For Cody

Today, Sunday, turned out to be a bust for Gary and I to ride. My wife was on call at the hospital this weekend and had a boatload of patients. By the time she was able to get home the hour was already much later than we had anticipated. So this very short post is for my friend Cody whose heroic career is firefighting. Its rare enough to see the boats Gary and I had the chance to find but even more rare is the sight of this vintage fire engine.

When you ride up to the lot the first thing you see are the boats. Some small and others enormous. They take in your attention immediately. Its not often one can find a shop dedicated to the wood finishing of historic sea going vessels. Even less so to find a company handling the complete restoration of them. The shop itself is dwarfed by the size of of quite a few in the yard. What's amazing is these boats are located quite a distance from any water capable of supporting their size. I would love to see how they got there in the first place. You would have to use semis for many of them. I can't think of another way.

You're thinking of all these huge wooden boats. That's where your focus is until you realize the only thing on the lot is partially hidden by a fairly young tree and a very modern aluminum fishing boat up for sale.

There at the center of the small plot of grass centered in the front of everything is an incredible machine. I couldn't date it. I'll estimate thirties to forties (how's that for a broad guess?). As far as I could tell this engine still has about everything it came with when it was in use. What caught my eye about this old workhorse is the fact is a ragtop. A convertible. If you look closely you'll see it. Just click on the picture and enjoy.

Cody, this one's for you, bud.

Roadbum

Its Just a Wooden Boat

Gary and I had been thinking about riding together. Some way or another we were going to meet, ride and talk scooters. The thing that held us back was the fact Gar' was having trouble getting lined up with his Vespa. Then he pulled the trigger. If you haven't seen one of these bad boy GTS's in the vintage red, All I can say is the color works. The damn thing looks alive.

We set out on the east river road toward the shop which restores the larger wooden boats I wrote about in a previous blog.

You roll along beside the river. A row of homes between you and the slow moving waters. The two lane snakes under overhanging trees and past hobby farms. There's a stable of some wealth along the way. Some day I'm going to stop there and see what there is to see there. The place seems just right nestled in between homes lounging beside the Mississippi on their outstretched lots. In a few places they were closely knit, like small seaside towns. Little buildings jostling for a few more feet of space. Everyone likes to be on The River.

But we were here for the ride and a destination. The wooden boat restoration shop.

When we got there Gary was surprised. Just as I was the first time I'd seen it. A half moon of incredible pieces of floating history, beached for now, with restoration in their futures and a chance to sail again someday.

I was still taking in the view when Gary motioned me to guide my bike into a certain angle. From there it was all about looking for the framework to catch the big boats in their glory. To find glimpses of the ghosts still aboard these vessels.

You see, when you look at pieces of history, tools of another era, you sometimes tend to imagine the people of the time, around them. You can picture what someone might be doing, or the kinds of people who might have been sightseeing aboard these boats so long ago. You wonder about the people who built the boats and the ones who were on them.

The last set of pictures Gary snapped were of an almost overlooked fire engine from the thirties or forties. A beautiful original condition machine with an honest to goodness ragtop. A convertible fire truck!

It was time to move on. We rode back down the east river road from the boat restoration shop on the outskirts of the town of Rice to St. Joseph where we finally had a bit to eat. I'll let Gary cover that for you. Its his specialty.

But the ride. To me its what its all about. The weaving lanes beside the river or past Minnesota lakes. Through farmland and pastures and little towns whose church steeples break up the green skyline horizon. Its always been the ride.

Roadbum

I know its blurry but I had to get something up here to see if I could finally get this to work. The plate says BKOFF and the sticker (for Bill) says "Don't Hold Strong Opinions About Things You Don't Understand".

I've actually got two of those plates from good ol' Wisconsin and have applied for the same here in Minnesota. You could say its the final piece of the puzzle set in place to make this place home to me.

The plate resided on the Virago and the sticker is on the Sportster. This year marks twenty years of owning the Yamaha and fourteen for the Sporty.

I'm telling you now, my pictures will never be of the quality of any other blogs you might read. But they may, to some degree, help get an idea across. I guess we'll just have to see.

Roadbum

Two Sides of the Same Coin, Vespa's the Edge

Heads (Part two)

There are few situations in life that can't change in an instant. Its a matter of creativity and resolve not to accept defeat in order to make some things happen. Most of all its a matter of being prepared to change course in mid stream. One has to set in mind beforehand that there are more options than might seem apparent at first glance. Creative people persevere in order to succeed.

A bit of rest and good time with my family set my mind at ease after the trek to Minneapolis. A call the next day filled the cup of cheer to the brim.

I put the word out per our club's website that I was interested in a local ride. A jaunt into the hills surrounding St. Cloud. No sooner had I put up the post than a call came from a friend. A member of our local scooter club, St. Cloud Scoots. He mentioned taking a spin out to Rice.

Now Rice is your average nondescript country town. Its got all the local color one would expect, but its also got a few surprises. The first surprise was a new way to get there.

I'd always taken the west river road. A meandering path along the Mississippi with some calm switchbacks but nothing outstanding for the average rider. This is the route I thought my friend had planned for that evening. I was off by slightly more than the width of a river.

Chauncy was in the lead but he wasn't going where I thought he would. We crossed the river by the paper mill and turned left. I'd been down this road a long time ago. I still thought I knew what old Chaunc' had in mind.

Its good to be wrong sometimes.

Suddenly his left directional started blinking. Where was he going? We crossed the tracks and almost immediately leaned into a sweeping bend. The speed limit was thirty five miles per hour. Better yet, I couldn't see far ahead for all the twists this road was presenting me. This was already better than the west side river road. How long would this kind of fun last?

The road went on and on this way. I never looked at my odometer because one tends to forget about those sorts of things when one is having fun. The road drew us along with ancient trees hanging over it. There were classic river homes on either side, well cared for with deep yards and too many scenic views to take in all at once. Late afternoon sun shimmering on water's surface. You kept seeing the Old Man behind the homes to the left, his waters lazily sauntering south. No hurry.

These were the moments when I would risk a glance on a path I'd never been before. One eye on the scooter ahead and the other trying to capture the images around me.

The first time you travel such roads, your passage takes on a timeless effect. You're so deeply in the moment it could take minutes or an hour but it doesn't matter. You're here. Now.

