of the history of scooters and the people who've been riding them longer than some of us "newbies" have been alive. We would love nothing more than to listen to your stories and learn what you have to share with us. To us there is no Us and Them. It is only We. You see, we are scooterists. We could have easily chosen to ride the classics, and some of us do own a vintage model or two. To us the point is to ride. The point is to unite and grow in the knowledge of the history of the American Scooterist both locally and nationally. That history is something you vintage riders have lived.
We're the next generation of scooterists. We prefer not to exclude any other scooterists from our midst as a general rule. The only reason there is [to us] to have a scooter is to put miles on it and see the sights. To enjoy ourselves in one of the few ways people can be together and still be alone with their thoughts.
We're going for a ride. We don't know where we'll end up. Care to join us?
The Roadbum
Where Are We Going?
There seems to be a new scooter culture evolving and folding itself into the fabric of the US today. Its got its long time collectors but in some cases these vintage-only riders are coming face to face with what companies are bringing to our shores in since the mid nineteen nineties and they don't like it. New scooterists are buying into modern models due to the ease of use. Twist and go. Electric start. These latest automatic machines are adequately powered, unlikesome of their predecessors. My 1978 Honda Express 50cc comes to mind. A slow machine with a top speed of 27 mph.
Many of these new scooters have the advantage of underseat storage. Some can be equipped with luggage racks both on the legshield and behind the seat. The largest models are simply motorcycles with automatic transmissions. They're roughly the same size but generally have lower seat heights. Another huge selling factor when all the shifting motorcycles are becoming taller and broader.
You've got machines designed with enough power to reach traffic flowing speeds, available storage built right into the vehicle from the start, legshields and windshields to protect the rider and make the whole experience of modern day two wheeled riding that much more enjoyable. Suddenly the advantages that these fuel efficient "scooters" become serious contenders for work commuting.
And they are loads of fun.
New rider's clubs are forming. People are finding a sense of togetherness in their scooterist friendships. Rides are being done for charities.
Where does that leave the diehard two stroke left grip shifters? The people who look upon the new scooterist with an eye of disdain.
Well you can certainly join us. We welcome your knowlege of the history of scooters and the people who've been riding them longer than some of us "newbies" have been alive. We would love nothing more than to listen to your stories and learn what you have to share with us. To us there is no Us and Them. It is only We. You see, we are scooterists. We could have easily chosen to ride the classics, and some of us do own a vintage model or two. To us the point is to ride. The point is to unite and grow in the knowledge of the history of the American Scooterist both locally and nationally. That history is something you vintage riders have lived.
We're the next generation of scooterists. We prefer not to exclude any other scooterists from our midst as a general rule. The only reason there is [to us] to have a scooter is to put miles on it and see the sights. To enjoy ourselves in one of the few ways people can be together and still be alone with their thoughts.
We're going for a ride. We don't know where we'll end up. Care to join us?
The Roadbum
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
The Dead of Winter
Dead leaves blown into little huddled piles in the corners of structures. Dormant trees and grass. The wind blows dust down the street in sheets. The days are short and brisk. Most often grey and overcast. When they're bright and sunny it only means to get even colder.
This morning the clear sunny daybreak looked incredible. The thermometer read negative seven degrees. That's cold.
I stood in my garage looking at those machines occupying the third stall. I want so much to be riding. The backs of my hands actually itch from the craving. It crawls up and down my spine when I can't ride for a prolonged period. Even if one of these steeds would start, today's cold would be risking many things.
The dead of winter.
The Dead.
When a rider can't ride, that rider might occupy time reading about riding. That's a good thing. It only goes so far.
Maybe that rider will look for a winter project. Some destitute machine and a space to tinker on it. Better.
These winter months can be depressing when it gets this cold. Dangerously cold. Its the right time to shift gears from being on the machines to something else.
So I'll continue working on that vintage Vespa, the '64 GL and occupy myself with self imposed deadlines for repairing, part location and the weekly smiles of seeing it all slowly come back together. As long as I can have my hands in some project involving riding I'll bet this winter just slips away.
The Roadbum
The Dead of Winter
Dead leaves blown into little huddled piles in the corners of structures. Dormant trees and grass. The wind blows dust down the street in sheets. The days are short and brisk. Most often grey and overcast. When they're bright and sunny it only means to get even colder.
This morning the clear sunny daybreak looked incredible. The thermometer read negative seven degrees. That's cold.
I stood in my garage looking at those machines occupying the third stall. I want so much to be riding. The backs of my hands actually itch from the craving. It crawls up and down my spine when I can't ride for a prolonged period. Even if one of these steeds would start, today's cold would be risking many things.
The dead of winter.
The Dead.
When a rider can't ride, that rider might occupy time reading about riding. That's a good thing. It only goes so far.
Maybe that rider will look for a winter project. Some destitute machine and a space to tinker on it. Better.
These winter months can be depressing when it gets this cold. Dangerously cold. Its the right time to shift gears from being on the machines to something else.
So I'll continue working on that vintage Vespa, the '64 GL and occupy myself with self imposed deadlines for repairing, part location and the weekly smiles of seeing it all slowly come back together. As long as I can have my hands in some project involving riding I'll bet this winter just slips away.
The Roadbum
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
"Accelerbratory"
Since everyone seems to be coming up with new words, I may as well use one I came up with many years ago. I created the word to describe a moment of acceloration as the action influenced by a condition of joy. You're really happy about something so you're cruising at a high rate of speed or you're momentarily uplifted emotionally and pour on the juice to puncuate that feeling of elation. Accelerbratory.
I used to ride the backroads of Wisconsin. No direction in particular, just out for the sheer unadulterated joy of riding my machine. Every now and then I would happen upon an exceptional stretch of road. Something with rises and sharp dips. Twisted and wandering. The kind of road which burrows through hardwood forests long ago broken up into sections by generations of farmesteads. Ribbons that follow the undulating lay of the land instead of cutting through it.
Gradually, unconsciously, my speed increased as I moved through the forests. The happier I became the closer to the tarmac my inboard knee would become. Right to the point where I would realize how fast I was moving by how much I would need to slow to prepare for the next sweeping apex.
Roll the throttle forward hard, slam down a gear and repeat until you reach entrance speed. The rear tire would often hop a little. Hot sticky rubber compound fighting to draw down momentum.
