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
Friday, March 02, 2007
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.
Friday, November 17, 2006
Midwest Scooter Enthusiast
I've been waiting to post here because I wanted to be able to post pictures along with the articles. Well that time hasn't come yet but my itch to write has been dormant too long. I need to tell the stories.
This site is about the ride. Its about getting out there and seeing the farms, the open lands of central Minnesota. Its about riding on quiet mornings, during the midday when the sin is high. Its about the evenings as they cool and leave open skin tingling in late autumn. Whatever machine its been upon it has always remained about the healing nature of riding.
In the past the rides have been with close friends on large displacement machines. Sometime in large groups and other times with that one close bud whose riding style you knew so well it became second nature to react to some situation with him in mind. As if two guys on seperate bikes were somehow linked. I miss that since I moved away from eastern Wisconsin. Time will tell whether or not I discover such a riding partner again. Maybe this time around my wife will get into the spirit of the ride along with me. Until now she's been behind me on the Harley. But times change and I found I new type of machine that brings back all those feelings I used to have about the ride. I suppose its age and a changing opinion of The Ride that caused me to look at what I ride in a new light.
For years I had stored away an earlier version of the Brand I've come to love so much. About fifteen years ago I found a '64 GL in desperate need of care. I've been a sucker for orphans and this one turned out to need more work than I had time to attend to when I bought it. I did little things here and there and one day just decided to rip the whole thing down, box it up and work on it when I could.
This spring I was given a joyous little green monster commonly known as a 1978 Honda Express. It also needed much to run again but I figured if I could get that one running I would have the confidence to commence work on the classic Vespa. The Express became a fun project and the goal was achieved. With a top end of 27 mph I soon discovered it was never speed that held me to riding motorized two wheelers, it was the ride itself. I had so much fun on that little thing it surprised me. I began looking at the old Vespa. I brought it out and began sorting parts. Then I started researching websites. The new Vespas grabbed me and didn't let go. I had to see these new era machines in person.
Before long I had my own LX150. Every time I went to the garage to work on the GL the little men on my shoulders began whispering in my ears. Get the classic running. No, go for a ride. The little devil won out so many times I just stopped listening to the other guy.
The GL is patiently waiting yet again for my attention. I don't really mind. What does need to be done is not as daunting as it once was. Rebuild has been in baby steps. Attention drawn to finite aspects of the classic scooter instead of seeing it as a whole, or in this case, staring at all the boxes of sorted parts at once.
Will the GL see the road next summer? I'm looking forward to it. But I can say this; my taste for the machines I've ridden in the past has moved away from the traditional motorcycle to the classic and classicly styled scooter. I could easily sell off the others and keep the two Vespas. They give me everything I've always enjoyed in The Ride.
There is something inherantly pure about riding a Vespa. Something stark and liberating.
A Vespa is a marraige of Italian beauty and function that isn't like the Japanese brand scooters. While they may do some things differently, or logically better... you're not riding one of these based upon how the numbers added up in the end. You're riding a Vespa because it is all that it is.
I've been waiting to post here because I wanted to be able to post pictures along with the articles. Well that time hasn't come yet but my itch to write has been dormant too long. I need to tell the stories.
This site is about the ride. Its about getting out there and seeing the farms, the open lands of central Minnesota. Its about riding on quiet mornings, during the midday when the sin is high. Its about the evenings as they cool and leave open skin tingling in late autumn. Whatever machine its been upon it has always remained about the healing nature of riding.
In the past the rides have been with close friends on large displacement machines. Sometime in large groups and other times with that one close bud whose riding style you knew so well it became second nature to react to some situation with him in mind. As if two guys on seperate bikes were somehow linked. I miss that since I moved away from eastern Wisconsin. Time will tell whether or not I discover such a riding partner again. Maybe this time around my wife will get into the spirit of the ride along with me. Until now she's been behind me on the Harley. But times change and I found I new type of machine that brings back all those feelings I used to have about the ride. I suppose its age and a changing opinion of The Ride that caused me to look at what I ride in a new light.
For years I had stored away an earlier version of the Brand I've come to love so much. About fifteen years ago I found a '64 GL in desperate need of care. I've been a sucker for orphans and this one turned out to need more work than I had time to attend to when I bought it. I did little things here and there and one day just decided to rip the whole thing down, box it up and work on it when I could.
This spring I was given a joyous little green monster commonly known as a 1978 Honda Express. It also needed much to run again but I figured if I could get that one running I would have the confidence to commence work on the classic Vespa. The Express became a fun project and the goal was achieved. With a top end of 27 mph I soon discovered it was never speed that held me to riding motorized two wheelers, it was the ride itself. I had so much fun on that little thing it surprised me. I began looking at the old Vespa. I brought it out and began sorting parts. Then I started researching websites. The new Vespas grabbed me and didn't let go. I had to see these new era machines in person.
Before long I had my own LX150. Every time I went to the garage to work on the GL the little men on my shoulders began whispering in my ears. Get the classic running. No, go for a ride. The little devil won out so many times I just stopped listening to the other guy.
The GL is patiently waiting yet again for my attention. I don't really mind. What does need to be done is not as daunting as it once was. Rebuild has been in baby steps. Attention drawn to finite aspects of the classic scooter instead of seeing it as a whole, or in this case, staring at all the boxes of sorted parts at once.
Will the GL see the road next summer? I'm looking forward to it. But I can say this; my taste for the machines I've ridden in the past has moved away from the traditional motorcycle to the classic and classicly styled scooter. I could easily sell off the others and keep the two Vespas. They give me everything I've always enjoyed in The Ride.
There is something inherantly pure about riding a Vespa. Something stark and liberating.
A Vespa is a marraige of Italian beauty and function that isn't like the Japanese brand scooters. While they may do some things differently, or logically better... you're not riding one of these based upon how the numbers added up in the end. You're riding a Vespa because it is all that it is.
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