We hit some straighter stretches where the speed limit opened up to fifty five. Perfect timing to uncoil the body and the bikes. Then around a sharp left ending in a sloping bridge back over the Mississippi. We climbed again and the turns took on the same pattern they had at the beginning of this adventure. One last long straightaway took us into the town of Rice. At the (only?) stop sign Chauncy said he wanted to show me something. All I could respond with was "Lead the way." We crossed the tracks which were now beside us and he pulled into a strange lot.

Have you ever seen a place where they restore old, wooden boats? I mean the types of boats which live their lives on a Great Lake? These were of ocean worthy size. Huge dark mammoths whose hulls were stripped of color. Only the long planks of wood were seen on all but a few. One especially long seafarer reminded me of Kipling's Captains Courageous. Who knows, it could have been there. The whole lot, several acres worth, was lined with landlocked travellers waiting their turn at the hands of master woodworkers. Rows of them.

After being awestruck by the eastern river road and then blown away by the boat restoration company, we stopped for coffee and a little break off the bikes. Then it was time to turn back for one more pass down that lane again.

Had to watch that speedometer a little more closely now. I guess you could say I got a little too enthusiastic at times, a little accelerbratory.

Roadbum

Two Sides of the Same Coin, Vespa's the Edge

Tails (part one)

Like the distance the east is from the west, the only separation lies in the perspective of the individual staring at the sky. Its only the human element, standing on terra firma, who can look to the horizons and say one direction is east and one direction is west. Then it can only be what we ourselves call something which determines its value.

Plans that had gone awry as they sometimes do, gave me a reason to become creative with the use of my time. The LX has a small issue which could potentially become a large one. I've been thinking about when I would be able to get the bike down to Motoprimo to have it looked at and evaluated. I thought about riding to the twin cities from the sleepy little town I live in.

The direct route is I94. An hour and a half by car. I wasn't going by car, I was taking the bike. Mapquest for a start, then on to the good old fashioned Atlas of Enormous Size. This thing equates in size to an adult the way laying the family Bible on the lap of a two year old for that oh so cute photo to go in the family album. Huge.

I found a circuitous route and told my wife my plans. I hugged and kissed the family and headed out. A chilly morning but bright and inviting. It felt good to know I'd be riding some distance for a change.

I crossed a few small towns along the way. The freeway always beside me, never straying from view for very long. Finally the path bent south. Highway 101 at last. A long stretch but from what I'd remembered, a higher speed loping along kind of road.

Not so this time. 101 was under construction. Miles and miles of switchback arrow signs. More traffic than I ever remembered. To top it off, twenty to thirty mph winds were from the east and they were raising this country main thoroughfare higher than the rest of the landscape. The speed limit signs said 50 mph and were summarily disregarded by everyone. Mack trucks hauled stuff and the wind whipped some of it over everyone behind them. This leg of the trip couldn't be over soon enough.

A left on highway 81 made things much better. About a fifth of the mount of road construction here and very little traffic. Here again they seemed to be raising the roadway on places for some reason.

In Robbinsdale I found a little solace. I lived in north Minneapolis not that long ago. The Vespa followed the parkway to the little home I had on 44Th and Morgan. The area looks the same. Quieter than the reputation this side of town carries. Briefly onto Lyndale, a swoop over the River and the freeway, through the industrial area and into the city proper. I caught another parkway to the heart of Minneapolis and dodged my way south and east until I hit my destination.

I love the folks at Motoprimo. They'll remember you even if you've only been there once. And they'll do what they can to take care of you. The guys took pics of the transmission (CVT belt) cover and told me they'd do their best. I know they will.

I made one more stop at an old friend's store. He just laughed when he saw how I'd come down from St. Cloud. I turned Kythera toward home.

I've lived in or on the edge of metropolitan areas all my life but the street pattern of the twin cities befuddles me. I grew up riding Milwaukee and a bit of south Chicago (Calumet Park area). These are no small towns but I could navigate them even with a few wrong turns and still get back with a smile on my face. I have never been able to relax on Minneapolis streets.

The way out of town was nothing but stop and go traffic. I caught rush hour. More traffic, more people jockeying for lane position and more of everything that gets on the nerves of every commuter. By the time I made it out to 101, the five o'clock surge was pressing everyone even tighter together. Two lanes in both directions stuffed to the gills with people racing to get anywhere but here.

I was tense. Not that the actual riding conditions presented any issues, but I'm not fond of riding in so much blessed traffic.

I hit 39 and things eased a little. Once I was back on 75, things were almost quiet again. The tension released a little but not enough. I had to finish this ride in order to refresh my senses. A cooling down period.

When you don't do it often, riding through a city the size of Minneapolis and its western suburbs during rush hour can feel like some demented autobahn wannabe blitzkrieg. You would think by watching the cars that everyone hits the gas and brakes with the same voracity.

I would have been a wreck had I been in a car for that trip. For as much of a nerve wracking ride the return became, I was glad to be riding that Vespa. The coin may flip tails, but you still have to play the game to win.

Roadbum

Motoprimo

Just a quick note to anyone in the twin cities area. I'll be heading from here in Sartell to Motoprimo in Minneapolis in just a few minutes. I don't really have a clear route in mind but I'll get there. I have a little "issue" with a crack which has developed at an unusual place on the tranny cover. No, not from kick starting but further back. The bike is still under warrantee so...

I'll get back and reply to stuff and check all the new inspiring blogs when I return. This could be a short distance all day-er.

Be well, ride hard and ride happy.

If I could get the Vespa on the Harley this trip could be done alot quicker haha.

Roadbum

Three Quarters to Happy (addendum at bottom and noted)

Things have been busy around here. Opportunities to ride have been few. I spend a lot of time thinking about the rides. Places to go, my neighbor's new Moto Guzzi Grizo (sp?). On a whim my wife bought me one of those ultra cheap tire changers from Harbor Freight or something. The Vespa needs a new rear skin.

Following Vanslam's excellent video I got the tire off the bike and off the rim. Half the job right there. I even managed to use the tool to get one side of the new tire under the rim again. Now we're at three quarters. But bless it, I cannot for the life of me get the last bead inside the rim.

OK, its Sunday so I should be able to play with it, right?

My wife's birthday is tax day. That's right, today is her birthday. I have the time to write this because she's at the hospital and won't be here until sometime around noon. That's the plan anyway.

So here I sit. Vespa resting on its front tire waiting for the rear. I suppose I could take the Harley out but I really don't feel like riding that one today. Annette enjoys hanging out behind me but I really was hoping to take a spin with both of us on separate machines.