The safest and most fun way to bank a turn is to accelerate hard through it. Now and again that meaty rear skin would skip again, fishtailing as I drew down the rpm's until I brought the rear wheels rate of rotation equal to the speed the motorcycle was going. Once the bike was piloted out the turn (or close enough to being out of the turn haha) I would pull the throttle wide for one last fishtail and put my weight on the bars. Grinning like a kid who stole the last cookie from the cookie jar, I was capping off my latest accelerbratory moment. As I recall, there were a few more that day. (BIG smile)
Accelerbratory.
The Roadbum
"Accelerbratory"
Since everyone seems to be coming up with new words, I may as well use one I came up with many years ago. I created the word to describe a moment of acceloration as the action influenced by a condition of joy. You're really happy about something so you're cruising at a high rate of speed or you're momentarily uplifted emotionally and pour on the juice to puncuate that feeling of elation. Accelerbratory.
I used to ride the backroads of Wisconsin. No direction in particular, just out for the sheer unadulterated joy of riding my machine. Every now and then I would happen upon an exceptional stretch of road. Something with rises and sharp dips. Twisted and wandering. The kind of road which burrows through hardwood forests long ago broken up into sections by generations of farmesteads. Ribbons that follow the undulating lay of the land instead of cutting through it.
Gradually, unconsciously, my speed increased as I moved through the forests. The happier I became the closer to the tarmac my inboard knee would become. Right to the point where I would realize how fast I was moving by how much I would need to slow to prepare for the next sweeping apex.
Roll the throttle forward hard, slam down a gear and repeat until you reach entrance speed. The rear tire would often hop a little. Hot sticky rubber compound fighting to draw down momentum.
The safest and most fun way to bank a turn is to accelerate hard through it. Now and again that meaty rear skin would skip again, fishtailing as I drew down the rpm's until I brought the rear wheels rate of rotation equal to the speed the motorcycle was going. Once the bike was piloted out the turn (or close enough to being out of the turn haha) I would pull the throttle wide for one last fishtail and put my weight on the bars. Grinning like a kid who stole the last cookie from the cookie jar, I was capping off my latest accelerbratory moment. As I recall, there were a few more that day. (BIG smile)
Accelerbratory.
The Roadbum
Sunday, January 14, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Sidehacks
If you're young enough you might not know what the term "sidehack" means. It may be that the only experience you have with one is seeing them on late night television: Hitler's army is advancing. Tanks and strange open-air truckish vehicles with tracks where the rear tires should be, roll across your screen. Then come the higher-ups in their black limousines, escorted by men in dark trenchcoats riding BMW motorcycles equipped with sidecars. The roads are snowed in but no one misses a beat getting around in these purpose built vehicles.
Nowadays about the only place you might chance seeing a sidecar is on a magazine cover. Someone recovered a gem in the rough from a trash heap in the back of a farm. After countless hours and exceedingly high amounts of money they restored some rarity more out of love than utility. Personally I wouldn't have it any other way. Someone's got to remind us.
There was a reason sidehacks were built.
Somewhere recorded in the annals of modern history it was accepted that if you rode, you might even continue to ride if you could just get that motorcycle to stay upright even on ice. You could certainly dress warm enough. Leather and wool have been considered the peak of durability and warmth only until very recently. Even canvas in its various forms has done pretty well. But modern fabric construction is on a molecular level now. There's even heated clothing. Were it not so I'd be hard pressed to think anything could ever improve on leather and wool.
It seems that here in the northern reaches of the upper Midwest, winter's spell puts all motorcycles into hybernation.
Well the scooterists aren't buying it. They're willing to ride any chance they get. The problem is it turns into a pretty big risk sometimes. When the temperatures are hovering around freezing that's one thing. We'll still stay warm in our windproof heated clothes. But the roads are a different matter. We have to contend with loose sand, salt, and ice. We're still on two wheels. We can still hurt ourselves pretty badly.
Enter the Sidehack.
You can find sidehacks bolted to old Vespas. Sidecars made for scooters. They look great. They were useful and people who owned them could take those winter days and still ride with confidence.
Fast forward to the present. The modern Vespa has a following not unlike the vintage Vespas have. The passion is the same. These New Era Mods (I can't think of a better way to say it) are just as single minded. You don't make excuses, you ride.
When the weather turns and the days grow shorter, enter the Sidehack. While the vintage Vespas could handle the extra weight the rigs brought to the engines and transmissions, I wonder if today's CVT designs could handle a sidehack? I know that if it could be done, scooterists would be considered some of the toughest riders of the two wheeled world.
It comes down to whether or not modern Vespas can pull the extra weight without burning their drivetrains into the ground. Whereas mounting a sidehack to an LX150 or larger might not prove to present a serious problem, the first issue is still the important question.
The Roadbum
The Roadbum
Sidehacks
If you're young enough you might not know what the term "sidehack" means. It may be that the only experience you have with one is seeing them on late night television: Hitler's army is advancing. Tanks and strange open-air truckish vehicles with tracks where the rear tires should be, roll across your screen. Then come the higher-ups in their black limousines, escorted by men in dark trenchcoats riding BMW motorcycles equipped with sidecars. The roads are snowed in but no one misses a beat getting around in these purpose built vehicles.
Nowadays about the only place you might chance seeing a sidecar is on a magazine cover. Someone recovered a gem in the rough from a trash heap in the back of a farm. After countless hours and exceedingly high amounts of money they restored some rarity more out of love than utility. Personally I wouldn't have it any other way. Someone's got to remind us.
There was a reason sidehacks were built.
Somewhere recorded in the annals of modern history it was accepted that if you rode, you might even continue to ride if you could just get that motorcycle to stay upright even on ice. You could certainly dress warm enough. Leather and wool have been considered the peak of durability and warmth only until very recently. Even canvas in its various forms has done pretty well. But modern fabric construction is on a molecular level now. There's even heated clothing. Were it not so I'd be hard pressed to think anything could ever improve on leather and wool.
It seems that here in the northern reaches of the upper Midwest, winter's spell puts all motorcycles into hybernation.
Well the scooterists aren't buying it. They're willing to ride any chance they get. The problem is it turns into a pretty big risk sometimes. When the temperatures are hovering around freezing that's one thing. We'll still stay warm in our windproof heated clothes. But the roads are a different matter. We have to contend with loose sand, salt, and ice. We're still on two wheels. We can still hurt ourselves pretty badly.
Enter the Sidehack.
You can find sidehacks bolted to old Vespas. Sidecars made for scooters. They look great. They were useful and people who owned them could take those winter days and still ride with confidence.
