Tag Archives: Vespa

2025 Scooter Cannonball

The Abandoned Dog We Found Outside the Marriott in Texas That Night, or: Why We Went Off-Mission

July 12, 2025 George Petras 1 Comment

Note from the mission historian: The 2025 Scooter Cannonball was an eight-day, 3,900-mile checkpointed ride across the U.S. from Seaside, Oregon, to South Padre Island, Texas. It started June 22^nd and ended June 29^th. Cannonball events are held every two years and are limited to scooters of 300ccs or less.

I piloted a gray 2016 Vespa 300cc GTS Super Sport (Piaggio marketing rounded up the number of cubic centimeters from its actual 278).

She has about 22 hp and I named her “Terror” after one of the two ships of the 1839 James Clark Ross Antarctic expedition. (The other ship is Erebus, which is the name of my other Vespa, a Sei Giorni.)

My rider number is 61, an homage to Bob Dylan’s “Highway 61 Revisited.”

I rode very slowly and carefully and finished even worse than I did in 2023. I didn’t think that was possible.

***

Day 6 | Friday, June 27: I screw up the GPS navigation that day, putting me way, way off track and ending any hope of reaching daily checkpoints. I arrive at the endpoint hotel after dark.

I shut down Terror in an empty parking space near the entrance, remove the Garmin unit and Samsung phone from their holders, and start unloading Linda’s Subaru. (My wife is my gracious and long-suffering support driver.)

It’s been a miserable, wasted, useless day, and it’s still hot, even with the sun gone, since we’re on the edge of the Chihuahuan Desert. This Marriott Fairfield is the official Cannonball hotel for that night, and a few riders are futzing with their scooters in a side parking lot.

We see a couple of cats roaming about the parking lot as we arrive. Otherwise, it’s pretty quiet. Linda checks us in, and I start moving bags from the car to the room. Then I open the Vespa’s saddle and take a few things, notebooks and spare gloves and such, from the carrier.

I’m ready to call it a night, get some sleep, and try again tomorrow. I’ll be more careful logging in the GPS coordinates, and…

That’s when I see Linda has found some small animal next to the hotel. A cat? No, it’s a dog, maybe 70 pounds or so, a pit bull/terrier mix with short hair. It’s a female, and she’s recently given birth; her mammary glands are long and hanging.

The dog has been using some small grass-like bushes as bedding, and she has difficulty walking. She’s panting in the heat, exhausted. We start to examine her under the parking lot lights and she lets us, accustomed to people, apparently, unless she’s simply too tired to care.

Her ear flaps have dozens of tiny grape-like shapes clustered in the inner folds. “What the hell is this?” I ask Linda.

“Those are ticks,” she says. “They’re engorged.”

“Jesus,” I say.

Still wearing the riding suit, I dash into our room and find a small first-aid kit bought from REI years ago; it has a Tick Patrol tick removal tool. Working by headband light, I start carefully removing ticks from her ears, trying not to hurt her. I find blood on my fingers later.

I get what I can, but I tell Linda, “There are just too many here. Christ, they’re inside her ears.”

Linda goes inside to ask the Fairfield people if they can help. I follow, knowing I should be preparing to resume riding early tomorrow morning, knowing we won’t get to sleep for hours now, knowing we have to try and do something – and certain we won’t be successful.

The two women at the front desk didn’t know the dog is there, but they’re not surprised. “Dogs get abandoned around here all the time,” one says.

One of them gives me a Styrofoam bowl from the kitchen, which I fill with water for the dog.

The lady comes outside with us to see the dog drinking a bit. “Oh, dear,” she says. “She doesn’t look good.”

We ask about the humane society, or whatever organization can help. “I can call, but animal control doesn’t work here on weekends,” she says.

Linda and I get in the Subaru and find a nearby all-night Alon gas station/store that has dog food. I get three plastic Ziploc/Gladware-type bowls that we’ll use for food and for ice water.

We discuss our options. We rule out taking the dog with us, because:

We have no space in the car.
The dog will infest the car’s interior with ticks, which will be impossible to deal with since we’re literally 1,800 miles from home, even if I quit the Cannonball now.
We have two dogs and four cats already at home and there’s no way to tell if this terrier will be a threat to them.

That gives us about 12 hours to do something – in addition to getting some sleep – before I get back aboard Terror and we absolutely have to leave¹.

I fill one bowl with ice and a second with ice water. Dog food, some sort of generic mix, goes in the third. We put the bowls in the dog’s outside corner of the hotel.

That’s about all we can do this night, except Linda goes online and finds the name of a veterinarian, about two miles from the hotel.

The next morning, Day 7, we drive to the Pecos Animal Clinic and talk to Dr. Ronald Box, who truly listens and says what we’re dealing with isn’t uncommon in the area.

He says we can try giving her a pill (Bravecto, also known as fluralaner) to kill the ticks and writes down the phone number of a woman who’s connected with animal control and a local rescue group.

We get a chewable pill for dogs weighing up to 123 pounds – “she may not want to eat all of it, so get the largest one and give her as much as you can,” he says. It costs $75, but I don’t care.

Back at the hotel, Linda tries to get the dog to take the pill, which is almost the size of an Oreo cookie. The dog doesn’t want it and spits it out twice. Linda finally takes the pill (a little smaller now) opens the dog’s muzzle, and shoves the pill gently to the back of her mouth.

Amazingly, the dog lets her do that without biting off her thumbs. She swallows the pill.

Linda calls Kristi, the woman recommended by Dr. Box, and leaves a message. The day-shift crew at the front desk tells us they’ll try to keep an eye on the dog, filling the ice bowls and so on.

The dog is in a shady spot next to a hotel wall. I make sure she has water and ice, and pet her, and tell her I’m so sorry we could not do more.

I can’t see this ending well. Even if the dog survives here until Monday, animal control will probably pick her up, judge her incapable of being saved, and euthanize her.

We’ve done what we could, which wasn’t much, but the dog is a little more comfortable now than she was before.

The only thing I can do is rationalize that even death by injection in an air-conditioned room is better than slowly succumbing to the relentless Texas heat. I don’t like that – good God, not at all – but it’s all we’ve got.

Then we leave.

***

Fifty miles later, we’re on U.S. 285 south near I-10 heading for Kerrville, Texas² when Linda pulls over at a Sunoco/Stripes gas station near Fort Stockton. I park Terror next to the Subaru and Linda says she’s on the phone with Kristi, who says she has the dog.

“Wait, what?” I say. “Are you sure?”

Kristi is telling Linda she found the dog at the hotel, put a leash on her, and was trying to figure out how to get the dog into her car when the dog jumped in herself, without any coaxing.

She tells Linda she’s taking the dog to the shelter, and she’ll let us know how the dog is doing.

I can’t believe it – I still can’t, if you want to know the truth. Things usually don’t turn out this way. The dog is safe.

We go into the Sunoco/Stripes, sit down at a table, and start weeping, both of us. Other customers see us and give us a wide berth as they order soda and candy bars and hot dogs for the road. I don’t really become aware of this until later.

Kristi later sends a photo of the dog lying on a cool cement floor, water basins in the background, and says the specks on the floor around the dog are dead ticks that have been falling off her.

We’ll get to Kerrville that afternoon³. Kristi will later tell us the dog has been diagnosed with two tick diseases, a mammary tumor, suspected valley fever (which humans can also get, independently) and is badly anemic.

She’s also a distemper survivor and can be a little skittish around other dogs. They think she’s two years old.

We thank Kristi profusely. She manages the Pecos Animal Shelter, which was certified as a no-kill shelter on July 2, six days after we found the dog. These people, and the folks at One Tail at a Time-West Texas, are on the side of the angels. We make a donation, with plans to give more.

Note: You can donate to One Tail at a Time-West Texas here.

Linda also calls the Fairfield hotel and talks to one of the night-crew ladies who was worried about the dog. She, too, is relieved to hear of the rescue.

The dog is in foster care now. Health-wise, she’s not out of the woods yet, but Kristi says more tests are scheduled and the staff is hopeful.

Shelter folks have named the dog “Fairfield,” and she is why we went off-mission that day.

Epilogue: email received July 18, 2025

“I am sorry to relay that Fairfield passed away yesterday afternoon. We made the decision to humanely put her to sleep at the vet clinic based on the recommendation of her treating veterinarians, after exhausting all options to make her more comfortable, and in light of a number of test results that indicated her medical crisis was almost certainly unresolvable.