I have to say I got further than I thought I would with that tire changer from the catalogue. But I didn't finish the job and that really bugs me. I may try again this evening. If I can't get it by tomorrow morning I'll take it to a local shop.

Tube tires were much easier.

(addendum)

I took a nap yesterday afternoon. The in laws came over and they all went for a little stroll in the neighborhood. My wife woke me to tell me my father in law had seen where I was on the tire and decided to help. He got the thing on pretty much the way I was working it but the guy is easily twice my size. Suffice it to be said Al won that battle haha.

Annette and I celebrated her birthday with a little trip to the mall and then to a restaurant called the Stone House tavern and eatery in a little town named St. Joseph. The waitress handed us a card which read... Scooter Wednesdays along with the dates 6/13, 7/11, 8/8 and 9/12.

I know what you're thinking. Could there be so many scooterists in the St. Cloud Minnesota area that a restaurant would hold a night of discount food and live music for them? Some of you already know the answer. Naturally its for motorcyclists but I've had good reception with the bikers met on the road in that area. And I do own a Harley if I really felt the need. Still, its a prospect which deserves further inquest.

After the good food we caught the film Wild Hogs (or is it Hog Wild?). This is a truly funny movie. It does a fine job defining what real enthusiasts are looking for and the words come from the cameo appearance by the biker's film godfather himself, Peter Fonda. It made me laugh for the truisms that define a part of our riding culture. There's a satisfaction in how the movie wraps up. Hard not to like this picture.

Home fairly late I decided to wait until this morning to finish up. The tire was inflated at the local Shell station and reassembly was completed about thirty minutes ago. I am very happy with how things turned out. Although I'm the kind of guy whose first attempts warrant concern because I usually manage to botch something, I think I did pretty well.

But the best part came just after discovering my father in law had helped me out. That made my day. Just as incredible was the phone call not minutes later. It was our own Gary Charpentier calling to see where I was at and if I needed help.

What's so amazing is that Gary was ready to come up to my place all the way from St Paul! Just to help a fellow rider see his way to getting back on the road. How incredible is that! Scooterists and riding enthusiasts in general seem to have their own code. We will do what we can to help each other out. This time it was my turn to receive and I did, in a very big way. From the unexpected help from Al all the way to Gary's offer. From a call just a bit ago from our local scooter club's own Chauncy. From Combat Scoot John and some good ideas from my dear old dad.

I owe you all thanks and you have my gratitude. Let's all hope I jiggled this thing together right haha.

Roadbum

Patience

The weather is finally turning here in central Minnesota. We're into the forties now. Snow is now found only in the shadows. By this weekend I can imagine everyone will be out sightseeing whether by car or bike.

This presents a new issue. As each spring arrives there is a kind of relaxation in the air. Driving habits change. There is a new batch of youngsters who waited out the winter months, their parents having limited the family sedan's use to minimalist levels during the snowy months. Now the snow is gone and the roads appear safer.

Relaxation.

Kids with a new lease on life are travelling to friends' houses, cell phones surgically implanted into the sides of their heads. In years past, a relatively quiet motorcycle still allowed the rider to hear high decibel amplification coming from juggernauts piloted by the young. (I have to admit I was one of those kids with the loud stereos.) Today its different. Can't hear the person on the other end of the signal if the radio is too loud. And they aren't watching the roads any closer than their parents who they most likely emulate.

Don't worry about them noticing you, they won't. Its your job to be aware they're just around the corner. Or right beside you. They may even slide into your lane and then flip you off for being in their way. We've all seen them. We've all wanted to deal with them in less than cordial ways.

The thing to remember is it isn't personal. Their driving "habits" aren't purposely focused on scaring the bejeezus out of motorcycle enthusiasts. They're just notoriously bad drivers and may never change. The best thing we can do is try our best to predict and avoid putting ourselves in harm's way.

I have a few simple rules which have saved my life. They're basic enough that any skill level rider can apply them.

Ride as if you were invisible.

No one can hear or see you. Ever. You're simply not there. Riding in this frame of mind, you will be less apt to roll along in someones blind spot. Intersections won't make you wonder if anyone sees you because any time you feel like you were noticed will feel like a nice surprise. Another important point; if you're waiting for the green at the front of the line and there are two lanes of traffic (same direction), ride in the right lane. The reason is the car in the left will act as a potential blocker for people running the light to cross the intersection. Also, if you can't see through or over the car to your left beside you, don't pass it until its blocked for you across the intersection. Staying beside a car makes you blend with the car but people will see the car meaning you're more safe riding inside its silhouette even when you and the car cross half the intersection.

Two exits besides brakes.

Somehow we train ourselves to think only of the brakes in a dire situation We forget we can accelerate to safety if we need to. Always remember, when it gets bad, the best riders never stop riding until they're out of harm's way. The shoulder is a viable option just as squirting between cars can be, if necessary.

The point is once you stop riding, or stop trying to ride your way out of a bad situation, in most cases you've given up. You're not done with the ride until the bike and more importantly you, stop moving. Take advantages wherever you can. Predict as much as possible. Choosing lane positions which provide more and better options can save our lives.

And keep an eye out for the weaving cell phone users. They win every time. Even when they lose.

Roadbum

Yes, Deer

Spring has arrived across most of this great nation. Along with a fresh riding season straight ahead in the minds of so many enthusiasts are the very real dangers of animals which step onto the roadway and into our paths. Stray domesticated pets and wild animals mesmerized by the single and paired twin beams piercing dusk shadows and night.

Deer appear out of the darkness.

They spook you. Out of nowhere they appear from the darkness. Your panoramic view of the scene ahead instantly constricts into tunnel vision, involuntarily focussed on the reflective eyes moving towards the roadway. Broad tan bodies. Full grown. One (or is it two?) is moving down through the ditch. Too close. Will it (or they) run to the bike's headlight?

A shot of electricity bolts through you. Every inch of your skin crawls but you won't notice until this is over. By then the shivering from your body's instantaneous surge of adrenaline will be mixed with a cold sweat and the immediate need to void that bladder.

React.

You yank the clutch and the front brake simultaneously while your right foot bangs hard on the rear brake. The instant before you've given too much, you moderate pressure in order not to skid. Every bit of concentration you have is trying to keep that bike going in a straight line. Nearly six hundred pounds of metal in momentum and not-so-great brakes to control it. You're praying in tongues. Out loud.