Fast forward to the present. The modern Vespa has a following not unlike the vintage Vespas have. The passion is the same. These New Era Mods (I can't think of a better way to say it) are just as single minded. You don't make excuses, you ride.
When the weather turns and the days grow shorter, enter the Sidehack. While the vintage Vespas could handle the extra weight the rigs brought to the engines and transmissions, I wonder if today's CVT designs could handle a sidehack? I know that if it could be done, scooterists would be considered some of the toughest riders of the two wheeled world.
It comes down to whether or not modern Vespas can pull the extra weight without burning their drivetrains into the ground. Whereas mounting a sidehack to an LX150 or larger might not prove to present a serious problem, the first issue is still the important question.
The Roadbum
The Roadbum
Saturday, January 13, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
The Comfort Zone
Each of us has ridden alone. Many of us prefer to ride in groups. It depends upon the individual. We all have a comfort zone of safety we strive to maintain no matter how we ride. Some of us have been involved in situations where other riders simply made us feel we were putting ourselves in dangerous situations riding with them. Situations which made us put distance between us and the other rider(s).
Its a matter of self preservation. You either trust who you're riding with or you don't and it changes your riding style when you're with people you're not sure of.
Sometimes you get really lucky and find someone whose skills and availability are very close to your own. Suddenly every ride is prefaced with a call to that one special riding buddy. Someone whose style you've grown accustomed to. You may even have developed your own set of rules for riding together.
I have just such a friend. His nickname to this day is Whitey. He could ride circles around me. He rode (and still has) a 1977 Suzuki GS 750. In my opinion one of the unsung best machines I've ever had the chance to ride.
Whitey is predictable when he rides. You never have to guess what he's doing because he's either in your mirror, right beside you, or leading the way with a smoothness I have seldom seen in other riders. Skill.
There were other people with whom I rode back in those days, but they rode differently. They were a little more... loose. Not that they were faster, they weren't. Not that they were necessarily worse riders, they might not have been.
There is a natural swiftness in Whitey's riding style. Yet you can see something else in the way he positions his bike in a lane, how he moves as half of a pair of riders or as part of a larger group. The best fitting description of him is as an imminently alert motorcyclist.
In some ways those years riding with Whitey have colored my perception of people I've ridden with since, although I never admitted it until now.
You can see people who've been through something similar. They tend to ride alone. They miss a special riding buddy. Sometimes more recent bad experiences with other riders make them shun the group rides they'd have joined in the past. They'd feel much safer in the singular. Knowing what I do, I can't blame them. Especially in a world of motorists who are often blind to who might be sharing the roads with them. If you asked someone what the colors of the vehicles are around them as they drive their cars and SUV's, how many would be able to tell you what they are? How many would have to shut something off in order to hear the question?
I've been that guy for a few years now. The one who rode alone or in very controlled environments where traffic is light and riding is done in staggered formation. Its hard to find a riding partner whose actions are utterly predictable.
But you have to keep up hope. You need to allow the chance to present itself. Because every now and then you find another such rider whose skills are close to yours. Someone whose of a like mind. It reinforces that hope.
I have to remember the years of riding with Whitey produced something which took a long time to develop. It had to be learned. You find what works best in practice. Out on the country roads. Adapted signals and positioning. Paying attention to the other guy. Nowadays there are prescribed hand signals so that riders of relative unfamiliarity with one another can communicate. We never even thought of that sort of thing back then. We just came up with our own language.
I've found another such rider. The kind who instills a sense that the ride will be safe with him somewhere around me. He rides well and he rides spirited. He also exhibits that same quality of being swift and smooth in his riding style Whitey has.
I like to ride with others but usually passed on the opportunity in the recent past. For a long time I had a fear of having another rider too close to me. Unsure of what the other guy'll do... A fear of the unknown rider. Probably more than is healthy.
Living on the outskirts of Saint Cloud Minnesota has given me a chance to breath deeper in the wind again. The roads are quiet. People seem really cautious around that scooter. And I've found another rider of the same mind as me. So am I lucky? No, that's the guy on the other Vespa LX150 I'm riding with nowadays. Its good to be confident riding with others again.
The Roadbum
The Comfort Zone
Each of us has ridden alone. Many of us prefer to ride in groups. It depends upon the individual. We all have a comfort zone of safety we strive to maintain no matter how we ride. Some of us have been involved in situations where other riders simply made us feel we were putting ourselves in dangerous situations riding with them. Situations which made us put distance between us and the other rider(s).
Its a matter of self preservation. You either trust who you're riding with or you don't and it changes your riding style when you're with people you're not sure of.
Sometimes you get really lucky and find someone whose skills and availability are very close to your own. Suddenly every ride is prefaced with a call to that one special riding buddy. Someone whose style you've grown accustomed to. You may even have developed your own set of rules for riding together.
I have just such a friend. His nickname to this day is Whitey. He could ride circles around me. He rode (and still has) a 1977 Suzuki GS 750. In my opinion one of the unsung best machines I've ever had the chance to ride.
Whitey is predictable when he rides. You never have to guess what he's doing because he's either in your mirror, right beside you, or leading the way with a smoothness I have seldom seen in other riders. Skill.
There were other people with whom I rode back in those days, but they rode differently. They were a little more... loose. Not that they were faster, they weren't. Not that they were necessarily worse riders, they might not have been.
There is a natural swiftness in Whitey's riding style. Yet you can see something else in the way he positions his bike in a lane, how he moves as half of a pair of riders or as part of a larger group. The best fitting description of him is as an imminently alert motorcyclist.
In some ways those years riding with Whitey have colored my perception of people I've ridden with since, although I never admitted it until now.
You can see people who've been through something similar. They tend to ride alone. They miss a special riding buddy. Sometimes more recent bad experiences with other riders make them shun the group rides they'd have joined in the past. They'd feel much safer in the singular. Knowing what I do, I can't blame them. Especially in a world of motorists who are often blind to who might be sharing the roads with them. If you asked someone what the colors of the vehicles are around them as they drive their cars and SUV's, how many would be able to tell you what they are? How many would have to shut something off in order to hear the question?
I've been that guy for a few years now. The one who rode alone or in very controlled environments where traffic is light and riding is done in staggered formation. Its hard to find a riding partner whose actions are utterly predictable.
But you have to keep up hope. You need to allow the chance to present itself. Because every now and then you find another such rider whose skills are close to yours. Someone whose of a like mind. It reinforces that hope.
