Group Ride - Eureka!

Does this Vespa make me look awesome?

A sunny Saturday and nothing to do - except a group ride to Eureka!

Vespa of the Ozarks hosted a group scooter ride to Eureka Springs, Arkansas. We rallied at their shop and after a few introductions - 13 Vespa's and Piaggio's took to the streets. Experienced riders and brand-new bikers mixed with classic all-metal models and more modern/more plastic versions of the Vespa legacy on a route coveted by riders across the country.

Having 8,ooo miles on the odometer, I was honored to be asked to be the "sweeper" bike for the group. It didn't hurt that the BV sports a 250 engine, pretty fast for this class of bike. A sweeper stays at the rear of the group to ensure that everyone stays together.

Our group wasn't the only gathering ready to enjoy an early summer Saturday. Not one block into the trip we met a true motorcycle gang at a four-way stop in Rogers brick town. Their sweeper rode into the middle of the intersection and blocked traffic until several dozen bikers rode through. This was my first group ride and I wasn't so dashing.

Life is a journey, not a destination. - Emerson

The quieter, more fuel efficient Vespa's, caught Highway 12 East connecting to 127 and then 23 North, a little less than 40 miles. Scenic, slower, safer, yet misses the grandiose curves of the Ozarks if we'd taken 62. That's for another ride.

The first "omg omg omg, I can't believe how fun AND beautiful this is..." moment came with the HWY 12 bridge spanning Beaver Lake. This drops you into the Hobbs State Park and Conservation area which hosts it's share of curvy roads and beautiful scenery. The air felt clean and invigorating with the smell of the forest pines and the dips in temperature in the shaded valleys we'd glide through. I have to say, riding a motorcyle/scooter has to be the closest thing to what flying must be like that I can think of.

The group stopped at an abandoned gas station that rests in the Y in the road where we'd turn to avoid as much traffic as possible. We had become several smaller groups and the stop let us reconnect and talk about the dipstick pulling a horse trailer that wasn't satisfied with doing the speed limit and insisted on staying too close to the back tires of one of our groups. What goes around, I suppose.

The forest tapered into farmland where every other barn was a dilapidated postcard waiting to happen. One barn that was still in operation was painted blue. With almost every barn I've seen being red, I couldn't help but think "what a non-conformist!" The blue did go better with the big sky behind it.

The next stop was an open gas station right outside of Eureka. We were all pretty excited, knowing that we were almost there. Hungry, too. Lunch was the first item on the agenda when we arrived...

...at the Lovin' Oven. Yeah. Despite it's name, it was actually great. Italian food served up in generous portions and fair prices in a clean atmosphere. It's in the shopping center next to the Hart's grocery shopping center.

As you can imagine, we weren't the only group touring Eureka on a beautiful Saturday. We saw a Miata group, Plymouth Prowler group, a couple Ferrari's, and LOTS of motorcycles.

The scooters had to represent, so we cruised the historic downtown and up the hill to the Crescent Hotel and back down again. It was fun to see how almost every head turned to watch the procession. People were compelled to point at the MP3's in the group, with their two-wheeled front axles. An older man on a new Vespa was parking his bike as we went by. He motioned the classic "blow your horn" as you would a trucker and I obliged.

I could have made a few more laps but cruising that slow in the summer kicks on the cooling fan. So, a few riders stayed to spend some time in Eureka and the rest of us headed back.

Unfortunately, we did see a sport bike wreck. He was up and moving but his brand new bike was in pieces. We stopped at the abandoned gas station and another biker from his group pulled in and asked us for some Tylenol. One of our scooter enthusiasts is a nurse and had some handy. The sport bike rider reported that his friend was going to be okay but was just going too fast.

I learned from Leonard that the average time a new sport bike is laid over (wrecked) is less than two weeks. Apparently, that's why the insurance is sky high. Sport bikes tend to be more engine than you need and if you've never ridden anything, that twist n' go action puts you in the ditch, quick.

Leonard asked if I'd like to switch to lead for the rest of the way. I didn't mind. From what I've read, the least experienced lead to keep the pace of the group together but I didn't say anything. I kept my speed at 45 mph but still lost all but the other BV rider. No worries though. We all arrived at the shop within minutes.