Before you're aware of it your left thumb is mashing the horn button. At this point you maybe utterly speechless or you're adding your own voice to the wailing siren at the front of the machine.

With everything going on, time somehow goes into slow motion. Thoughts not connected to this dire moment suddenly grip your mind. Overload. Your scalp feels like its sizzling. Some sort of internal switch activates. Brain is flipping the important cards in your mental Rolodex. And you can't do anything about it.

By the time you're allowed to see the real world around you again, the lead deer is frozen at the shoulder and the bike is heeled safely. Shaken and scared, you roll on the throttle looking for the nearest available place to get off the bike. Once stopped you realize the feeling in your hands is gone and your limp legs can barely hold the bike up in order to put out the kickstand. You're grateful because you know what could have happened. Even now, after standing a moment the convulsive shaking still ripples over you at odd intervals. The internal thermostat alternates between too warm and a hollow cold.

Back in 2006 one of motorcycling's greatest safety advocates met that deer at speed. Lawrence Grodsky, whose column in Rider magazine addressed every habit, skill and riding condition, died hitting a deer.

When you consider that a man who devoted his career and life to teaching motorcycle safety could still have lost his life in one of the most common night time accidents, you realize it could happen to any of us. Few of us are as skilled as he was but most of us believe we are.

All it probably took was a false sense of security. A moment lasting not much longer than the blink of an eye.

Please be careful out there.

Roadbum

Bygone Days

In the previous era things were different. For many riding enthusiasts, memories of that era are filled with times when groups of friends would join up just outside the neighborhood and ride all manner of dirt bikes on trails worn by preceding generations of young riders who had done the same.

Why would I call it an era? Because if you observe motor cycling's heritage, its first era can be defined as a time when communities were smaller than they are now. Cities and towns weren't surrounded by the unbroken sprawl of new homes. There were spaces. Farms and unimproved land were inviting places where kids could tear through the woods on trail bikes. Some of us may even remember things call fire roads, which were simply mowed paths through unimproved fields and woods so our fire departments could attack brush fires during prescribed burns. The beauty of it was, these roads really didn't require much mowing for all the kids who rode their dirt bikes along them. Imagine riding through the woods, your bike rolling along at the about the pace of a horse's gait. You don't see any other human activity unless its of the kindred spirits out enjoying the same things you are. No pavement. No signage.

Farms and local woods begged a young rider to roost a little. The fire roads were a different story. Although they were not that far from home, having something go wrong while on a fire road meant you were on your own.

Sometime in my late teens or early twenties chained signs began blocking off those roads. Forbidden. It became harder and harder to find places to ride which weren't farms owned by someone we knew. Then one day they were gone.

I'm sure even as I write, there are still places with open fire roads, or pastures and lots where today's kids are still able to bang around on their modern equivalents of our two stroke high pipe two fifties. But they're not a mere block or two away in most cases. In my own youth, either end of our subdivision boasted well worn trails and fields. I'll bet every modern kid with a dirt bike knows its just a matter of time before another farm disappears and the place once ridden becomes a hundred new homes in additions with names like Broken Trail or Daybreak Ridge. All I can think about is what it must've been like to actually ride Broken Trail or see daybreak atop that ridge.

The end of the era is defined by the majority of people who once did those things and no longer can. If you view this from another angle what you also realize is how its affected how people learn to ride. Where an older brother's dirt bike was put into service to teach you how to ride, those options aren't readily available to the majority of us anymore.

What follows is a new era. One where people with real road skills teach the rest of us how to stay between the lines. How to feel and negotiate every possibility. The fire roads and prairies are gone for most of us. Along with them an experience in riding that cannot be duplicated. But that is, as they say, how it is.

Even though riding farmland is still available to this rider, its not the same thing as those fire roads were. Those paths cut their way through places we intended to explore but never did. Conjecture of where those trails could have taken me is all I have now, and it in no way matches what the experience would have left with me.

So in a sense, this is about missing what was once available to most of us and in another sense it reminds me that the effect of change reaches us in sometimes unexpected ways. That there were no rider's safety courses then, but getting out of traffic and learning the basics in the woods was as common as having the bikes themselves. Wet grass, puddles and streams. Riding over dead falls or through gravel. Thick, tire sucking mud. Snow and its steamy sizzle after being spit back on the engine from the front tire. A different era for the majority of us.

Today, getting out of traffic means riding an hour just to be out of Megalopolis. Never mind leaving the tar and concrete ribbons. Someone realized how drastically things had changed and knew it was time to do something new. The rider's safety courses were born. Designed to instruct the best ways to handle any given street riding conditions, they will serve millions of riders now and in the future. Thus began this current era.

The Roadbum

Avon

The other day a member of our riding club had purchased a new scooter. He wanted to put some miles on and get out on the open road. There was a chance of rain. The weather channel ominously told of the potential of heavy rains, large hail and straight line winds. Tom's intent was to show me his new scooter and hopefully miss the bad weather in his less than five minute ride home.

After he hung up I went on line to get a better picture of what was coming in the skies. While the Weather Channel screamed warnings the radar site I use showed the pattern splitting to the north and south right over our town. Once Tom got here I showed him what I saw and we agreed we would clean the bikes and talk a while to see what transpired.

We cleaned the bikes, talked about bikes and spent about an hour just hanging out in my garage. More clouds moved in from the southwest. Black thunderheads, the kind that roll in fast and seem to boil their way across the sky broke a line of trees to the south. Tom thought this was it. There would be no ride.

Again, the clouds split wide soon after they appeared. It was like an invisible wedge blocked them from finding us. Some stormclouds moved north of us, and splitting eastward they stayed well to the south. We went in and check the computer again. It appeared this thunderhead was the last in a strong line of storms. We walked back outside and into the back yard to see to the southwest better.

Blue sky. Behind the roiling lightening sparked darkness was clear sunshiny blue sky. In moments the storm was east and while the deep thunder was clear, it was past us.

The two of us grinned as we donned our gear and started the bikes. In moments we were riding the countryside that begins just outside my neighborhood.

But it gets even better...

After we returned we talked about the ride. We decided that the next day (yesterday) we would ride again when Tom got off work. At about five he was here and we were ready to go.

I wanted to ride the Avon area. Its a small town off the expressway. Surrounded by lakes and quite a bit more hilly than some areas around here it boasts some incredible riding potential for early weekend mornings. I just haven't been able to do it yet.