I have to remember the years of riding with Whitey produced something which took a long time to develop. It had to be learned. You find what works best in practice. Out on the country roads. Adapted signals and positioning. Paying attention to the other guy. Nowadays there are prescribed hand signals so that riders of relative unfamiliarity with one another can communicate. We never even thought of that sort of thing back then. We just came up with our own language.
I've found another such rider. The kind who instills a sense that the ride will be safe with him somewhere around me. He rides well and he rides spirited. He also exhibits that same quality of being swift and smooth in his riding style Whitey has.
I like to ride with others but usually passed on the opportunity in the recent past. For a long time I had a fear of having another rider too close to me. Unsure of what the other guy'll do... A fear of the unknown rider. Probably more than is healthy.
Living on the outskirts of Saint Cloud Minnesota has given me a chance to breath deeper in the wind again. The roads are quiet. People seem really cautious around that scooter. And I've found another rider of the same mind as me. So am I lucky? No, that's the guy on the other Vespa LX150 I'm riding with nowadays. Its good to be confident riding with others again.
The Roadbum
Monday, January 08, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Setting the Pace
A Minimalist's Guide to Short and Moderate distance Touring
So you've got yourself a decent scooter. Its been a reliable and fun way to get around. You've always wondered what it would be like to ride somewhere a little further away from home. Somewhere which would take a little planning in order to get there. You've got the touring bug.
No matter what cubic displacement your machine is, it can be done. You can have all the fun you're looking for with the machine you've already got. Its a matter of accepting the conditions of the situation. You have to begin somewhere and there's no better way than to just get out there and ride what you already have.
The beauty of touring of any distance is the rider learns to adapt to unexpected situations. Its a learning experience. No matter how often I take the time to ride outside the usual home range I'm reminded of old lessons. Dormant bits of knowledge resurface which remind me what worked the last time I rode this far. Its fun to think about the last touring experience while you're on your new adventure.
Its time to prepare.
Think about the longest ride you've taken so far. No matter what distance or how long it took, try to recall some of the things you felt you could improve about that ride without investing in a totally different machine. For many riders that first longer distance ride wasn't so much planned as it just sort of happened. Before you knew it you were further away from home than you realized and you found yourself in a race to get back. That's when the riding got difficult, wasn't it.
The typical ride can be broken into three distinct phases. The first is spent getting to an area where you as a rider can really begin to enjoy the ride. The second phase is almost a state of bliss for a lot of us. There's nothing to worry about other than the immediate road ahead. You're where you crave to be. The third begins once you start thinking about heading back to park the bike. The ride is coming to a close. For some people the fun ends right there and while they could still be enjoying themselves, its then that their minds start to wander. I believe many of the accidents we hear or read about, happen during this phase of the ride. People are thinking about other things. Their thoughts have moved on ahead of them. I know that on occasion I've subconsciously tensed up on the way home during the third phase. I felt every seam in the road, every cross gust of wind. The longer the third phase when I felt hurried to get back home, the more dangerous I became. So I learned to think about touring from a standpoint of safety. I could relax and enjoy the third stage if I mentally prepared by maintaining a goal of leaving around a certain time, arriving around a certain time and coming home at a certain time. Its better to finish sightseeing earlier (and miss a few things) than trying to cram it all in today and then ride like sin to get home at a reasonable time. Adhere to a loose schedule. Don't burn yourself out on the third phase.
Take breaks when you need them.
There are no quick and dirty rules about how often to get off the bike. Thank goodness. We're all different and so are our needs. It doesn't matter how many miles you put on between stops. As long as you get off and stretch when you start to feel you need to. Bathroom break, something to drink. Maybe a smoke. Whatever reason you have, its perfectly alright to stop when you need to. When discomfort leads to aches and pain your body is trying to tell you something. Please listen. In the long run you'll become accustomed to longer rides and you'll learn ways that work for you to accomodate your own personal needs.
What to bring?
If its a ride that takes the greater part of a day clothing should consist of a warmer (or cooler) shirt and possibly another jacket. Wrapping bottled water in the bundle is never a bad idea. Stick a toothbrush and some deoderant along with a comb in a jacket pocket. I would also recommend putting your identification somewhere obove your waiste as a thick leather wallet can get irritating after several miles. Check the weather and see if you think you'll need any type of rain gear and wrap that into your bundle if you need to. How much protective gear is up to you. Consider looking at the Scooter in the Sticks blog by Steve Williams and Modern Vespa for a realistic idea of what works best. I always bring ten or twenty dollars cash on every ride. Gas, a snack at a Mom&Pop's along the way... nothing smells or tastes better than than the food at those little restaurants you never see in the city.
Where to go?
That's entirely up to you. I've found a remarkable treasure trove of sights within a day's ride of my home. Just a little online footwork to discover all the places I could visit on an overnight stay somewhere inexpensive. A weekend's ride can feel like a week's vacation when done on a scooter. How can you beat that? I don't think you can.
The Roadbum
Setting the Pace
A Minimalist's Guide to Short and Moderate distance Touring
So you've got yourself a decent scooter. Its been a reliable and fun way to get around. You've always wondered what it would be like to ride somewhere a little further away from home. Somewhere which would take a little planning in order to get there. You've got the touring bug.
No matter what cubic displacement your machine is, it can be done. You can have all the fun you're looking for with the machine you've already got. Its a matter of accepting the conditions of the situation. You have to begin somewhere and there's no better way than to just get out there and ride what you already have.
The beauty of touring of any distance is the rider learns to adapt to unexpected situations. Its a learning experience. No matter how often I take the time to ride outside the usual home range I'm reminded of old lessons. Dormant bits of knowledge resurface which remind me what worked the last time I rode this far. Its fun to think about the last touring experience while you're on your new adventure.
Its time to prepare.
Think about the longest ride you've taken so far. No matter what distance or how long it took, try to recall some of the things you felt you could improve about that ride without investing in a totally different machine. For many riders that first longer distance ride wasn't so much planned as it just sort of happened. Before you knew it you were further away from home than you realized and you found yourself in a race to get back. That's when the riding got difficult, wasn't it.