“She was not eating voluntarily, was very weak, was still urinating blood, and it was clear to all of us that it was time to let her go. The entire team sat on the floor with her, and she passed gently and quickly. She was cremated today, and her ashes will come home and remain on our mantle.”

There’s more medical stuff, but you get the gist. We believe One Tail at a Time-West Texas did all they could and we are so grateful for their effort. We’ll continue to support them as best we can.

_________________

1 – Even then, I won’t be able to make checkpoints on Day 7 and get to Kerrville, Texas, the next stopping point, in reasonable time.

2 – Kerrville and central Texas were hit by devastating floods eight days later. At least 138 were killed, the 10th deadliest flash flood in U.S. history.

3 – Where we’ll later be shocked and saddened to learn that a Scooter Cannonball rider, Stephen Jackson of Centerville, Massachusetts, was hit and killed by a pickup truck early on the morning of June 28, not far from the hotel.

On Reflection

That empty desk at AA Auto

October 13, 2024 George Petras 3 Comments

In July, I’m at our local auto mechanic in Falls Church, getting the annual state safety inspection for Linda’s red Vespa, a mandatory review after which you get a dated sticker.

I’m talking with one of the guys there, a fellow by the name of Butch. He did some nice bodywork on Linda’s father’s Oldsmobile a while back and we see each other there often.

We always say hello and have brief conversations. You could say we have a passing acquaintance.

On this day in July, Butch tells me he used to ride a Triumph when he was younger and talks about some of the roads he traveled. For some reason, I didn’t know he used to ride motorcycles; I can’t recall him bringing it up before.

He gave up riding after marriage and when Washington, D.C., traffic started getting insane. He talks about riding in the rain, the dark, and later, the traffic.

It’s a good conversation.

In August, I stop by (sans motorcycle or Vespa) and give Butch a copy of “Jupiter’s Travels” by Ted Simon, who wrote a book about his journey around the world on a 500cc Triumph 100¹ starting in 1973.

I tell Butch it’s a pretty good book about motorcycle travel² and that he may enjoy it. He asks if I want it back and I say, no, it’s his, and I hand it to him and leave.

In October, I take Terra Nova³ to the shop because she also needs a safety sticker inspection⁴ and I figure I’ll ask Butch if he liked the book.⁵

I park Terra Nova in the garage and notice Butch’s desk is neatened up and think to myself, “wow, he’s done a lot of cleaning there.”

Zach, a really good guy who runs the shop, sees me looking at the desk and says, “Hey, Butch passed away this weekend.”

I’m floored. “What? What happened?”

Zach doesn’t know. Butch was found at his home; they think the cause was heart-related. No obituary yet.

The copy of “Jupiter’s Travels,” with the orange 3×5 card on which I’d written For Butch still snug between its middle pages⁶, is on the second shelf of the unit behind his desk. He hadn’t taken it home.

I riffle through the book, carefully put it back, and take Butch’s last business card from the cardholder on his desk. There’s a cloth draped over his computer screen, like a mirror covered during the mourning period of shiva.

Even though I did not know him very well, Butch’s death eats at me – the abruptness, the finality, the brutally unfair loss of a good man – and I stop back at the shop a day later to ask Zach if I can take a photo of Butch’s desk. It’s a useless, insignificant gesture, of course, but I want to remember. A tribute of sorts, maybe.

Zach says, sure, go ahead, adding that family members had taken the rest of his stuff the day before, so there isn’t much there.

Everything’s been removed, naturally, including the shiva cloth over the computer screen. The book is gone. I take the photo anyway⁷.

***

1 – Ted Simon’s Triumph is on display at the Coventry Transport Museum in England.

2 – It really is the gold standard for motorcycle travel books. Another good one is “Vroom With a View” by Peter Moore.

3 – My 2012 Yamaha Super Tenere, named for Robert Falcon Scott’s ship of the 1910 British Antarctic Expedition.

4 – That was after Coleman Powersports fixed the mistakes I made with the battery and got Terra Nova running again. The orange sticker goes on a small plate bolted to the left front fork.

5 – Though it may prove irritating or exhausting to recipients at times, I give books to people I like, choosing stories I think they may enjoy. I’m careful to let them know there’s no obligation to like the books, or even read them.

6 – I’d stuck the card between the pages just in case he wasn’t there that day, counting on him to find it later.

7 – The photo that’s posted above.

2023 Scooter Cannonball

Part 1: Why I Am Haunted by a Fellow Cannonball Rider

July 2, 2023 George Petras 2 Comments

Note from the mission historian: The 2023 Scooter Cannonball was an eight-day, 3,170 mile checkpointed ride across the U.S. from San Clemente, California, to Hilton Head, South Carolina. It started June 18^th and ended June 25^th. Cannonball events are held every two years and are limited to scooters of 278ccs or less.

I piloted “HMS Terror,” #61, a 2016 Vespa 300cc GTS Super Sport (rounded up from its actual 278 by Piaggio marketing). She has about 22 hp and I named her after one of the two ships of the 1839 James Clark Ross Antarctic expedition.

I rode very slowly and carefully and finished almost dead last.

***

Day 03 | Tuesday, June 20: Checkpoint 3 is a lonely three-pump fuel station selling only low 86 octane and diesel on a desolate stretch of New Mexico 197. The temperature hovers in the low 90s as I arrive with Virginia Cherry, a riding partner.

This is the Torreon Store and Gas Station in Cuba, New Mexico, a mandatory checkpoint¹ worth 95 points, but we’d be stopping here even if we didn’t have to. The hot, dry air is sucking the life out of us, and despite the cool water in my Camelbak I’m dying for a cold bottle of Gatorade.

We’ve come about 257 miles today and have been hopscotching with fellow Cannonballers Stephen Terrien from New Hampshire and a few others.

That’s not unusual. Motorcyclists and scooterists tend to find their own pace and often encounter those traveling at similar speeds.

*Virginia Cherry and Stephen Terrien. With cold drinks, we feel better.*

We exchange greetings and commiserate over the heat; it’s good to see them again, to know they’re okay.

We fuel up and do the Cannonball documentation with our smartphones, sending photos and GPS coordinates to event organizers to prove we are here. Then we hit the store for drinks and the restroom, which is unexpectedly elegant in an Algonquin-of-the-West sort of way.

“Steve, visit the restroom even if you don’t have to pee,” I say. “It looks amazing. You’ll thank me later.”

“I will,” Stephen says, and laughs.

Other riders arrive, fuel up and leave, including Charles Beck² from South Carolina and Steve Putnam³ from Florida. They’re moving fast and steady, riding much more efficiently than me.

Then a third rider on a loaded scooter appears at the pumps and we say hello. This is James⁴ and he does his documentation and wearily takes a seat in the shade of the store.

He’s tired like the rest of us, a little more, maybe.

We strike up a conversation and I ask what drew him to the Cannonball. He tells us he’s doing it for the adventure and has wanted to do it for years.

“I saved up for a long time,” he says after a moment. “I don’t really make much. I’m sort of a janitor at a hospital and I clean up the bloody messes after surgeries and such.

“I was even selling my plasma to get extra money.”

I tell him I admire his dedication and ask if I can take his photo. “I’ll email it to you,” I say.

He laughs through his fatigue and says he’ll show the photo as proof to some people “who didn’t believe I’d be doing this. They thought I’d sell my vacation time and wouldn’t go.”

We wish each another good luck and Virginia and I leave. We have a long way to go.

But I’ll remember James in the miles ahead, marveling at (and envying) his perseverance. The Cannonball is a difficult, expensive, exhausting undertaking, especially for us rookies. I think he’s worked harder than most of us to get here.

I think of that as the sun bakes us and the taste of cold Gatorade vanishes, and we bounce and rumble down the empty, arid road.

* * *

1 – There are three mandatory checkpoints that riders must document or else lose all points for the day.

2 – Charles, on a 2021 Honda PCX 150, finished 101^st overall. 173 riders were at the start; some dropped out along the way for various reasons, including mechanical difficulty.

3 – Steve, on a 2007 Honda Helix, finished 135^th overall.

4 – Not his real name and in time you will understand why.

2023 Scooter Cannonball

Part 2: Why I Am Haunted by a Fellow Cannonball Rider

July 2, 2023 George Petras 2 Comments

I rode very slowly and carefully and finished almost dead last.