The sun was hot yesterday. It actually set a record. Upper seventies and bright clear skies. We rode in a general direction and found a back way into the town. Gassing up at the Shell we talked about which way to head out of town. Town being oh, approximately a mile long give or take. Back north we went.

At this point its any one's game and Tom picked some great roads. Long sweeping bends climbing hills through still bare stands of trees. Rivulets and ponds. The sun heating the black fabric of my Corrazo.

There's a term the classic rock stations use when they play a number of songs in succession by a certain band. Getting the lead out. I'd say that's a fair description of what this ride felt like to me.

From Avon to St. Stephen and back home again. We put on roughly fifty miles and it felt so good. Tom said this is only the beginning and I believe him. How could I not? There is so much to explore in the Avon and surrounding area. We have only just begun.

The Roadbum

Whose Ride is It Anyway?

When learning to ride we all probably dealt with people who told us how dangerous motorcycles are to ride. Suicide machines. Hondacides. Name some derogatory term for the machine or the sport and I bet I can recall a time it was said to me. Without fail non riders' eyes would get suspicious and some advice or story about someones brother, cousin, or friend of a friend would fill my ears.

Oddly the reason for the crash or accident wasn't given. I had to ask that question on my own. Because we all know people don't cause accidents, the machines they're using suddenly take over and operate independently of the user. It happens all the time and motorcycles are notorious for displaying this characteristic normally reserved for living things.

People rule the majority of things and situations they find themselves involved in. They either take control or relinquish it. Its that simple. The responsibility lies with the individual.

When people relate these fearful stories about how Bob sent himself into a ditch some early morning sometime after bar closing they always leave out the part about the bars closing. Never mind that Bob helped close a certain bar. Bob was the victim and his dastardly motorcycle forced the liquor upon him.

They might tell the story with vivid detail but ask a few questions and chances are you're going to make them angry because they just got caught in a half truth or a flat out lie. If you point out Bob relinquished his control of the situation voluntarily or that Bob just assumed he could operate a motorcycle the way he would anything else in his life, they'll walk away angry.

People tell me how dangerous motorcycles are all the time. I tell them in all the years I've owned them, going into my teens, I've never walked by them in the garage and had one jump out and try to bite me yet.

Is that a dumb reply? No it really isn't. Because it always reminds them responsibility lies with the operator. Before they can utter another word the gears in their heads are turning. They stop talking and start thinking. The common response afterward is "just be careful out there" and that's something I appreciate hearing.

Now something new is happening and I can't seem to get past it. Riders who normally understand the individualism imbued in the spirit of riding motorcycles are giving faux warning about riding in bad weather. Here's the point those folks are missing: When someone tells you about a ride in bad weather and they're still a fully functioning human being, it means they rode well enough to get through it just fine. Regardless what the naysayers whine about, it already happened. Its a done deal. It happened without incident. And its up to the teller of the tale to decide if such a ride will be undertaken again. The person begging them not to do it again is forgetting two important things. First, Teller of said Tale doesn't need any one's permission to ride any time anywhere on the public roads of these United States. Secondly, Teller of said Tale probably learned a few things about being safer about riding in any conditions that the naysayers may need to know for their own safety someday.

When someone makes the choice to ride, they already took a leap against the grain. They've determined its worth the experience even if becoming the focus of naysayers' attention is drawn to them. Why? Because they really don't worry about what other people think. And they shouldn't, either.

People have ridden truly bad weather and did more than survive they found they enjoyed the experience, they explained to others how they got through it and then others learned to be better riders. Some riders have been in those same conditions and said they would never do it again. But from what I've seen both groups will share what they did and how they got through it.

We all have our limits where we feel we can handle a given condition well enough to get through it with relative comfort. Its not the same bar for any two people. Trying to bring anyone to our personal level of operation or comfort is an exercise in futility. Some riders will lay a bike low through the turns even on wet pavement. Others will baja off through the woods, beginning at the fire trails and working their way deeper and deeper into the steep terrain of canopied forests. Some take a go at snow while others like me enjoy riding in the rain on a warm afternoon.

It all starts with the idea that you or I could actually get through this situation. After all, none of us in this generation are going to be the first to do it. Millions have done it. They remember riding motorbikes through the woods. Or across fields, soaking themselves in muck. They remember the fun it was, the little two strokes tooting at high rpm for all they were worth.

No, before the naysayers condemn us for riding in bad weather or deride us for the way we're "influencing" the riding public with our disregard for safety and the "image" we present, they should remember some of us did these things before. Maybe as kids. They should also take notice that we ourselves are using all of our fingers to tell the stories. What riders who've done these things know, the rest of us can learn.

The Roadbum

What's in a Name?

In October of 1900 sponge fishermen in the Mediteranian were trying to find safety from a storm. They ducked into the shelter of an island until the storm passed. After the skies broke they decided to try their luck in the area. The first diver went down and came up with fear in his eyes. With what must have seemed a halucinating fear to his mates he described a sea floor littered with bodies. The captain was next to dive and he returned with the arm of a bronze statue. The men of that small fishing expedition brought everything they could carry to the surface.

Two years later an archeaologist returned. Much more was found but the crowning interest he discovered on that sea floor was a mechanism in which he could see a gear. The machine was cloaked in mystery. There was not the one gear but several. No one was able to tell this machine's purpose. Originally believed to be an early clock, it was later presumed to be some kind of analog computer. Later studies would show it to be an astronomical tool. You could turn any of the three dials on its surface to calculate the position of the sun and planets for a past or future date. Astoundingly accurate and containing over thirty gears, the tool is credited to have been made by Posidinius around 150-100BC. More amazingly there are two more mentioned in the scrolls of Greece and later the great library of Alexandria. The first is said to have been made by Archimedes.

Now this brings up another point of interest to scooter and motorcycle enthusiasts. Archimedes made the first odometer. There are still mileage markers in existance which were built during the Roman empire. Their distances apart were measured by the same device Archimedes invented. Until recently it was only by evidence of some scroll that such a tool was even thought to exist. The problem was that each attempt to build Archimede's odometer met with failure. Recently a scientist of antiquity discovered how the thing actually worked and built a working model. One interesting part of the design was as so many gears followed a certain pattern of rotation, a stone would drop into a lower box, or tray, signifying one mile for each stone that fell.