The typical ride can be broken into three distinct phases. The first is spent getting to an area where you as a rider can really begin to enjoy the ride. The second phase is almost a state of bliss for a lot of us. There's nothing to worry about other than the immediate road ahead. You're where you crave to be. The third begins once you start thinking about heading back to park the bike. The ride is coming to a close. For some people the fun ends right there and while they could still be enjoying themselves, its then that their minds start to wander. I believe many of the accidents we hear or read about, happen during this phase of the ride. People are thinking about other things. Their thoughts have moved on ahead of them. I know that on occasion I've subconsciously tensed up on the way home during the third phase. I felt every seam in the road, every cross gust of wind. The longer the third phase when I felt hurried to get back home, the more dangerous I became. So I learned to think about touring from a standpoint of safety. I could relax and enjoy the third stage if I mentally prepared by maintaining a goal of leaving around a certain time, arriving around a certain time and coming home at a certain time. Its better to finish sightseeing earlier (and miss a few things) than trying to cram it all in today and then ride like sin to get home at a reasonable time. Adhere to a loose schedule. Don't burn yourself out on the third phase.
Take breaks when you need them.
There are no quick and dirty rules about how often to get off the bike. Thank goodness. We're all different and so are our needs. It doesn't matter how many miles you put on between stops. As long as you get off and stretch when you start to feel you need to. Bathroom break, something to drink. Maybe a smoke. Whatever reason you have, its perfectly alright to stop when you need to. When discomfort leads to aches and pain your body is trying to tell you something. Please listen. In the long run you'll become accustomed to longer rides and you'll learn ways that work for you to accomodate your own personal needs.
What to bring?
If its a ride that takes the greater part of a day clothing should consist of a warmer (or cooler) shirt and possibly another jacket. Wrapping bottled water in the bundle is never a bad idea. Stick a toothbrush and some deoderant along with a comb in a jacket pocket. I would also recommend putting your identification somewhere obove your waiste as a thick leather wallet can get irritating after several miles. Check the weather and see if you think you'll need any type of rain gear and wrap that into your bundle if you need to. How much protective gear is up to you. Consider looking at the Scooter in the Sticks blog by Steve Williams and Modern Vespa for a realistic idea of what works best. I always bring ten or twenty dollars cash on every ride. Gas, a snack at a Mom&Pop's along the way... nothing smells or tastes better than than the food at those little restaurants you never see in the city.
Where to go?
That's entirely up to you. I've found a remarkable treasure trove of sights within a day's ride of my home. Just a little online footwork to discover all the places I could visit on an overnight stay somewhere inexpensive. A weekend's ride can feel like a week's vacation when done on a scooter. How can you beat that? I don't think you can.
The Roadbum
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Momento Mori
I'm the type who is willing to ride as long as the roads are clear. In years past it was not unusual to find me out in the middle of this month. Days when the sun shone brightly and warmed the pavement and the snow melted into little streams in the ditches.
Time has a way of of marking you. It changes things. It changes everyone. In a sense that's good but in another way it also makes some of us long for times as they were. Memories of rides when we were bundled like overstuffed pillows just to stay warm. Helmets fogging and frigid tunnels of draft wind getting past layers of fabric. Parts of you were sweat soaked and other parts were almost painfully cold. The upper "seal" where your helmet met the clear face shield had a drawing effect that brought icy air right across your forehead. Windburn hurts. It taught us to take strips of felt and glue it to the top of our shields.
As the years have accumulated I notice I have less desire to ride those days which would have seemed worth the effort in my youth. Vehicles have gotten almost exponentially larger, traffic has increased, and cell phones and all manner of insidious devices are taking the attention needed to pilot cars, away from their drivers. Roads once had a little sand and salt to clear the way. They're now layered on with the stuff to the point they look like cookie sheets poured over with cinnamon oatmeal.
Scooters and protective riding apparel have vastly improved. We scooterists learn to become more aware with each advance in the name of safety. These things remind us just how vulnerable we are in traffic. Each improvement, whether it be the cushion and fit of our helmets or the design of our scooters' new brake systems also tends to remind us of our own mortality.
The attention span of the auto driving public has waned with the same kinds of protective inventiveness in cars as seen in the bike world. We scooterists learn to become more aware while the majority of people driving cars seem to think each safety improvement is a reason to think less about driving and more about... multitasking!
I learned to ride in the dirt. In gravel. On wet grass. I know many of my generation started just as I have, graduating to the street when getting dirty or tearing clothes became more of a hassle than just getting on the paved surfaces. So its not a matter of skill regarding whether or not to ride the nice winter days, it's a desire not to become the negative part of the equation to someone else's attempt to do it all while driving.
Will I ride anytime during these winter months? If the sand is drawn to the sides of the streets and people in cars seem to be concentrating on driving instead of thinking of other things, you can bet on it. I know my riding skill level. What I don't know is the driver attentiveness of the four wheeled vehicles around me. And that is the thing that has changed over time more than anything.
Roadbum
Momento Mori
I'm the type who is willing to ride as long as the roads are clear. In years past it was not unusual to find me out in the middle of this month. Days when the sun shone brightly and warmed the pavement and the snow melted into little streams in the ditches.
Time has a way of of marking you. It changes things. It changes everyone. In a sense that's good but in another way it also makes some of us long for times as they were. Memories of rides when we were bundled like overstuffed pillows just to stay warm. Helmets fogging and frigid tunnels of draft wind getting past layers of fabric. Parts of you were sweat soaked and other parts were almost painfully cold. The upper "seal" where your helmet met the clear face shield had a drawing effect that brought icy air right across your forehead. Windburn hurts. It taught us to take strips of felt and glue it to the top of our shields.
As the years have accumulated I notice I have less desire to ride those days which would have seemed worth the effort in my youth. Vehicles have gotten almost exponentially larger, traffic has increased, and cell phones and all manner of insidious devices are taking the attention needed to pilot cars, away from their drivers. Roads once had a little sand and salt to clear the way. They're now layered on with the stuff to the point they look like cookie sheets poured over with cinnamon oatmeal.
Scooters and protective riding apparel have vastly improved. We scooterists learn to become more aware with each advance in the name of safety. These things remind us just how vulnerable we are in traffic. Each improvement, whether it be the cushion and fit of our helmets or the design of our scooters' new brake systems also tends to remind us of our own mortality.
The attention span of the auto driving public has waned with the same kinds of protective inventiveness in cars as seen in the bike world. We scooterists learn to become more aware while the majority of people driving cars seem to think each safety improvement is a reason to think less about driving and more about... multitasking!