***

*If Virginia conducted riding classes, I would sign up.*

Day 04 | Wednesday, June 21: Virginia Cherry and I split up on the unpaved trail leading to Checkpoint 1 this day, mostly because she’s a superbly skilled rider on any road and I’m like skidding across ice with bald tires.

She makes Checkpoint 1 (an abandoned building in Octate, New Mexico) and is urged by a Cannonball support driver to go head without waiting for me, which she does, and later feels bad about.

By the time I get there, she is far ahead of me, which is fine because I go at my own (admittedly slower) pace and wonder about the country I’m passing through. Some of the small towns, once prosperous, are abandoned and desolate. I wonder what happened to them.

As expected, it’s another hot day. Checkpoint 2, an abandoned farmhouse on Yates Road, looks haunted¹ with its windmill clattering slowly in the breeze.

*Probably not haunted, but kinda spooky nonetheless.*

I stop for gas at Allsup’s Convenience Store in Clayton, New Mexico, and find fellow riders I know – Bill Redington, Stephen Terrien, and Paul Cronin. It’s really good to see them and we talk about what we’ve seen and laugh together.

Then I hear another scooter arrive and it’s James, the rider from yesterday, catching up with us. He parks at one of the pumps, shuts down, and says hello while pulling off his helmet and jacket. He’s clearly knackered in the heat.

“How are you doing?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m okay. Hot.” He begins fueling up.

I roll Terror from the gas pump to the last parking space in front of the store and go back to talk with the other riders. Paul leaves and Bill is saying something about bad weather when we hear a crash and clatter of metal.

I turn and see James’s scooter and Terror on their sides on the ground, with James in-between. Someone from the store is already there, trying to help. I dash over.

It looks bad. James appears to be stuck and I can’t tell if he’s hurt. I yell for the others but they’re already on their way.

We lift the scooter off James and the store guy gets the sidestand down. Bill helps James stand up but he’s unsteady and wobbles like he’s going to fall. I grab hold and together we get him upright.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” he says, and staggers toward the store. “I just need something to drink.”

Stephen tries to get James to sit down but he keeps moving. “I think he’s dehydrated,” Stephen says.

*I’d question the effectiveness of the artwork, but you get the point.*

That’s when the warning about dehydration from fellow rider Eric Semple² comes soaring into my head. “You have to drink,” Eric had said a day or two earlier. “Dehydration sneaks up on you and you won’t know what hit you.”

Meanwhile, the others have stood Terror upright. I check for damage but I don’t see anything other than a bent eyebolt in the rear luggage plate³. That’s where the scooter hit the Vespa, pushed it off its centerstand, and onto the pavement.

James recovers and says he is sorry about the Vespa. I tell him not to worry. Bill suggests we ride together to the next checkpoint and we agree.

“Why don’t you take point and I’ll bring up the rear?” I suggest to Bill. That means James will have riders in front and behind him.

*Rusty grain elevators in Felt, Oklahoma.*

That’s how we ride to Checkpoint 3, the last of the day, a group of rusted out grain elevators in Felt, Oklahoma, about 23 miles away. We take our photos and certify our locations and set off again for Guymon, ready to end this day.

But the weather has other ideas.

Storm clouds have been seriously building ahead of us and the wind starts picking up. Rain sprinkles a bit but the gusts are strong enough to batter us on the road. I’ve ridden in bad wind before but this is starting to get scary.

Bill pulls over and we all stop.

“This is looking bad,” he says. “You can go ahead if you want, but I’m going to turn around and wait this out back there.”

It’s a sensible idea – I’m secretly relieved – so we follow him back to the rusted sheet metal silos of Checkpoint 3. If we need a support truck, they’ll know exactly where we are, which is about 60 miles from Guymon.

*The wind threatened to knock over the scooters.*

We park our scooters on the side of the road and wait for more than an hour, as Bill monitors the storm’s movements by smartphone with the help of his brother back East.

At times the wind is strong enough to rock the scooters, so much that we sit on or keep a hand on them to prevent a tip-over.

Finally the storm clears and we proceed. It’s dark by the time we get to Guymon but we are too tired to care, I think. Everyone is all right: Bill, Stephen, James, myself, and a rider named Eddie who joined our group to wait.

Later, we learn that some riders were pummeled by rain and hail.

*As the storm clears, Eddie and Bill prepare to leave.*

Next morning, Day 05, I take my spare Camelbak⁴, a new one with the tags still on it, and find James packing his scooter in the Hampton’s parking lot.

“Here,” I say, “This is an extra. Why don’t you take it? It may make the ride easier.”

He looks at it, then at me. “No, thank you,” he says. “I’m dropping out.”

I’m stunned. “Seriously?”

“I’m tired and I’m packing it in,” he says. “I’m just getting rid of a bunch of stuff and going home.”

“Wait a sec,” I say. “We’re halfway done.”

It’s true. We’ve covered about 1,500 miles with roughly 1,670 to go.

“You’ve done a lot to get this far – not many people can say that. You can keep going,” I say.

“No,” he says. “I’m going home.” Then he pauses and says, “This isn’t the first time. It’s happened before. There’ve been other instances.” And there’s a ship-lost-at-sea look of resignation in his eyes that breaks my heart.

He continues strapping bags to the scooter. And I try to find the words that will make him see otherwise and I fail, miserably. I know the Cannonball is not an easy ride; I’ve thought about quitting, myself. The heat and fatigue and effort are exhausting.

“Take the Camelbak anyway,” I say. “For the ride home.”

He shakes his head, says, “no, thank you” and turns away with finality and I realize that there is nothing I can do without making him resent me for interfering. And I am so damned inadequate and sorry.

Virginia will tell me that she also tried to talk to him and he rather snapped and said Look, I’m going home, okay?

I see Stephen a bit later and relate what happened. “That’s unfortunate and I’m sorry to hear that,” he says. “But it’s his decision to make. It’s up to him.” And Stephen is right, of course.

But I can’t forget what Maimonides, a 12-century Torah scholar and philosopher, wrote. You see it phrased differently, but the essential sentiment is:

“A single righteous act can tip the balance and make all the difference.”

Day 04 was a long day but we’d dealt with it, the heat, scooters falling over, and dodging a storm.

And now I learn again that sometimes, despite our best effort and intention, nothing can be done.

Even so, I wish that we – James and me – had been able to tip the balance on that morning of Day 05.

***

1 – Which makes me compose a ghost story in my helmet about a motorcycle rider who pauses in front of a farmhouse to take a picture and talks with a little girl who invites him in for a cup of cold water. He politely declines and later learns that the house has sat empty for years.

2 – That’s VespaChef #8, a superb rider, chef, outdoorsman and raconteur. A true Renaissance Man, one might say.

3 – I wonder if the Vespa’s headset’s been knocked out of alignment and check that, too, but it looks okay. Moto Richmond later assures me it’s good.

4 – Linda suggested I try one during the hellishly hot ride home from San Diego in 2007 and I’ve been using it on every long ride since. They really do help. Some riders use water bottles mounted on the bike instead of backpacks, but the result is the same.

2022: St. Pete Beach

Hardware Store Envy, or: Man, This Sure Ain’t the Home Depot

October 11, 2022 George Petras 7 Comments

Parked out front. The damage was from Hurricane Ian.

Tuesday, Oct. 11 | Day 7: I think only good friends Andrew Virzi, Tom McCray and Karl Gelles will truly understand this one, but if you’re feeling optimistic, do continue. I’ll keep it short since this is a rather quirky piece about hardware stores.

Interjection from the mission logistician: Owning and modifying a motorcycle or Vespa means doing at least some work on your own. Accordingly, you end up fabricating some parts and even tools. Thus, hardware stores can sometimes be among your best friends.

Aisle of Dreams: Linda searches for hard-to-find corks.

After four days of motorcycle travel, Linda and I got to St. Pete Beach late Saturday afternoon and took some time to relax and sort things out. Part of this required a stop at the South Pasadena Ace Hardware.

We’d been here before, but only briefly. Linda ended up looking for corks for her antique bottle collection and we ended up down one long aisle where I was amazed to see cabinet after cabinet of specialty screws, nuts and other items, many of which I’ve sought in the past without success, others I didn’t know existed.

It had everything, including (1) classy, knurled thumb screws that would have looked good on a set of Campagnolo downshift levers; (2) brass acorn nuts; (3) plastic caps for buttoning over the scratchy heads of screws.

And it was so clean and thoughtfully organized, not the sad chaotic mess one usually finds in the well-picked-over aisles of Home Depot or Lowe’s.