Archimedes, father of the Antikythera Mechanism. He who also created a way to measure the distance we travel. Were it not for those fishermen off the island of the same name, would there be any way to know of the genius within this man's thoughts? To imagine just how much depth of understanding lay in his hands, consider that these functioning tools were made how many generations before Da Vinci? A full fifteen hundred years between on great mind and the other.

In this day science is still trying to work out the solutions left by the great authors of design such as Archimedes. If just for another page of discription then we would have what he did, what he meant by thus and such. Just one more scroll or parchment and we could solve another ancient mystery.

That name reminds me of my own insignificance. It also reminds me of the greatness man can create. A tool to set the place of the stars. Another to tell us how far we've come.

Tonight the Vespa has been given a name.

Kythera


The Roadbum

Everyone Needs to Eat

Therefore our young and small club is going to have a food shelf run. All the details are here: http://www.stcloudscoots.net/

Part of the ride will take us through orchards and by some lakes. This is a countryside ride over, as they say, hill and dale.

The Roadbum

Spirited not Dangerous

When I was young I sometimes rode dangerously. Well by my standards today I would think so. Back then it was nothing to rely on quick reflexes and utterly trust my motorcycle to come through in the clinch. I would skip the tires, pour the bike into turns and throttle out with the dual forty millimeter Mikunis sucking in as much air and fuel as they possibly could. I hung her low and I was proud of it.

Over some years I mellowed but on occasion the young me, the former Rb would need to take the controls and set the tone. I've always been reading and listening to what skilled riders taught and I employed more and more of it. One day it felt like I was trying to duplicate the edge of my seat feeling I used to get, but it wasn't there. I realized I'd crossed some invisible line where I employed skill instead of hope and a little prayer. I was doing the same things I had in the past but the fear was gone. I also felt smoother through that turn. Confidence and more knowledge caught up with sheer youthful bravado. I'd made it this far with a bit of grace and luck. My style changed and improved over these many years and instead of the gritted teeth and bare knuckles, I was reading the information the bike and road were feeding me.

This was new...?

I began paying attention to the feeling I was looking for. The sensation of the right lean angle combined with the right entrance speed. Ahhhh that's the thing I was looking for!

When you do it right you get that same rush without the adolescent's anxious impatience. Sound familiar? A boy.. a girl... a passionate embrace leads to... (ahem) where were we? Oh yes. Attention to detail and practice brings about skill. Skill leads to being able to draw out the moment with (hey, you... stop thinking about the two young lovers. It was just an illustration) better self control.

I learned to slow a little more and build up more gradually in the turns. As my confidence increased I realized I could pitch the bike per speed and ride through the way I wanted. Not that all out crap, but really soak up the moment in a broad sweeping bend. Make it last.

Kids swill beer and coffee. Adults know what it tastes like.

I used to pour it on in the straights too. Looking for a natural high. But there's something about going the speed limit. You know, it really is about the right speed for this road.(ohmygoddidIjustwritethat?) Well, I suppose my attitude is improving and that's a good thing.

Spirited.

I bet in some ways I ride as hard as I ever did but those times are farther in between now. There's more skill in the saddle and its employed being smooth rather than trying to be blitzkrieg fast. Scooters are nimble little machines but they're not "fast". You can swing them into decent lean angles without much effort and throw them around a little bit. Its that near effortless compliance which allows me to enjoy them so much. Like the little bikes I grew up around. As happy with the ride now as I was then.

The Roadbum

Second Hand Happiness

Old Scoot mentioned having what's now becoming thought of as a classic old model, the Honda Helix. His bike has lots of miles meaning its getting ridden. Far too often I hear about scooters from the mid eighties on being sold for a song with three to five thousand miles on the clock. Bikes which are probably due for a tune up and good going over from sitting in the back corner of a garage somewhere.

These bikes were fun while their owners used them but some reason caused them to be put aside, relegated to storage. Maybe the owner decided it was time to move into something larger or life just changed as often happens. Great scooters, low miles.

You can find these machines for a song by listening to the grapevine. They were running when put aside. Gummed carburators, oil and brake fluid changes usually accomplish enough to get them back on the road. Oh, and this is important; you will require new tires. Going over the details starting with a good cleaning could show a nice gem underneath. Just some loving care. If the prospective seller finds the title, you might have just found yourself a very inexpensive ticket to ride.

A friend was recently given a Yamaha Riva 180. He literally sprayed some carb cleaner through it, changed the oil, drained the tank and added fresh fuel just to see if it would run. He replenished the old battery with distilled water and trickle charged it. You can thumb the starter and that old '83 Riva will fire and run every time. Cost of the Riva? His time into it so far.

Japanese scooters have been in the states a long time. They made their mark here with an ad campaign that anyone over thirty can quote. "You meet the nicest people on a Honda." Suddenly everyone wanted to ride the little Honda scooters. They had larger wheels, a version of legshields and they had a look all their own. Because of the placement of ads, everyone had seen the 70cc scooters. Honda placed the commercial in mainstream magazines. Everyday people riding and smiling while riding. The company founded by Hoshiro Honda had had created an icon.

Since the early seventies Japanese scooters developed their own reputations of reliability. They became thicker looking. More plush. They boasted good power and larger models could get above sixty miles per hour. The little 50cc models were seen hanging around college campuses, waiting for their owners to take them to the local watering holes. The bigger models had their own niche. People who rode them might've started on the smaller and just enjoyed them so much they had to have the next model up. Even in the seventies and eighties the Japanese scooter manufacturers carried automatic scooters. They were stone simple to use and pretty basic to maintain. And they were dependable.

I like to surf the internet looking at all the different scooters that have been made since the seventies. Different designs, interesting solutions to one thing or another, they all had something worth taking a second look at. There are websites dedicated to common problems one model or another had and the solutions to those problems. Most often its really not expensive even by today's standards. For a fraction of the cost of a new scooter you can be into something you used to think was pretty nice. For not that much more you can have it running as new. Hard to beat that logic against the rising cost of virtually everything in today's economy.

I'm developing an interest in finding a certain model Honda I've always liked. This thing was considered plush in its time and still looks it today. Those bikes have never looked "cheap" to me and they still don't. They're out there. In a garage, basement or barn. Waiting for someone to put them back on the road.

Is there a model you remember that caught your eye?