I learned to ride in the dirt. In gravel. On wet grass. I know many of my generation started just as I have, graduating to the street when getting dirty or tearing clothes became more of a hassle than just getting on the paved surfaces. So its not a matter of skill regarding whether or not to ride the nice winter days, it's a desire not to become the negative part of the equation to someone else's attempt to do it all while driving.
Will I ride anytime during these winter months? If the sand is drawn to the sides of the streets and people in cars seem to be concentrating on driving instead of thinking of other things, you can bet on it. I know my riding skill level. What I don't know is the driver attentiveness of the four wheeled vehicles around me. And that is the thing that has changed over time more than anything.
Roadbum
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Where the Sun Rises
I wake up each morning to get my kids ready for school. They're three and a half so its preschool and I have to drive them.
When we leave our subdivision on the west edge of this little town we need to drive east. About half way we cross the Mississippi. As far north as we are, The River is not the size most people know it to be.
Each morning the visor comes down to block the morning sun from my eyes. I think about where that star is rising from, over the horizon. I think of all the days of midnight rides that ended watching it break the surface of a Great Lake. Far to the east of the place I now call home.
In my youth I had a different kind of freedom than I have now. A wanderlust and a motorcycle. Hot summer nights dappled with fog in the valleys. Warm springs and autumns. It made for long riding seasons.
I would ride with friends or alone, it didn't matter. It was about the ride.
I remember one ride where Dan and I took an exit off the I94 expressway and found ourselves not too far from Holy Hill (trust me, there will be at least on blog devoted to that place alone) and one of us signaled to take a side road. We were far from anything resembling a city. The sky was particularly clear. We parked our bikes right there in the middle of the road without a second thought and waited for the meteor showers to start. The air was so still you could hear a vehicle coming up on the main road from what seemed to far to be possible. We lay on our backs, right there in the road and watched the streaks left by asteroids, pointing them out to each other. Incredible.
I think about all the rides I took around southern Wisconsin over all those years. How postcard perfect scenery waited for you around every corner. I must've known something even then because I relished those rides so much. I wanted to be in the wind, inhaling pine forests around Madison and blooms in lush German gardens, thick with scents and colors nearer Milwaukee. White picket fences and groomed yards. You could ride by astonishingly sturdy built Polish and German immigrants' homes, marveling at the symmetry of their abodes and never notice the weatherbeaten roads your bike was stumbling its way through. It didn't matter. The roads always got better anyway. The further from a town the less salt and abuse they suffered.
I miss riding where the sun rises. McKinley Marina at dawn. Those country highways were always incredible.
But times change and memories like these only get sweeter over time. I'll ride there again. Its already been too long. But I'll ride as the man I am today, not as I once was. Where the sun rises.
the Roadbum
Where the Sun Rises
I wake up each morning to get my kids ready for school. They're three and a half so its preschool and I have to drive them.
When we leave our subdivision on the west edge of this little town we need to drive east. About half way we cross the Mississippi. As far north as we are, The River is not the size most people know it to be.
Each morning the visor comes down to block the morning sun from my eyes. I think about where that star is rising from, over the horizon. I think of all the days of midnight rides that ended watching it break the surface of a Great Lake. Far to the east of the place I now call home.
In my youth I had a different kind of freedom than I have now. A wanderlust and a motorcycle. Hot summer nights dappled with fog in the valleys. Warm springs and autumns. It made for long riding seasons.
I would ride with friends or alone, it didn't matter. It was about the ride.
I remember one ride where Dan and I took an exit off the I94 expressway and found ourselves not too far from Holy Hill (trust me, there will be at least on blog devoted to that place alone) and one of us signaled to take a side road. We were far from anything resembling a city. The sky was particularly clear. We parked our bikes right there in the middle of the road without a second thought and waited for the meteor showers to start. The air was so still you could hear a vehicle coming up on the main road from what seemed to far to be possible. We lay on our backs, right there in the road and watched the streaks left by asteroids, pointing them out to each other. Incredible.
I think about all the rides I took around southern Wisconsin over all those years. How postcard perfect scenery waited for you around every corner. I must've known something even then because I relished those rides so much. I wanted to be in the wind, inhaling pine forests around Madison and blooms in lush German gardens, thick with scents and colors nearer Milwaukee. White picket fences and groomed yards. You could ride by astonishingly sturdy built Polish and German immigrants' homes, marveling at the symmetry of their abodes and never notice the weatherbeaten roads your bike was stumbling its way through. It didn't matter. The roads always got better anyway. The further from a town the less salt and abuse they suffered.
I miss riding where the sun rises. McKinley Marina at dawn. Those country highways were always incredible.
But times change and memories like these only get sweeter over time. I'll ride there again. Its already been too long. But I'll ride as the man I am today, not as I once was. Where the sun rises.
the Roadbum
Monday, December 18, 2006
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
A gift
There are few experiences in life which inspire me to write. The lure of the open road is one of them. I can talk about bikes and scooters as long as a listener is willing to put up with me. I can tell you about the ride I took last week with a gleam in my eye. I can relate how I wound the throttle up all the way while negotiating a banked turn just so I could spit the Vespa up the small rise at the end of the sweeping bend and crest the hill with butterflies in my stomach. The little machine doing its level best to scream around that turn. Looking for enough momentum to shoot up the small hill and open up the suspension to its fullest before flying down the other side.
The feeling of throttling back as I descend down the back slope of the hill just to pull hard at the base as the Vespa transitions from decline to level surface. There's a rush there too. The engine sings delight in a high pitched yowl. A wild mechanical sound. Its that kind of ride which makes ordinary men pick human names for inanimate objects like scooters. You make the connection.
Its those moments when the sweat is trickling down my back, when I'm wondering what possessed me to ride so hard, so close to the edge of my comfort zone. Hey, let's be honest here; I left my comfort zone about a mile and a half back!
I know it now. It isn't me and the bike anymore. Its just me. The bike has become an extension of me. I swear I can feel the stickyness of the contact patch of each tire.
Palms are sweaty inside my gauntlets. I notice how warm my body is as I set the scooter's lane position for the next twist in the road ahead. The vents on my Shoei are gulping air and the coolness of the draft tingles my scalp.
I start wide and drift tight toward the inside of the lane as I open up the draft of air on the carburator. The Vespa gains momentum and pushes itself down on its wheels. More grip. Look ahead, lean and let the Vespa become a natural extension of you is all I'm thinking. Look ahead. Lane placement. The shoulder of the road, the ditch and the cat watching me go by are all ancillary documentation. In an instant so finite I cannot register it as an actual thought, my mind has relegated the safety value of the the cat's position as I zoom past it.