I bought a 24mm 12-point socket (I would have preferred a 6-point) for the oil drain fitting and some rubber plugs that may work to prop open the passenger peg extensions aboard Erebus and Terror, two Vespas that were parked a thousand miles away.

South Pasadena Ace Hardware was so nice I wanted to move there, which is ridiculous, but it’s a testament to how important well-stocked hardware stores are. At least to me.

2023 Scooter Cannonball

Motul 4T 5W-40 full synthetic oil looks like red wine salad dressing, but most certainly does not taste like it

July 31, 2022 George Petras 1 Comment

While checking over Terror¹, the 2016 Vespa I recently bought from a nearby Vespa dealer² to use in the 2023 Scooter Cannonball, I discovered they’d drastically over-filled the engine oil.

The oil on the dipstick was way above the MAX mark – which is not good, of course, since too much oil means too much pressure inside the engine, causing leaks and other damage.

I put about 8 miles on Terror just riding it home, which shouldn’t present a problem.

*The discovery sent me scurrying to the Vespa manual.*

The dealer said they’d changed the engine oil and transmission oil before selling it. I asked about brake fluid, since it’s hygroscopic and absorbs water over time.

You really don’t want that. Water in brake fluid compromises braking and causes rust in steel brake lines and elsewhere in the system.

They said they didn’t know when it was last changed but said their mechanic “looked at” the brake fluid, presumably in the reservoir, and said it was okay.

Apologies, but that’s bullshit, too. You need to test the fluid with special test strips or an electronic meter – you can’t just “look” at it. Everything I’ve ever read says you should change the fluid every two years or so.

This 2016 Vespa is six years old.

*Terror, with proper oil level, shortly before departure for Richmond.*

But back to the engine oil. On Friday night, after sticking a clean plastic straw down the filler hole, I laboriously and patiently and carefully sucked out the excess oil like it was a toxic milkshake.

Motul 4T 5W-40 full synthetic looks like red wine salad dressing but most certainly does not taste like it.

I got the engine oil level down to where it should be. The excess went into a gallon jug that formerly held Arizona iced tea. It was about ¾ inch deep, which seems a frightful amount.

*Moto Richmond’s new digs, at 6000 Midlothian Turnpike. A nice upgrade for them.*

On Saturday, I rode the Vespa 153 miles south to Scoot Richmond³. They’ll change the brake fluid and engine coolant, to give me a baseline of maintenance. Linda and I will pick it up on Saturday, Aug. 6.

And that was the latest Vespa adventure, with the apparent lesson being you have to check everything.

*Linda and I had lunch at the Riverside Tavern in Richmond. It was pretty good, you should try them.*

_ _ _

1 — Which is named after the second ship of the James Clark Ross expedition to the Antarctic in 1839. We’ve been over this before, right?

2 — Who shall remain anonymous. The sales person was very nice, though.

3 — Who has the only Vespa mechanics I can trust, apparently. It doubles my regret at not waiting and purchasing a similar vintage Vespa that popped up on their site after I bought Terror.

2023 Scooter Cannonball

The Scooter Name Kinda Fits, Since I’ll Feel Some Terror, or At Least Trepidation, Before & During the Scooter Cannonball

July 10, 2022 George Petras 4 Comments

“We’re committed – or we ought to be.”

Former faux motto of the Daily Kent Stater, the student newspaper at Kent State University

Sometimes it’s hard to justify an act of commerce, even with motorcycles, but I bought a used 2016 Vespa 300cc Super Sport to pilot in the Scooter Cannonball.

The idea of doing the 2023 Cannonball – an 8-day coast-to-coast rally limited to scooters of 300ccs or less – started germinating like Japanese knotweed in the back of my mind after I wrote about it for USA Today last year.

It’s one of my favorite stories and I think that’s because I had a great time talking to the riders I interviewed. Fascinating people, every one.

So now I have two Vespas.

*Map of the 2023 Scooter Cannonball in the hallway of Starbase 8.*

There’s an indescribable feeling you get when crossing the dividing line between spectator and participant. I felt it most keenly in my first Marine Corps Marathon, taking my place among the other runners and thinking to myself I’m really doing this at last.

Likewise, writing about the Cannonball made me think could I do this?

The marathon had its roots in my high school cross-country days, back in the Pleistocene era¹. The Cannonball dream is more recent, of course, and I’m learning more about its logistical demands, which are roughly akin to those of the Normandy invasion.

*The colors are close but not exact*; *Terror is “grigio” which is “gray” in Italian, and Erebus is “Sei Giorni Grey,” which has some blue mixed in. Go figure.*

The planning elements comprise a long list², but choice of scooter – what am I going to ride? – is probably paramount.

Scooters get punished during the Cannonball. Small engines aren’t intended for sustained high-speed travel over 8 to 10 days and riders often do maintenance chores in hotel parking lots when they’d much rather be sleeping in their rooms 10 feet away.

*A 22 hp Vespa is considered “super,” in case you were wondering.*

I could take Erebus, my 2020 Vespa Sei Giorni, but it’s sort of a special-edition model and I started having visions of being dopey-tired and dropping it at gas stations and such. I really didn’t want to bash her up³.

That made me think about getting a second scooter, one, er, nice but not as nice as Erebus but still sturdy enough to get me across the country. Linda and I looked at Japanese scooters⁴ but then I saw the 2016 on La Moto Washington’s website.

*Terror will get a new windscreen and rack, similar to the one on Erebus.*

It’s a 2016 Vespa Super Sport, a 300cc scooter with ABS, much like Erebus but less sporty-appearing. The engine isn’t an HPE like Erebus and Linda’s GTS but it’s still powerful, relatively speaking⁵, and has longer maintenance intervals. It had 872 miles on the odometer.

Long story short, I rode it home eight miles in the rain today.

I had to give her a name and, continuing my preference for naming my motorcycles after Antarctic exploration ships⁶, chose the moniker Terror, after the second ship of the James Clark Ross expedition of 1839-1843. Erebus was the first⁷.

*The glovebox, which is too small to hold gloves.*

Terror is in my workshop now at Starbase 8 with 880 miles on the clock. I’ll start learning how to work on it, how to change engine oil and filters and how to replace transmission belts and variator and clutch rollers. It will be a steep learning curve for me.

I’ll baby Terror and take care of her, but I’ll be secure knowing that I can take a tumble and – while aghast at the damage I’m causing⁸ – think: At least I’m not fucking up Erebus.

_ _ _

1 – Admittedly, I wasn’t a very good runner, then or now. I’ve had bystanders tell me to just get a cab.

2 – That’s not an exaggeration. You have to decide if/how to ship your scooter to the starting line, reserve rooms at hotels/motels along the way, arrange for space on support vehicles and figure out how you’re going to get your scooter home when the rally is over.

3 – Any motorcycle or scooter can get damaged while traveling but the Cannonball carries a higher risk because of long days, insufficient sleep, enforced timelines and intense navigation. I just didn’t want to risk Erebus like that.

4 – A Honda ADV 150 or Yamaha SMAX were on the list. They have smaller engines and less power than Terror but are considered extremely reliable.

5 – Terror has 22 hp; Erebus has 24.

6 – It’s true; I have three motorcycles and two Vespas of my own (not counting Linda’s Vespa and Yamaha Vino) and all but one has an Antarctic-related name.

The outlier is Santiago, the 1965 Honda CL-77 awaiting restoration in a shed out back. It’s named after one of the five ships Magellan took on his circumnavigation voyage in 1519.

7 – Both were constructed as “bomb ships,” built with extremely strong hulls to withstand the impacts of naval explosions. Sadly, they were lost during the 1845 Franklin expedition to find the Northwest Passage in the Arctic. Erebus was found in 2014; Terror was discovered in 2016.

8 – And will fix, since it’s a really nice scooter.

Love In The Time Of Coronavirus

The Music That Haunted Me in Warrenton

August 22, 2021 George Petras Leave a comment

Saturday, Aug. 21 | “I love the songs you play here and on the street, they’re really good,” a woman tells an employee inside This n’ That Amish Outlet in Old Town Warrenton, Virginia, and I restrain myself from yelling, “Yes! I think so, too!” across the store.

I’d unconsciously started noticing the music stream myself – golden oldies, they’d be called these days¹ – after we’d wedged the Vespas into a parking space on Main Street.

We were in Warrenton as part of a short, simple 90-mile ride to get us out of the house and back on the saddle, preparatory for the St. Petersburg mission later this year.