The Roadbum

Time to Slake Your Thirst

I've always had an unspoken distance I needed to ride in order to feel... rested. I don't know about you but I feel more refreshed after a proper ride than after a good night's sleep. Since I can remember I could never sleep more than six hours unless physically ill. Sleep is a non active sort of activity. You're not really involved. You sort of have to trust that nothing will happen while you're "away".

Riding on the other hand, is a hands on in the moment experience. You control what happens and so you ultimately control most of what you feel. Pick the road, the third of the lane, the time of day or night or the company you choose to ride with. Its all yours to tune to your liking.

The only variable left is how long do you need to be out there, to be riding at your own pace in order to feel like the ride has reached its fullness? How long a ride will it take to satisfy your lust for the experience of The Ride?

When I was a single Roadbum it had to average a good thirty miles to even qualify as a ride. With groups it seemed the ride had to be longer. Much longer. I was given the nickname Marathon Harv after a certain nighttime sojourn I led brought us to the Minnesota state line. This was back when I lived in Milwaukee. Some riders complained I'd gotten us lost. My friends knew I was loosely following the stars.

So what comprises a satisfying ride? I think its being in the moment you'd planned for when you started. Sometimes creativity needs to work in one's favor but the general rule is we have expectations for each ride. If we meet them it becomes a memorable experience.

I'm married. I've got soon-to-be four year old twins to think about. Time is less my own than it ever was. I've resorted to skimming a little time here or there in order to get some time in the saddle. Subconsciously I must have come to the conclusion something about the ride had to change if I was to capture the same satisfaction I used to find in the longer rides.

I had to rediscover what it was about the ride which has always drawn me in so completely.

When the Honda Express came along the little scooter turned out to be a hoot to ride. The little bike's bare minimum capabilities not only brought back the livelihood of the ride it somehow managed to compact fun into shorter distances and thus shorter spans of time. It felt like starting over again. Fresh.

When I got the Vespa LX150 I could have gotten the GTS250. I passed on it because it crossed an invisible line which would have put it in the same category as the other full on motorcycles I have. If it can get on the expressway its a motorcycle as far as I'm concerned. I've got several of those. I don't need another. No, the line had to remain or I would be confusing the issue. And I'm not selling the others. The Harley carried Annette and me on our honeymoon nearly eleven years ago. She loves that bike for sentimental reasons. The Nighthawk is hers and her decision alone regarding whether it stays or not. The Yamaha has been with me twenty years. The only bike I've ever named. Tamera is "the other woman". She looks as good as the day we met. The GL is something I haven't decided about just yet.

Tamera.

The Harley.

These bikes require being ridden longer distances on principle alone. They warm themselves into the ride in a different way. Some people say bikes like these need to "stretch their legs". Short rides on Tamera and the Sporty just don't feel right. Unsatisfying.

The Vespa can be ridden short distances or long because it distills the whole riding experience in a different way. It imbues a sense of getting back to the roots of why we ride, in each ride. Its just fun whether you're going to the grocery store to pick up odds and ends or riding straight through a couple tank fulls worth on a Saturday.

A new cup filled with good vintage wine. Not like the adolescent thirst I once had, a craving to just go go go, but a more mature interest in the full body of the ride. Lesser roads on the way to better roads. For me this Vespa puts more fun into all of it.

It goes to show the ride is what you make it.

The Roadbum

Genuine Success

About a week ago my dad picked up the Genuine Buddy scooter he'd ordered. The reason he bought it was the scooter he's ridden until now is a 50cc. While it'll run an honest 40mph and 45 if you strain it down a hill, traffic generally moves a little quicker than the posted limits. Keeping up with traffic flow can become a safety issue.

We brought it home in his Tacoma as my work on making my boat trailer a dual purpose design hasn't begun.

The other day it was beautiful here. In the fifties and light winds. Dad was itching for a good day to ride his new prize. I called him and said I thought this would be a good day to take it on a little spin. Kind of get the feel for it and break it in a little. You could hear the anticipation in his voice. Within half an hour the little red truck was parked in the driveway.

I rolled my midnight blue LX and his ruby red Buddy into Annette's spot and began wiping them down. It's the little details which surprised me about the Buddy. The fit is nicer than you might expect from a Taiwanese import scooter. By looking at the quality of the fit and finish a person might be hard pressed to come up with the actual price of this bike.

My dad commented that I didn't have to wipe it down but it's a habit I developed somewhere along the line and I'm not about to quit now. To me it's part of the fun of owning a motorcycle or scooter.

We rolled the two scooters out of the garage and onto the driveway, each of us starting his respective bike. Both started immediately. Both worked themselves down to a warmed idle and settled into that familiar one lunger loping sound. So nice.

We went over the switches again and decided the route. A familiar loop we'd ridden all of last summer. Some straights, some hills and a few sleepy bends to round out the ride.

Compared to last summer this first ride with pop was already better. We weren't limited by his speed. Cautious and a more spirited ride is what this turned into. My dad rolled his throttle and moved through the rpm's and the bike never stuttered. When we turned I could only smile as once we were rolling again he remembered to flick off the signal. The audible clacking of the switch is a great feature to remind us to thumb it off. Dad could hear it again. He never missed a beat.

Now there is a section of plumbline straight road. Pockmarked and rippled its a sore spot on the run but it gets you to the better stuff. I sometimes think of it as the price you have to pay for what's coming afterward. Something I hadn't thought of before came to mind as I watched my dad riding ahead of me on this road. You really get to see how a bike deals with rough pavement. You don't visialize it like you might when you critique your own experience, you actually witness it.

I don't know why but for a split instant I saw my dad on the old 50cc. I blinked and there he was on the Buddy. As strange as this was it also caused me to notice something. The Genuine Buddy's supension works extremely well. It's rider wasn't being jostled but the feedback appeared to be about as close to right as I would suppose one would want from a scooter. My dad wasn't fighting the ride, he was rolling with right along with it. He certainly appeared comfortable.

Once we got to the roads where a little lean angle is employed he moved right along through them. Instead of the wandering line he used to follow, using the whole lane to negotiate each arc, he held the line consistantly. When he started in the left third of the lane he rode that third all the way through and maintained it on the following straightway. After the ride he spoke of the Buddy's design inspiring his confidence. Hey, I can't argue, I witnessed it.

The true testament to the Buddy's quality and attention to details regarding how it works came in the words my dad spoke upon shutting the bike down. He looked me square in the eye and said, "Son, if it was a bit warmer I would say let's just keep going."