Hill and dale, I know where these roads are. Just as the locals know that midnight blue Vespa will someday return. I many not be blindingly fast but as anyone whose ridden long enough knows, its better to take a slower bike to its limit than to ride a fast bike beyond your own limits.
So how does the title of this blog fit in? When I've had a long day with the kids, or my dear wife takes them to visit some of her girlfriends, she will say to me...
"Hon, you've had a busy day. Why don't you go for a ride? It'll do you good..."
That my friends is a gift.
the Roadbum
A gift
There are few experiences in life which inspire me to write. The lure of the open road is one of them. I can talk about bikes and scooters as long as a listener is willing to put up with me. I can tell you about the ride I took last week with a gleam in my eye. I can relate how I wound the throttle up all the way while negotiating a banked turn just so I could spit the Vespa up the small rise at the end of the sweeping bend and crest the hill with butterflies in my stomach. The little machine doing its level best to scream around that turn. Looking for enough momentum to shoot up the small hill and open up the suspension to its fullest before flying down the other side.
The feeling of throttling back as I descend down the back slope of the hill just to pull hard at the base as the Vespa transitions from decline to level surface. There's a rush there too. The engine sings delight in a high pitched yowl. A wild mechanical sound. Its that kind of ride which makes ordinary men pick human names for inanimate objects like scooters. You make the connection.
Its those moments when the sweat is trickling down my back, when I'm wondering what possessed me to ride so hard, so close to the edge of my comfort zone. Hey, let's be honest here; I left my comfort zone about a mile and a half back!
I know it now. It isn't me and the bike anymore. Its just me. The bike has become an extension of me. I swear I can feel the stickyness of the contact patch of each tire.
Palms are sweaty inside my gauntlets. I notice how warm my body is as I set the scooter's lane position for the next twist in the road ahead. The vents on my Shoei are gulping air and the coolness of the draft tingles my scalp.
I start wide and drift tight toward the inside of the lane as I open up the draft of air on the carburator. The Vespa gains momentum and pushes itself down on its wheels. More grip. Look ahead, lean and let the Vespa become a natural extension of you is all I'm thinking. Look ahead. Lane placement. The shoulder of the road, the ditch and the cat watching me go by are all ancillary documentation. In an instant so finite I cannot register it as an actual thought, my mind has relegated the safety value of the the cat's position as I zoom past it.
Hill and dale, I know where these roads are. Just as the locals know that midnight blue Vespa will someday return. I many not be blindingly fast but as anyone whose ridden long enough knows, its better to take a slower bike to its limit than to ride a fast bike beyond your own limits.
So how does the title of this blog fit in? When I've had a long day with the kids, or my dear wife takes them to visit some of her girlfriends, she will say to me...
"Hon, you've had a busy day. Why don't you go for a ride? It'll do you good..."
That my friends is a gift.
the Roadbum
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
Sit down and shut up
How many times have you heard that line growing up? It seems as children we struggle with learning to hold our focus. Its taking too long. Its not what we want. Its too hot or too cold. Its boring.
We wrestle against being still. Against observing and filtering out anything that doesn't pertain to the object of importance. Sometimes we try to see too far ahead and miss the obvious right before us. We want to be done with it. We want the answer now so that we can move on because being still for too long makes us itch, makes us nervous.
So we get to a point in our lives when we choose to ride. The reasons are as individualistic as we are, but the point is we want something in our lives to make us breathe deeper, to accelerate our pulse in the peaked moments of the riding experience.
So how do we do that? We start our bikes, sit down, and for the most part, shut up. If our parents could see us now.
The subject of this blog came about sometime around fifteen years ago. My closest riding buddy Whitey and I were stopped at the bridge of a river which was halfway between Brookfield and Rochester Wisconsin. The area is mostly swamp with a short line of river homes on the north side of the bridge. At night the place is loud with natural nightlife. The sky is big and colored that shade of blueish black that only shows up away from light pollution. Stars are so bright there the crystaline glimmer from above bathes the rushes in a soft glow.
Somehow we got on the subject of what you think about on a ride. There are phases, it seems, that the mind goes through as it settles into a state of contentment, when the mind is free to wander. Just as the rider loosens up going from getting to where one wants to be to being there. You ride until you achieve a stillness of thought that somehow leads to a heightened awareness. It was Whitey who said it; "There is a kind of stillness when you ride that's like nothing else." Back then if you drove your car the radio was blaring. People were talking to you. You were sucking gas station coffee out of a styrofoam cup with one hand and a Camel or Winston was in the other. You weren't just driving, you were busy.
A kind of stillness when you ride.
I know there's a thing called Bluetooth. I'm not ready for Bluetooth. I'm thinkin' more on the line of starting to wear earplugs under my helmet. (Yeah, Whitey, I wear a helmet nowadays. A full face and I wear it all the time too)
Parents work hard to teach their children what's right and what's best. How to learn. How to pay attention. But when nerves get stretched too thin those five powerful words at the top of this blog could send us reeling.
Nature has a way of getting our attention and teaching us the things we need to know in spite of ourselves. How often have we brought the very lessons we fought learning back home, upon us. To sit down, and to shut the heck up.
...And let that scooter be a lesson to you!
Roadbum
Sit down and shut up
How many times have you heard that line growing up? It seems as children we struggle with learning to hold our focus. Its taking too long. Its not what we want. Its too hot or too cold. Its boring.
We wrestle against being still. Against observing and filtering out anything that doesn't pertain to the object of importance. Sometimes we try to see too far ahead and miss the obvious right before us. We want to be done with it. We want the answer now so that we can move on because being still for too long makes us itch, makes us nervous.
So we get to a point in our lives when we choose to ride. The reasons are as individualistic as we are, but the point is we want something in our lives to make us breathe deeper, to accelerate our pulse in the peaked moments of the riding experience.
So how do we do that? We start our bikes, sit down, and for the most part, shut up. If our parents could see us now.
The subject of this blog came about sometime around fifteen years ago. My closest riding buddy Whitey and I were stopped at the bridge of a river which was halfway between Brookfield and Rochester Wisconsin. The area is mostly swamp with a short line of river homes on the north side of the bridge. At night the place is loud with natural nightlife. The sky is big and colored that shade of blueish black that only shows up away from light pollution. Stars are so bright there the crystaline glimmer from above bathes the rushes in a soft glow.