“That red Vespa is really cool. That’s a classic,” said a passerby. He didn’t say anything about *Erebus,* which by empirical observation alone is way cooler.

The realization crept up in a subtle way with me thinking, gee, that’s an oldie and then haven’t heard that one in a while and suddenly, wait, what’s going on?

It started with “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas playing on an outdoor speaker as we crossed the street.

It continued with “More Than a Feeling,” by Boston, followed by others as we had lunch at Ellie’s Place, an ice cream shop with super-nice folks.

One song after another, post-Elvis Presley and pre-disco: “Can’t Find My Way Home,” by Blind Faith in The Open Book book store down the street, then “Please Come to Boston” by Dav e Loggins and “No Matter What” by Badfinger.

I feel silly asking, but a very polite staffer at The Open Book tells me their music comes from Spotify, brought in by computer and played on Bluetooth speakers. She doesn’t know what other stores on the street use but says the choice is theirs.

“We use indie-folk because it’s calming and doesn’t distract from people reading,” she says.

Fueling up on the way home. The gas station’s speakers were silent, in case you were wondering.

You hear music in every commercial venue, often to the point of saturation. So you ignore it, even as you’re being manipulated. Retailers often use music to make customers more susceptible to buying things, psychologists say².

Part of that is music’s ability to shift you in time, to trigger memories you’ve stuffed away. I wouldn’t have been surprised to catch Blind Faith in the bookstore, but it was like the entire town was playing the same Spotify list, making me think it was 1971.

The ride itself was good. Erebus seemed more comfortable, or maybe I’m getting used to being uncomfortable.

I ended up buying the new biog raphy of Malcolm X at The Open Book. I intended to get it at some point³, but it’s always good to patronize independent bookstores whenever possible, even if insidious, scheming, diabolical music-wielding market researchers will claim the purchase as a victory⁴.

1 – No Rolling Stones or Beatles, though.

2 – Loud music causes shoppers to leave quickly; soft music entices them to stay. And some studies say music in a minor key is associated with sadness, which shoppers address by buying something to release reassuring dopamine.

3 – I’ve read the 1964 autobiography, written with Alex Haley, but I want to compare this highly regarded new book with the bios written by Bruce Perry in 1991 and by Manning Marable in 2011.

4 – They can also crow about an iTunes sale, since I put “Please Come to Boston” and “No Matter What” on my iPod to be used later in this year’s St. Petersburg soundtrack – the songs I play for Linda in the morning every day of the ride. Look, don’t tell her about them, okay?

Love In The Time Of Coronavirus

The View at 1,021 Kilometers, or: How the Sei Giorni Feels So Far

May 23, 2021 George Petras 2 Comments

*The new windscreen, with a “6” added. The black triangle just cried out for something.*

Let’s get right to the point: Erebus has been delivered to Richmond for her 600-mile service¹ and I’ve spent some time and effort on upgrades for comfort, utility and visual appeal.

I’m still getting accustomed to the small size² of it – it’s a 2020 Vespa 300 GTV Sei Giorni – but the flat seat, the one obtained with the swap from Linda’s GTS, allows me to sit farther back.

*The floorboard rack doesn’t look too obtrusive.*

I’ve also started using the passenger footpegs, which make it more comfortable and gives it more of a motorcycle feel³. And I attached an inflatable AirHawk cushion, which is working so far.

I feel a bit less intimidated on the freeway now, even with clueless Virginia drivers passing like they’re in practice for their own private Le Mans. It’s getting better, though. And it does feel good on meandering county roads, with a slower pace and less traffic.

*Putting in some distance for the 600-mile service.*

One problem is a lack of storage space. There’s a small glovebox-like compartment in the front shield that could conceivably carry a pair of gloves, and a small tub⁴ below the saddle that can fit a half-helmet, a rain jacket and a real pair of gloves on a good day.

But the Sei Giorni (as we discussed earlier) is patterned after a racing bike, laughable when you think about its 24-hp engine, but still. I want to store tools and rainsuits and spare parts and such without turning it into the truck from the Beverly Hillbillies.

A few other additions:

A windscreen from Scooter West/Vespa Motorsport, along with handlebar-end weights, an extended footpad for the sidestand, a rubber floormat and a small luggage rack for the floorboard. (That’s where the main toolkit will reside.)

From Scoot Richmond: A luggage carrier behind the saddle and a set of crash bars.

I attached two plastic canisters that each hold a 30-oz. MSR fuel bottle. The canisters⁵ look like a pair of small torpedoes or maybe warp nacelles from a Starfleet vessel.

*I spray-painted the plate flat black, to get rid of the studded-chrome look.*

Installation of all this was just basic tinkering, though it took me a while to figure out how to position the fuel carriers on the underside of the luggage plate. I also had to fabricate a way to attach them.

But at least now I can carry a half-gallon of gas in reserve.

I dithered over the floorboard rack but decided I liked it. It’s low-profile enough to carry the toolkit without looking junky. It’ll be a pain to remove when it comes time to fuss with the battery, though.

The acclimation process continues. And have you heard about this Scooter Cannonball Run? It’s this coast-to-coast endurance rally, see, and I was thinking…

1 – Though the odometer shows 1,021.7, which makes it plain that the dial is recording distance traveled in kilometers instead of miles. 1,021.7 kilometers equal 634.9 miles, if you want to know.

2 – Relatively speaking, in reference to the BMW and the Yamaha.

3 – Aside from the saddle problems, foot placement can be a bit maddening at times. There’s some space on the floorboards to move your feet around, but I found myself wanting more. I tried folding out the passenger pegs and using them and it works, sorta.

4 – The tubs are called pet carriers because you absolutely can’t carry pets in them.

5 – They’re actually tractor manual carriers from Agri Supply. I read about them somewhere quite a while ago; the MSR bottles fit perfectly. I have a set on Endurance and Terra Nova.

2020: St. Petersburg

We May Laugh About This Someday, But Probably Not Today (Part 1)

October 25, 2020 George Petras 2 Comments

Thursday, Oct. 15 | Day 2: The day begins with a cryptic communique from work on my smartphone, a harbinger of changes to come, employment-wise; it throws a heavy shadow over the morning and kicks my focus off the ride for a while.

We pack up the bikes as I laborously exchange emails with trusted colleagues until I’m convinced the changes can be handled. We set course for Orangeburg, South Carolina, a 227-mile chunk of travel that will put us within arm’s reach of Georgia tonight and touchdown in St. Pete Beach, Florida, 40 hours from then.

With its 2.2-gallon fuel tank, Linda’s Vespa decides when we pause for gas. I refuel when she does, though it means putting about three gallons into Terra Nova each time we stop¹. As on other rides, we develop a rhythm that works.

The rhythm has us stop 30 miles later at an Exxon station² in Moncure, North Carolina, where I see a guy on an older Triumph Tiger, an adventure-style motorcycle like Terra Nova.

I admire Triumphs of all eras but Tigers are special. I came close to getting a Triumph before deciding on the Yamaha, a Super Tenere, in 2012.

I examine the Tiger until the owner emerges from the station and I introduce myself. He’s Jack Locke, from Sanford, North Carolina, not far from here. What year is the bike? How many miles does it have? I ask.

“It’s a 2002 Triumph, with 162,000 miles,” he says, proudly. “And I put them all on myself.”

He’s a disaster-aid assessor for the Red Cross and has piloted that Triumph around the country. We walk around the Tiger and he points out modifications he’s made over the years, including turn signals held in place with duct tape (“someone kept breaking them off”) and other upgrades he’s done himself.

He tells us about a divorce – “she said ‘it’s either that bike or me’ and I said, well, good luck,” and listening to his travels, I’m fascinated and urge him to write about them³.

We wish each other safe travels and as Linda and I wheel away, I realize we’ve had one of those on-the-road encounters that are gifts for motorcycle travelers.

This is one of the reasons why we’re out here and my spirits lift from the hasty emails of the morning. We’re living our own lives now.

We eventually cross over into South Carolina and pull into a Shell station in Wallace, which is not much more than a crossroads of three gas stations and a few other buildings, from what I can see.

I can’t resist getting out the phone again and checking email, exchanging a few texts with a colleague. Everything’s well enough there.

Daylight starts to fade as we motor away from the gas station and pause at the red light on U.S. 1. The Vespa stalls.

Terra Nova and I wait behind Linda as she hits the starter button. The Vespa starts but stalls again.

“Shut off the key and do a hard restart,” I say. It doesn’t help.