The only thing he thought the bike could use is a wider legshield. Coming from him that's pretty impressive. We'll revisit his thoughts later in the season once the newness of the bike wears off and he's put some miles and time in the saddle.

That says enough about how my dad feels about his new Buddy.

The Roadbum

When Owning a Chinese Scooter isn't so Bad

Let me preface this by saying I have nothing against Chinese scooters if they're brands like TN'G or Schwinn. Actually both are the same scooters with different badges but that's another story. TN'G has been making scooters for decades overseas and has entered the US market with a fairly decent support line. Unfortunately unless the trend of sales remains strong they too may fade away. I hope they stick around because from what I've seen locally dealer support is pretty darn good for this particular Chinese company.

What companies like TN'G offer is an inexpensive scooter which fits a small niche of people just getting their feet wet. Unfortunately there are many [used car] lots selling Chinese brands I've never heard of, even in this college town of St. Cloud. These lesser known companies have gained a sales network of people willing to make a quick buck and it bodes poorly for those of us who are scooterists first and foremost. When a no name brand comes along for a season or two of spiking gas prices the money is made on the sale. Once sales decrease the no name scooter brands fade away, leaving buyers with machines needing only slight maintenance from sitting quietly through a winter, without anyone to turn to. People who would have been avid scooterists are left with regrets and a sour taste against the sport in general.

But what if you're a new scooterist? What if you've never ridden a motorized two wheeler before?

You might be one of the millions who plunked down anywhere from an unbelievable 700 dollars to under two grand for the better models. The bikes have done what you asked. You're learning to ride and you're have a blast in the breeze and sunshine.

The day of truth arrives. The day you discover if you're a rider or someone just testing the waters.

You have your first spill. It could be a slide, or something as simple as what my dad did just two days ago. He started the bike for the first time after a long winter without riding. He managed a simple newbie mistake and the bike rolled away from him. He tried to grab it but by standing on the wrong side and not keeping a hand on the brake the little 50cc "scooted" away from him and went over on its side. Damage was a cracked upper legshield along with a turn signal bracket snapped off. In the accident he tripped and fell but no injuries. Just a little pride and a (thankfully) gentle reminder that these things need to be taken seriously. I don't think he even suffered a bruise that's how light this little tip over was.

My dad has no intention of giving up. He loves to ride. As I mentioned in an earlier post he now has the new Genuine Buddy. He wisely intended to run in the older TN'G to get himself back in the groove before getting on the new scooter. After his little mishap he checked the 50cc out as well as he could and even took it for a little spin. Seems there's nothing wrong with the bike other than a chipped plastic legshield and a snapped turn signal bracket.

To me the TN'G runs exactly as I remember it last season. But it suffered a little cosmetic... individuality. My dad made some fairly common new rider mistakes. He assumed a few things and now knows not to. But I have to tell you he's thankful it happened on the little 50cc rather than his brand new Genuine Buddy 125. Mechanically the TN'G is no worse for the wear. Neither is my dad.

I can't imagine how upset he would have been with himself had it happened on his cherished ruby red Buddy. I'm just glad the little low speed scooter was the bike to remind him to always think about every detail of what he's intending to do when it involves two wheels. He's set in his ways and there's no changing his patterns from the son to father perspective. Sometimes he just does things his way and learns on the uptake. I wish it didn't have to be this way but its his choice. In that respect an inexpensive Chinese scooter was the better of the two he owns upon which the lesson was to be learned.

The Roadbum

Splashing Around

This is the time of the year when I've always had the least patience waiting for the roads to become "passable". As a motorcyclist, spring always made me wish the snow would melt in the span of a day or two. A week at the most and then during the work days so you could ride by the time the weekend rolled around.

Was the weather too cold? Too much sand on the roads? You would think either of these things could be dealt with easy enough. No, these weren't the reasons to wait. Its been easy enough to wear proper gear. We knew how to stay warm. And the sand has been taken with extreme caution with our routes planned around areas where heavy traffic meant the plows had spread alot of it.

Do you know what keeps the majority of motorcyclists off the roads this time of year?

Water.

Puddles large and small. Pools of water which anyone on two wheels will eventually be unable to avoid riding through. The front tire hits, the water splits and sprays. It goes in directions that seem unnatural. It sprays everywhere. To put it bluntly, it really sucks to get slushy, dirty, sandy water up your pant legs only to run back down and soak your socks. I don't know what the laws of physics are that cause this strange pattern of flying muck to fan itself the way it does once a tire's force splits the puddle, but it'll manage to hit you in the most inexplicable ways.

I've hit puddles and had water shoot up my nose. Inside my full face helmet! With the visor clamped shut no less. You want a good reason to pull over? This is one that definitely makes the Late Night with David Letterman Top Ten list.

But today I thought about one of the great features of scooters. They have these wonderful design functions known as legshields. And they work as advertized.

Today I went for a glorious little roundabout into the countryside a cup of coffee. In the next town. Actually a few towns away but that's not the point. The point is I traversed large puddles of standing water and was not sprayed once.

Ahhhh the joy. The simple pleasure of finding yet another reason to appreciate these little gigglemachines called modern scooters.

Not that I went out of my way to split the waters, but where I more or less needed to, I crossed them cautiously and slowly. Sure, the Vespa shows its been ridden. The bottom is not so much midnight blue anymore as it is a splattered canvas in shades of brown. Like a Pollack using only earthtones.

For the true riding enthusiast the design of the legshield and floorpan ought to elicit praise. Its functionality provides comfort where other designs might force the rider to choose between putting on extra gear, or waiting for the roads to become dry again. I've ridden hundreds of miles with blown out rain pants. Soaked to the point of numbness and unable to stop because there was a storm ahead of me and another creeping up behind. Where I was it was not raining but the roads were beyond capacity to move the water to the side. While we were not being hit by the rain we were definitely being hammered by the spray coming up to greet us from the surface.

To think of having been on my Vespa that day. Yes, I believe I would have been drenched just the same in the end. The difference being water plowing its way up at you from the road, drenching you the way it had versus the new experience of the scooter's solution to the problem. What comes up to you with such force meets the legshield and floorpan. The mist of it will get you in the end if you need to be riding long enough in the stuff. Think of it as getting hit by a Supersoaker full of very cold water versus a seeping mist, a gradual heavy dampness.

Scooters are incredibly well thought out machines. If form follows function they may be the best for the average riding enthusiast.

The Roadbum