Overall, a terrific Saturday at the cost of less than a gallon of gas. I can't wait for the next one.

Barron Fork Creek

Last weekend offered a 180 mile round-trip excursion to Barron Fork Creek, just east of Tahlequah, Oklahoma. A neighboring Oklahoma aquarium club invited our Arkansas club to join them on a collecting trip.


Collecting involves using dip nets and seines to collect native fish suitable for the home aquarium. "Regular" fisherman refer to this as "bait fishing". To read more about what we collected, visit my fish blog - Wet Socks.

The only collecting equipment I own is a bait bucket, a cooler, and some river shoes. Since I didn't have a net to transport I opted to take the trip on the Beverly. It also gave me a chance to try out the saddle bags I bought at a yard sale last summer.

Scooter fuel costs estimate out at 180 mi/70 mpg = 2.5 ga x $1.95 = $5

vs.

Truck fuel cost at 180 mi/19 mpg = 9.5 ga x $1.95 = $18.52
(read: ready for summer fuel prices?)

I could have taken the major highways and made better time. But why would I do that when I could take the scenic route and enjoy my Saturday on the bike? The trip into Oklahoma was 90 miles of hills, curves, and small town intersections. Can one feel more alive?

Granted, the trip began before sunrise. (Dark = not ideal) It was raining. (Not the safest.) And patches of intermittent fog. (Who do I think I am?) I had checked the radar before I left and determined/hoped that I was riding south west as the tail end of the storm was headed north east and I would find myself in good riding weather just after a stop for breakfast at Braum's.

Fortunately the weather cooperated but not before a final cloudburst soaked through my jacket. This is the first time that the jacket didn't keep me dry but it was a significant amount of rain in a matter of minutes. With the temp at 48F and the wet jacket/shirt I started to get chilled when I crossed the Arkansas/Oklahoma line.

Three small towns later I found an open Dairy Bar in Wellsville. The full parking lot at this early hour reinforced my suspicion that it was the only place open for miles. I did my best to put on a polite poker face to contain my smile before I opened the door.

I knew what I was getting into. I knew I would open the door to a small town cafe full of over-all's, coffee, and Coppenhagen. (not that there's anything wrong with that.) And I would would be sporting a flourescent yellow riding jacket and black leather chaps coming off a scooter with a bait bucket strapped to it during an early morning rain in Regularville, USA.

They were polite. I ordered coffee. I warmed my hands on the cup that was sponsored by the local mechanic, school, and bank. The memorabilia on the wall suggested the Dairy Bar had been open since the fifties. I was disappointed that the Dairy Bar had nothing more dairy than regular milk and they were disappointed that I wasn't ordering breakfast. I enjoyed the coffee, or more so the warmth it gave me and drank in the conversations between farmers.

I paid the tab and tipped well (which I did spitefully. Can't a guy just order coffee?). In the parking lot a couple of paramedics were getting out of an ambulance and they asked me a couple questions about the bike. One of the drivers said he was getting one. I couldn't help but think "I hope I haven't just met the folks that will scrape me off the highway. That would be creepy."

Dark and morbid I know, but those kind of thoughts keep me from getting too comfortable. I told a new rider yesterday that there's nothing more dangerous than the illusion of comfort. That goes for driving a car, too.

Warmed up, I got back on the road which was now the final miles of the Cherokee Trail of Tears. It's good to see acknowledgement of what was done but so horrifying that it happened. The names of the towns and creeks I passed through reflected the Native American influence.

The terrain is beautiful. I had noticed during my pre-trip planning that I would be traveling through forest. I was surprised at the significant ice storm damage of the trees that lasted for miles and miles. It doesn't seem to be catastrophic and I take comfort in knowing that even this is part of the rhythms of Nature.


Barron Fork Creek is a part of the Illinois River drainage. The collection site was an appropriate end to a journey through wooded hills and valleys. The collecting was fun. I ratchet-strapped the now full cooler to the back seat, made the "flight plan" call home and saddled up.