Fortunately, there’s no southbound traffic behind us. I move the Yamaha to the curb and she does the same with the scooter. I try starting the Vespa myself. No luck.

“We can’t stay here,” I say. “I’ll push it to the station.”

The intersection of U.S. 1 and South Carolina State Route 9.

The Vespa is relatively light and easy to manuever. I walk it back to the parking lot, off to the side. Linda waits with the scooter while I fetch the Yamaha.

I pull the bags off both bikes and get a flashlight, tools and rags. I check the oil; the dipstick is nearly dry. That’s bad, really bad.

How could we lose so much oil in so few miles? Granted, I hadn’t checked it that morning, but we’ve come about 400 miles in two days, not many for a brand-new vehicle.

It’s dark now and I’m crawling around on filthy asphalt. I look for leaks; nothing there. I have spare quarts of engine oil for both bikes⁴ and I carefully, carefully top off the Vespa⁵. It takes about a half quart to register full on the dipstick.

I try the starter. This time the engine runs, but unevenly. It doesn’t want to idle and sounds rough even in a run-up to full throttle.

By this time, I’m running out of ideas, only knowing this: There’s a problem with the engine; it’s probably oil-related; I don’t think I can fix it, at least tonight.

And the closest Vespa dealer, with mechanics, diagnostic computers and spare parts, is in Savannah, Georgia, 200 miles from here.

(Part 2 is here.)

***

1 – The Vespa gets better gas mileage than the Yamaha, though the latter’s gas tank is much larger, about six gallons.

2 – The Jordan Dam Mini-Mart.

3 – Seriously. I think some people quietly lead lives that are substantially more interesting than most, and Mr. Locke is one of them.

4 – Castrol Power 1, 5W-40, full synthetic.

5 – Using a long, narrow funnel I bought at a Harley-Davidson dealer in Maryville, Tennessee. Vespas are beautiful but quirky machines that need funnels of an special shape that can reach through the crash bars to add oil – a procedure that’s frustrating in the dark, even with a headlamp.

2020: St. Petersburg

We May Laugh About This Someday, But Probably Not Today (Part 2)

October 25, 2020 George Petras 2 Comments

Thursday, Oct. 15 | Day 2: With a Vespa we can’t fix in a lonely, remote gas station parking lot, we consider our options, like JFK’s EXCOMM during the 1962 Cuban Missile Crisis¹.

(Part 1 is here.)

We can’t run the scooter because it may screw up the engine even more and maroon us in an even more inhospitable place.

A towing service isn’t available – I ask the gas station clerks and they say there’s one tow truck driver in town and he stops working at night².

The Vespa will have to stay here tonight. Linda finds a room three miles away at the Baymont Inn in Cheraw, South Carolina. She stays with the scooter while I take Terra Nova to Cheraw to secure the room and drop off our bags.

From the mission linguist: Cheraw is pronounced Shuh-RAH, with accent on the second syllable, not Chair-Rah. (We were mystified, too.)

I return to fetch her and we put the black Dow cover over the Vespa, making it less of a theft target. We go back to our room and end up walking over to a convenience store for a late-night dinner³ – two small cans of Beefaroni for me.

We try and decide what to do. We’ve paid for 10 days at a condo in St. Pete Beach and won’t be refunded for days we’re not there. So we need to get going.

We could ride two-up on the Yamaha but it’ll be overloaded and really uncomfortable and we have lots of miles to go.

We could get a rental truck and take both bikes to St. Pete and drop off the Vespa at a dealer for repair. But I don’t have faith the Vespa can be fixed in time for us to go home, especially if some exotic parts have to be ordered from Italy or someplace. Or if the engine needs major work.

In the rainy morning, after an uneasy sleep, I suggest this: We store both bikes here and rent a car to drive to St. Pete. On the way back, we’ll get a rental truck and take both bikes home, dropping off the Vespa at Scoot Richmond for repair.

That way, we only have to travel to Richmond, 100 miles from home, instead of mounting some super-expedition to retrieve the Vespa from Florida or Savannah.

Linda agrees this makes sense so I start calling for towing and storage and she looks for a car to rent. Her first discovery is that the Enterprise rental in Cheraw is closed permanently because of the coronavirus. She starts searching elsewhere.

The first storage place I call says they’re full up.

The second place has space but doesn’t accept motorcycles or vehicles. “We really discourage them,” the guy says. “Oil could leak, gas could be a fire hazard…”

The third place has space and will take bikes. I reserve a space, though we’re not quite clear on its location. Google Maps is vague.

Then I call the we-don’t-tow-at-night towing service and speak with a woman who says they can help. She calls back 10 minutes later.

“I talked with our driver and he doesn’t want to do it. He’s afraid the bike will get damaged.”

I say we’ve done this before⁴ and tell her I’ll secure the scooter myself and absolve them of responsibility.

“No, we can’t do that,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Well, is there another towing service?

“No, not really,” she says and I grit my teeth and say thank-you and good-bye and refrain from throwing my phone across the motel parking lot. I’ll push the damn thing there myself is what I’m thinking.

But then we start getting some breaks.

The Baymont Inn folks very kindly allow us to pile all our baggage in the vacant lobby while we take the Yamaha to look for the storage space and rent a car.

We check on the Vespa and find it unmolested at the Shell station.

Then we cruise down South Carolina 9, past the Dollar General, looking for the storage place. I’m thinking I’ll have to push the Vespa a half-mile, maybe more.

But we can’t find it. I turn around at the elementary school and head back to Shell station, and suddenly we see the place near the Shell station. It’s within easy walking distance, maybe a football field’s length away.

The nice woman behind the counter – unlike a few others we’ve encountered that morning – makes it so easy. We pay for the space, get a lock, and I push the Vespa over and secure it inside a 10×12 locker.

We ride 20 miles north to Rockingham, North Carolina, to get the rental car Linda has found, a white Hyundai. We go back, park the Yamaha beside the Vespa and lock the door. Then we fetch our bags, profusely thank the nice woman at the Baymont Inn and finally, finally, leave around 4 p.m.

The vacation is still on, but our problems are not over. I reserve a rental truck for the bikes but I’m not yet sure how to get them up the ramp – it’s kinda steep⁵. I’ll have to be careful while strapping them down inside.

But I look at all our motorcycle gear suddenly turned useless and unnecessary, the helmets, jackets, boots, gloves, rain gear and I feel another loss, like last year. Maybe we’ll try again next year. And check the oil more often.

***

1 – That may be a bit of a reach, but I love reading history and Kennedy’s Executive Committee advisers didn’t want to make a decision that made things worse. That’s what I was thinking: Let’s not make this worse.

2 – Perhaps he engages in towing as an occasional hobby.

3 – Food options were limited at that point.

4 – It’s true. It was in Zephyrhills, Florida, in 2003, when my uncle’s 1976 Honda Goldwing refused to run. A guy with a flatbed tow truck came out and transported it to a repair shop that ended up not repairing it. Both his motorcycle and my aunt’s went back to San Diego in the back of a U-Haul truck, our Inskip Odyssey aborted, one of the great sorrows of my life.

5 – I’ve seen too many YouTube videos of guys messing up and having their motorcycles fall off ramps while riding them up into trucks. I’ll have to be careful.

2020: St. Petersburg

Pass the Mountain Dew, or: Our Dinner at Chez Sheetz in Orange

October 21, 2020 George Petras 3 Comments

Wednesday, Oct. 14 | Day 1: As usual, we start much later than anticipated and as usual it was my fault and I don’t know why, except I took too much time trying to design an interior support for the three – yes, three – laptops¹ we were hauling inside a 1520 Pelican case.

We both have an irritating yet enduring problem with packing light, perhaps a lack of mission resolve, as the British would say. I take too many tools and probably too many clothes, though I did trim back the number of books this year².

But we finally roll away a little before 5 p.m. and crazy stuff starts happening about an hour later.

Linda unexpectedly stops her Vespa on the left shoulder of a divided four-lane state highway in rural Virginia, forcing me to overshoot and stop ahead of her, parking Terra Nova literally inches from cars racing past.

Sidestand down, I jog back and ask what the hell is going on.

It’s a dog that was trying to cross the road and was hit by a semi. It happened literally in front of Linda, and the truck kept going without hesitation. The poor dog is on its side in the tall grass of the median.