Somehow we got on the subject of what you think about on a ride. There are phases, it seems, that the mind goes through as it settles into a state of contentment, when the mind is free to wander. Just as the rider loosens up going from getting to where one wants to be to being there. You ride until you achieve a stillness of thought that somehow leads to a heightened awareness. It was Whitey who said it; "There is a kind of stillness when you ride that's like nothing else." Back then if you drove your car the radio was blaring. People were talking to you. You were sucking gas station coffee out of a styrofoam cup with one hand and a Camel or Winston was in the other. You weren't just driving, you were busy.
A kind of stillness when you ride.
I know there's a thing called Bluetooth. I'm not ready for Bluetooth. I'm thinkin' more on the line of starting to wear earplugs under my helmet. (Yeah, Whitey, I wear a helmet nowadays. A full face and I wear it all the time too)
Parents work hard to teach their children what's right and what's best. How to learn. How to pay attention. But when nerves get stretched too thin those five powerful words at the top of this blog could send us reeling.
Nature has a way of getting our attention and teaching us the things we need to know in spite of ourselves. How often have we brought the very lessons we fought learning back home, upon us. To sit down, and to shut the heck up.
...And let that scooter be a lesson to you!
Roadbum
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
In the Mirrors
When we ride we check our rearview mirrors to be sure a car isn't tailgating or trying to pass. We may be going the speed limit but there always seems to be a driver who has to move faster than the scooter ahead.
Other times we catch a glimpse of the sun on its decent in the western sky, or the rain clouds we're trying to beat to the safety of the garage.
Checking those mirrors protects us. Its a defensive maneuver that's especially critical to scooterists. We're riding the smallest vehicles on the road.
I've taken the pleasure of glancing in the rearviews just to see where I've been. A stretch of long straight country road will seem like it goes on forever when you're viewing it through a little circle of glass which tells you the "objects in mirror may be closer than they appear". Moments before all I thought about was the next turn which would bring me to the beloved knotted stretch of tarmac that I crave to lean through.
No matter what you do, there seems to be a cost, a toll, before you get to the fun stuff, the thing you're moving toward for the simple sake of selfish pleasure. We pay our dues one way or another.
Sometimes I look back in those mirrors and wonder why I'm willing to ride this far out for the really good roads. The ones which never seem to have any traffic. But up ahead is the clearest reason. Up ahead there are twisted blacktop ribbons that follow the hills instead of cutting flat through them. There are streams passing under ancient bridges, rickety by today's standards. There is the the cleanest air, scented by spring's bloom and the occasional farmstead. In the summer and fall, cut hay and burning leaf piles.
If one were to examine the effort it takes to get on that Vespa and ride to these places, the time getting there compared to the time spent being in those moments, it might appear an imbalanced wager. Not worth the effort.
Once I'm riding through those country hills, up and down the abrupt slopes, leaning hard through those wonderfully sharp corners, it all becomes clear. The deep breaths, the tingling not just on my skin, but rippling through me from my head to my toes is a period of time when I feel most alive. Totally alert and vibrant.
When the rpm's begin to sing out that little exhaust and the bike is being hammered into deep lean angles and I squirt out the exit of the apex, its then that I'm wider awake than I was all week.
After the last set of crown jewel roads unravel into the first long straight I look into those rearview mirrors and just grin. I've been waiting all week for this ride and its been worth every moment spent getting here.
Its winter now and the chances to get back on the Vespa this season are slim to none. And so the scooter sits in the garage, patiently still. I stand beside it and look the bike over. Waiting. The mirrors reflect a memory of last summer's ride. All I can do is look inside those rearviews and remember why I came all that way to begin with.
Anticipation
the Roadbum
In the Mirrors
When we ride we check our rearview mirrors to be sure a car isn't tailgating or trying to pass. We may be going the speed limit but there always seems to be a driver who has to move faster than the scooter ahead.
Other times we catch a glimpse of the sun on its decent in the western sky, or the rain clouds we're trying to beat to the safety of the garage.
Checking those mirrors protects us. Its a defensive maneuver that's especially critical to scooterists. We're riding the smallest vehicles on the road.
I've taken the pleasure of glancing in the rearviews just to see where I've been. A stretch of long straight country road will seem like it goes on forever when you're viewing it through a little circle of glass which tells you the "objects in mirror may be closer than they appear". Moments before all I thought about was the next turn which would bring me to the beloved knotted stretch of tarmac that I crave to lean through.
No matter what you do, there seems to be a cost, a toll, before you get to the fun stuff, the thing you're moving toward for the simple sake of selfish pleasure. We pay our dues one way or another.
Sometimes I look back in those mirrors and wonder why I'm willing to ride this far out for the really good roads. The ones which never seem to have any traffic. But up ahead is the clearest reason. Up ahead there are twisted blacktop ribbons that follow the hills instead of cutting flat through them. There are streams passing under ancient bridges, rickety by today's standards. There is the the cleanest air, scented by spring's bloom and the occasional farmstead. In the summer and fall, cut hay and burning leaf piles.
If one were to examine the effort it takes to get on that Vespa and ride to these places, the time getting there compared to the time spent being in those moments, it might appear an imbalanced wager. Not worth the effort.
Once I'm riding through those country hills, up and down the abrupt slopes, leaning hard through those wonderfully sharp corners, it all becomes clear. The deep breaths, the tingling not just on my skin, but rippling through me from my head to my toes is a period of time when I feel most alive. Totally alert and vibrant.
When the rpm's begin to sing out that little exhaust and the bike is being hammered into deep lean angles and I squirt out the exit of the apex, its then that I'm wider awake than I was all week.
After the last set of crown jewel roads unravel into the first long straight I look into those rearview mirrors and just grin. I've been waiting all week for this ride and its been worth every moment spent getting here.
Its winter now and the chances to get back on the Vespa this season are slim to none. And so the scooter sits in the garage, patiently still. I stand beside it and look the bike over. Waiting. The mirrors reflect a memory of last summer's ride. All I can do is look inside those rearviews and remember why I came all that way to begin with.
Anticipation
the Roadbum
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
The next few months will be consumed with taking care of my father, whose double bypass surgery went well. As long as he does what the doctor tells him things should go well. Between the kids and taking on some of his needs I'll be a little busier than expected.
The next few months will be consumed with taking care of my father, whose double bypass surgery went well. As long as he does what the doctor tells him things should go well. Between the kids and taking on some of his needs I'll be a little busier than expected.
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