With more pleasant conditions and dried out gear the return trip was much more enjoyable. I thought to myself "This is why I pushed through this morning." The same trip in the truck would have been nice, but not nearly the same experience.

I stopped at the Trail of Tears Trading Post I had passed on the way in. I picked up a handmade necklace for my squaw and a postcard sized painting created by a local artist. It caught my eye and when I looked at the title "Crossing Barron Fork Creek" I had to get it.

Two locals drifted in and asked me "Is that a bait bucket on that bike?"

I said "yes sir, that cooler's full of bait fish."

"We're goin' on up to try for some crappie."

"Good luck."

They smiled and moved on. I heard one of them say "See, I told you he was fishing with that bike. I bet he's got a collapsible pole in one 'em saddle bags."

The trip was great. I never would have thought that one day I would be wearing chaps, walking out of a trading post and putting dry goods into my saddle bags. What a life. It reminds me of a line from a song -

"If you hold on tight to what you think is your thing, you may find you're missing all the rest." - Best of What's Around by the Dave Matthews Band.

End of Winter Riding?

Don't let the snowfall fool you. It was 65F two days ago.

Why is the bike outside? Why did I ride in freezing temps this week?

The Saturn had an intake gasket vacuum leak that kept the rpm's in the 4000's. We had to put it in the shop. That put me riding at sunrise and sunset. The first couple mornings were right at freezing. The chaps work well. I still believe that a scarf is the most warming piece of riding gear. All wrapped up, freezing really is comfortable.


Despite my recent "mid" winter ride, the Bev didn't want to start up. Thanks to Jose for turning me on to a trickle charger. Worked like a charm, after I stopped in to Vespa to ask how to find the battery.

So why aren't we parked here?


Well, I busted the garage door. There was a 1/2" gap on one side that I tried to repair with weatherstripping. This raised the other side a 1/2". I thought I could loosen the door cables to level it all out. It did.

Then I decided I could replace the frayed cable on the opposite side. Loosening this cable released the spring tension.

I was surprised that it's impossible to lift a 16' wooden door without power assist. Too bad the vehicles were still in the garage. I spent six hours using blocks and a car jack raising the door. Just before the door was high enough to clear the truck I tried to move the truck into place.

The truck got away from me and smashed the bottom wooden panel. Now it wouldn't go up or down. I had to disassemble the door mid-raise. A week later, the wife and re-assembled the door in the down position to keep heat and our possessions in the garage.

A new door is ordered. Until then, the vehicles are parked outside, snow and all...

Mid-Winter Ride

I know, it's been a long time since I posted. It's winter and I've had the Bev garaged. Despite having a ravaging ice storm a week ago, we saw temps in the mid-60's today. A buddy in Bella Vista wanted me to swing by so I took the opportunity to take the cover off the 250 and fire it up.

It started right up and I let it run for about ten minutes. I took it slow through the neighborhood, wearing helmet, jacket, and gloves. Completely comfortable. When I got to the highway, a simple twist of the wrist got me up to 55 like it was nothing. That's when a rush of memory reminded me why I ride.

I guess it's a good thing I bought some new chaps yesterday. They're made from real buffalo, so you know it's good. I still have my "armor" pants, but they smell like smoke from the fire, I "aired" them out through a rain spell or two, and when I wear them to work I have to take them off in front of everyone. It's like, "please continue with your business meeting while I remove my pants and shoes in front of you." Granted, I have khaki's on underneath, but it's still awkward.

What better solution than to stroll in wearing black leather, ass-less chaps! They zip right off quickly without having to remove my shoes or "change" in front of folks. I got them at the "Motorcyle Enthusiast" shop in Gateway for an even $100. They don't have knee pads, but they will reduce the wind on my legs, stretching my riding season on both ends. Man, do I miss it.

The sun rise/set is slowly inching it's way to providing light for my work commute. January has NWA's historically coldest temps so we're on the upswing.

Best of Show

Best of Show, 1st Place, Scooter

The 2008 Cancer Challenge was to be a Poker Run, but with the rain, the wife and I decided not to ride. The alternative entry was to "show" the bike. I had "speed shined" it the day before so I decided "what the heck."