Some other guy appears, a nearby resident, I think. He has a cellphone in his hand and looks on as I kneel beside the dog, a white pit-bull-type terrier, young, about 25 lbs. He is unmarked, but most assuredly dead. He has a chain collar but I can’t find a name tag.

Another guy in a pickup truck stops, asks if we’re okay, and we try to explain what happened. There doesn’t seem to be much concern for the dog on their part. The pickup truck guy leaves and we ask the cellphone resident if he can call someone to get the dog, but he appears to not quite understand what we’re saying.

Fueling up before reaching Raleigh, North Carolina.

There isn’t much else we can do and it’s getting even later and we’re both tired with miles to go. So we leave, figuring we can call the sheriff’s office or someone after reaching the hotel.

The dog, of course, follows us for the rest of the night. We have three dogs of our own³, one of them literally rescued by us on I-95 two years ago, so the terrier’s death haunts us, especially Linda.

We stop for gas at about 8 p.m. at a Sheetz station in Orange, Virginia, both of us tired and hungry. With the coronavirus still raging across the country, we’d decided to stay away from indoor restaurants and end up getting sandwiches and such at the station.

The outdoor seating is vacant and fenced off, so the base of a lamp post becomes an impromptu table. We eat standing up in the parking lot.

And we press on after that, through an empty Gordonsville, Virginia, on U.S. 15, deserted at this late hour but wonderfully lit up with white lights hung in Main Street sidewalk trees, a marvelous, warming effect.

It’s colder than we expected so we add extra layers⁴ and move along a series of dark county roads, wisps of Halloween fog rising and passing around us. The new light bar on Linda’s Vespa really brightens up the back of her scooter; watching it ahead, I’m glad I installed it.

The gas pumps were open, but everything else was emphatically closed.

After fueling at one of most locked-up Exxon stations I’ve ever seen – more like Attica than a rural gas station – we shut down the bikes a little after 1 a.m. at the hotel outside of Raleigh, North Carolina.

We’re now really tired and beat. We take the bags upstairs, put the covers on the motorcycles, and, about 280 miles and too many hours from home, go to bed.

***

1 – We usually each carry a work computer in case news breaks (I put in a few hours when George H.W. Bush died in 2018) and she needed a second computer for her online Hungarian class.

2 – One paperback, “Rice and Dirt,” about a couple riding through Africa on a Vespa, and my usual 8×5 Moleskine notebook.

3 – They are: Cody, an 11-year-old Shetland sheepdog; Remy, a 7-year-old border collie; and Skipper, a 5-year-old treeing Walker coonhound, the one we found along the highway.

4 – I used the same Harley rain jacket I bought in 2016.

2020: St. Petersburg

Mission Prep: Lights In The Night

October 21, 2020 George Petras 2 Comments

Linda’s Vespa was brand-new, so some pre-mission upgrades naturally had to be made, specifically the brake lights and forward running lights. We’d be moving at night and I wanted (1) the scooter to be as conspicuous as possible in the dark, and (2) more lighting for the road ahead.

The replacement front turn signals provide more light. Cody is ready to help.

That meant more mail-order stuff from scooterwest.com and clearing out my tiny workshop¹ at Starbase 8 to wedge the Vespa inside. It also required protecting the scoot from our curious cats² by covering it with enough old towels to resemble a ghost in a Bowery Boys movie.

I’d upwired enough accessories on her 2010 Vespa for bad memories to linger. I find Italian scoots rather difficult to work on, with tight spaces and overly complex hardware.

The headache started after the AdMore light bar arrived; the wiring harness was too short for our model and I had to order a two-foot extension. And then I had to learn how to solder the wires³ together.

But, over a few days, I eventually figured it out, got all the lights and bodywork installed, and felt better afterwards. I finally wheeled the Vespa out of the workshop, leaving a space that reminded me of the Time Machine’s departure⁴:

The Time Traveller was not there. I seemed to see a ghostly, indistinct figure sitting in a whirling mass of black and brass for a moment — a figure so transparent that the bench behind with its sheets of drawings was absolutely distinct; but this phantasm vanished as I rubbed my eyes. The Time Machine had gone.

***

1 – About 7 feet wide x 14 feet deep, I reckon, or roughly the size of three phone booths combined.

2 – Lexi, especially. He’s the black-and-white cat we rescued from the Dollar General in Ohio in 2008 while traveling aboard Endurance. He’s developed an affinity for lounging on the saddles of all our motorcycles and scooters.

3 – The harness contained six wires, all 26-gauge, which is pretty thin and challenging to work with. I had to get a proper soldering iron, the correct 60-40 lead/tin solder, paste and heat-shrink tubing, and watch about 400 YouTube videos to learn how to do it.

4 – From the 1895 H.G. Wells novel, The Time Machine. The narrator reaches the workshop just in time to see the machine vanish, leaving a poignant space behind.

2020: St. Petersburg

‘Assembly of Vespa Luggage Rack Requires Great Peace of Mind’ or: ‘Sweet Jesus, Did I Really Do That?’

August 31, 2020 George Petras 3 Comments

fubar02 — Yes, those two holes above the tail light.

“I worried over that blunder for an hour, and called myself a great many hard names, meantime.”

– Samuel Clemens, “A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court”

Here’s one I’ll never forget: While mounting the rear luggage rack, I managed to drive two bolts into the plastic gas tank of Linda’s Vespa.

It was both the simplest and greatest piece of mechanical idiocy I’ve ever done; I simply took the wrong bolts and unmindfully began screwing them into the threaded holes in the rear panel. They were metric M6 bolts, same diameter and thread count, just twice as long as needed.

I’m spinning them in by hand with an Allen wrench. They go in smoothly at first, then start to balk. I try a little more force, then back off and unscrew both.

That’s when I realize I’m using too-long bolts, precipitating one of those anguished head-in-your-hands moments of oh, sweet Jesus, I can’t believe this. I thought I was using the right ones. We’ve had her scooter a week and I’ve already ruined it.

fubar07 — That’s Robot of Vespa Motorsports/Scooter West on the upper left screen. Despite his advice…

I’d even been warned about it; I’d watched the Vespa Motorsport video on luggage rack installation¹ and Robot² mentions it at 6:38 into the video. “Had people put too long of a screw in there and puncture the gas tank, not a good thing,” he says. Oh, sweet Jesus.

It’s times like these you have to talk yourself off the ledge and I think about the passage in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance in which author Robert Pirsig mentions an instruction sheet for putting together a bicycle.

“Assembly of Japanese bicycle require great peace of mind,” say the instructions, and Pirsig goes on about peace of mind and says “If you don’t have this when you start and maintain it while you’re working, you’re likely to build your personal problems right into the machine itself.”

fubar01 — The windscreen was not part of this fiasco. I just thought I should mention that.

It wasn’t a lack of serenity that caused the mistake; I simply picked up the wrong bolts. But maybe serenity includes acting properly within the moment, which I certainly was not doing.

So after a lengthy period of critically severe self-beratement, I move from Self Destruct to Damage Control mode and start to assess how bad it is. The gas level is low, so it’s not possible to check for leaks yet, but there’s no smell of fuel from the threaded holes.

I run a hand-held mechanic’s light on a flexible tube up inside the back fenders but see nothing. (I do relearn that Vespa buttons up everything very tight on its scooters and it’s impossible to get your hand around the tank, or even get a good view of it.) So I can’t feel or see what I did.

fubar05 — The fuel tank, depicted in ‘sea green,’ like the Crayola crayon we had back in the first grade.

But I can shine the light down into the holes and see new thread lines scored into the plastic below. Online views of the fuel tank show the back is sculpted like a valley, so it appears I’ve cut a little into the valley walls, instead of boring directly into the tank itself.

I take one of Tera Nova’s reserve fuel bottles and fill the Vespa’s tank to the brim of the filler tube. And wait. No leaks.

That was on Aug. 18.

fubar04 — A stop in Port Royal, Virginia, on the road to Deltaville.

On Aug. 22, we ride out toward Deltaville, Virginia, as part-tank-test, part-get-the-mileage-up-to-600 for the service. Aside from the rain, everything is okay.

And finally, we take the Vespa back to Scoot Richmond on Saturday, Aug. 29, for the 600-mile work and ask the mechanics to check.

fubar03 — Stopping for fuel, shaking off rainwater. That’s *Terra Nova* on the left and Linda’s Vespa between it and Linda on the right.

It’s impractical for them to remove the tank on the day we’re there – it’s a three-hour job, like most things Vespa – but they say they couldn’t see any leaks. “And since you haven’t seen anything, it’s probably okay,” says one. “Just keep an eye on it.”