I couldn't stay for the judging, so my friend and co-worker- Tom, surprised me with the trophy in a meeting. Thanks for the "major award"!

(*it may or may not be relevant that the BV was the only Scooter entry.)

Moving Day

I started my birthday early with one last sunrise ride on Y City Road. Two Mennonite women wearing flower print dresses met me on bicycles on their way into Gentry. An early morning flight passed low over head on takeoff.

In Rogers, I rented a 15' truck and drove the Beverly into the bay. I practiced my sailing knots by securing the bike to the side rails for transport.

I gingerly drove the mammoth machine I had rented to Home Depot to pick up a washing machine, ladder, and reel mower for the new house. (Another link broken in our dependence on foreign oil.)

Moments after the clerk helped me load the truck the sky opened up with an inch of rain in a half hour. No time to lose, I pushed ahead in the driving rain, taking the big beast and my lack of experience onto the expressway.

Arriving wet, but on time, we closed on our first home at 10:30 am. With the deal done, I needed to set off bug bombs two towns north in my new home. Knowing that the rental truck guzzled six miles a gallon, I un-tethered the 70 mpg Beverly and had her pose for the intro photo.

I rode down the ramp like a rockstar and scooted my way to my new home and back. Just before I got back to the truck, I noticed the left lane had come to stop for no apparent reason. As I got closer to the first stopped car the driver motioned under his vehicle. A dog had parked himself under the car and in traffic. I pulled onto the shoulder and walked to the scene wearing full yellow jacket and helmet.

Now both lanes were stopped and backed up as far as I could see. My attention turned to the dog who was panicked out of it's head but not moving for anyone. I asked the driver if he had any food. He didn't, so I told him to slowly move forward and I would signal if he was going to hit the dog.

An old, frail woman came running from her car yelling "Food, I've got food." What she meant was pork rinds and she started throwing them at the dog. Unphased, the dog sat psychotically as the old woman pelted it with pork rinds.

I talked her away from the truck and cued the driver to move ahead. This terrified the senior citizen but the driver and I, along with two lanes of traffic, had a connection - move the dog. Just as the driver cleared the dog another elderly woman ran as best she could with dog leash in hand. Recognizing the owner, the dog hurried to her. I escorted the two ladies off of the roadway and quickly made my way to the bike.

I pulled into the slowly stirring traffic expecting people to be upset about how long this fiasco played out. The digit I met, however, was thumbs up. It was a long line and each thumb seemed to cue the next as I passed by. What a freaking birthday.

Back on track at the truck, I loaded the BV back up and moved on to the mattress store and storage buildings to max out the payload. At the new house, I didn't have the same off loading space I'd had before, so I decided to wheel the scooter backwards down the ramp.

The ramp wasn't much wider than the scooter, so my yoga classes started to pay off. Focus. Balance. Control your breathing. I won't unload a scooter like that again. All in all, great trip. The Beverly has the garage she deserves and won't have a daily dirt road drive.

Mile 4000

With our current living arrangements, I'm riding more than ever. 45 miles a day, give or take a bug or two. At times, it seems taxing, riding about an hour twice a day. But then I think to myself, is it the ride or the time spent commuting?

It's the time spent commuting. On the days I do take the car, I'm missing the Beverly before I get where I'm going. The heat is just now starting to kick in. The mornings aren't bad, they're actually still quite cool. When lunch arrives the sun has irradiated the asphalt that holds it's heat well into the evening ride.

The turtles have slowed down crossing the road. Riding at night becomes an unavoidable frog massacre. The dogs have chilled out. They may bark, but they don't get off the porch anymore.

So, mile 4,000? 5K if you count the Met'. I have to say, I love it. The scooter is in the shop right now getting serviced. The fuel filter was cracked and leaked fuel, the seat latch wasn't closing, and the throttle was sticking a bit. Not bad considering the daily grind we go through.

The Bev has become a work horse for me, faithfully serving me in the circumstances in our life right now. Increased commutes, rising fuel prices, et al.

Here's to the next 5,ooo!