I’m afraid I’ll do much more than that. I’ll be consumed, obsessed, haunted by it and I’ll carry the concern like Quasimodo’s hump. Maybe a new gas tank, installed in the fall, will restore my peace of mind.

1 – Vespa Motorsports how-to videos are top-notch, in my opinion.

2 – That’s his nom de guerre, I reckon.

2020: St. Petersburg

New Bike & Next Ride

August 10, 2020 George Petras 1 Comment

Two.2 — 2020 on the left, 2010 on the right. Both red, of course.

So Linda hit the commit button and traded in her 2010 300cc Vespa for a 2020 Vespa; same style, same engine size, almost the same daring shade of red, you can’t hardly tell them apart. We brought the new scooter home from Scoot Richmond on Saturday.

What’s different is that the new bike has anti-lock brakes and traction control, making it a safer machine than its 10-year-old mate. It also has what Vespa calls HPE, a High Performance Engine that offers a little more horsepower than the old 300.

New — I doubt the sign was much of a deterrent to a dedicated fondler.

“Have you ridden her bike?” the young woman armed with Scoot Richmond’s financial paperwork asks me. “You’ll have to try this new one, you’ll really feel a difference.”

Linda and I had talked about her trading up to a new Vespa, especially when the company was reportedly planning to build a new 350cc model. Since we were doing more long-distance travel, we wanted that extra horsepower.

And I really wanted her to have a machine with ABS. She was amenable to all that, but in red, of course¹.

Alas, Vespa scuttled its 350cc idea², but my interest was piqued by the new HPE. We started dropping in on Vespa dealers to look at them, and when a red one arrived in Richmond, Va., we got it.

Last — The 2010 Vespa was a really good bike.

We got it for the ABS and the engine, of course, but also because we’ve decided to take the motorcycles to St. Petersburg, Fla., this year as our traditional long-distance ride³.

In this time of coronavirus, it seems to be the best choice, the best compromise between breaking the rule of going someplace new⁴ and not going anywhere at all. More on that later.

But it was difficult to say good-bye to the 2010 bike, which we’ve had for nearly nine years and more than 14,000 miles. It had its moments, but it never let us down.

I put some effort into upgrading it for her, including a windscreen, brighter headlights and running lights, an exterior power socket for a heated vest, a quarter-sized Formotion thermometer, and flashing hyperlights that really brightened up the stern when she braked.

3014 — The sticker has meaning, but only to us.

So there are memories in those parts, and others, like the green sticker put on the windscreen by someone in a Marriott hotel garage in New Orleans in 2017. Terra Nova has one, too.

The 2020 bike will get some of those. I transferred, from old to new, the Hungarian flag⁵ bolts for the license plate and the Vespa logo valve-stem caps obtained at Modern Classic⁶ in the District a few years ago. The thermometer migrated over, too.

We got our first taste of the new bike duo on the way home from Richmond, taking U.S. 522 instead of I-95, a good ride through rolling Virginia countryside.

We stopped at the picturesque deli & grocery⁷ in Winston, an area best described as a combination of Andy Griffith’s Mayberry and one of those spooky places you photograph, examine later, and discover someone staring down at you from an abandoned third-floor window.

winston3 — Before the red-haired kid showed up.

We looked around a bit, and then, as we were suiting up to leave, some little red-haired kid came around a corner, forced open a shed door and, in a true Children of the Corn moment, emerged with a sheathed hunting knife the size of a Marine Corps KA-BAR⁸. He went into the main building and never acknowledged us, or even looked at the Vespa.

New bike, new ride. I’ve already started futzing with the 2020 Vespa; I wonder how many Winstons we’ll see between here and St. Pete.

1 – She loves Vespa red more than the Cookie Monster loves Oreos.

2 – It was something about the inability to upsize the engine and still keep the classic Vespa profile, or some such.

3 – Hence the new mission designation.

4 – This one sort of hurts. We always say we’ll go someplace we haven’t been before, and we’ve been pretty good about that, up to now. At least we’ll see some new places on an untraveled route, since we usually go by air.

5 – They were actually bolts with the Italian flag on them, but if you rotate them 90 degrees counter-clockwise, they become Hungarian.

6 – Modern Classic closed about three months ago, we learned. It wasn’t the coronavirus, but because the owner retired. He’d mentioned to us in 2019 that he was considering it. It was a great shop; we shall miss them.

7 – I assume it’s permanently closed for business, though someone is living there.

8 – Which is an acronym for Knife Attachment-Browning Automatic Rifle. In other words, a good-sized knife.

Love In The Time Of Coronavirus

Well, We Did 522 on a Vespa…

July 13, 2020 George Petras 3 Comments

DCIM100GOPRO — One of the turns near U.S. 522.

We took our second official ride of the year down to Scoot Richmond on Saturday, where we 1) got out to ride; 2) looked at new Vespas; and 3) found a great road.

Scoot Richmond¹ is one of our favorite dealers. We discovered it not long after Linda bought her 2010 300cc GTS Super. They’ve done some maintenance on her Vespa and we buy some riding gear there every now and again.

vespa03 — It’s a great scooter, but it’s not red. Say, what color is that, anyway? Concrete chic?

The Scoot Richmond jaunt was also a bit of a test run for a possible ride to St. Petersburg in October, assuming half the nation hasn’t succumbed to the coronavirus². We looked at a Vespa GTS Super 300 HPE³, which is fairly close to what Linda has now, except this new model has ABS and traction control, which are good things to have. We’re considering options now.

While it’s good to have a destination, the ride is still the thing. We took I-95 south to Richmond, which was somewhat of a mistake because that interstate is frustrating enough to be an expressway to one of Dante’s Nine Circles of Hell⁴.

It was soul-crushingly hot, too, the heat just bouncing off the bare cement. The rolling roadblock of endless stop-and-go traffic, with no discernible reason, was another Dantesque bonus.

honda1 — Scoot Richmond has a lot of bikes in the parking lot, including this one, an old 550cc Honda Four, that looks a lot like the Honda 500 Twin that my old friend Tom McCray took to San Diego. His wasn’t a cafe racer, though. I think this belongs to a Scoot Richmond mechanic.

But the ride home was great. Instead of the hellscape boulevard of I-95, we took I-64 west to U.S. 522 north and things got better immediately. 522 is one of those twisting two-lane roads of Robert Pirsig lore⁵ that takes you through tree-shrouded rolling countryside.

It’s kinda what motorcycles are made for. Freeway pressure disappears and the road opens up and you’re enjoying yourself. You pass into shade thrown by a line of trees and the temperature drops, like going from a hot porch to the kitchen and opening an icebox door.

And there’s more to see, more life to observe: An old stone church with an ancient cemetery that we really should have stopped at to investigate; a family-owned gas station where customers park pickup trucks and are hailed by name by the women behind the counter; and farmhouses and barns and abandoned fruit stands and everything else that waits for you around every curve.

baker02 — And, a week after Baker, West Virginia, we found another Baker!

All told, about 267 miles, according to Terra Nova’s odometer. A good day on the road, with my favorite riding companion.

1 – It started as a scooter-specific dealership but has expanded to selling Triumph, Moto Guzzi and KTM. Accordingly, they’ve changed their name to Moto Richmond, but Scoot Richmond is still our moniker of choice.

2 – I’m still part of a group that covers coronavirus and it’s so disheartening to see the blacklash against science.

3 – I downloaded a PDF of the Vespa brochure and found it to be 37 MB worth of rather garish color photos, with only one (above) tangentially connected to travel. I’m aware how sales pitches use lifestyle appeal, but why the yotz⁶ can’t Vespa acknowledge that their scooters, at least the 300cc models, can be both fun to ride and capable of long-distance travel?

4 – I’m betting it’s the fifth one, Anger, since drivers are apparently driven mad by the stop-and-go traffic and start cutting in front of innocent motorcycle pilots.

5 – In “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,” Pirsig writes: “Secondary roads are preferred. Paved county roads are the best, state highways are next. Freeways are the worst…Twisting hilly roads are long in terms of seconds but are much more enjoyable on a cycle where you bank into turns and don’t get swung from side to side in any compartment.”

6 – That’s another Farscape reference. You’re welcome.

2017: New Orleans

A Date at the Loveless

August 25, 2017 George Petras 2 Comments

It took me a while to punch through work and the other obligations that kept crowding in, but we finally have a mission profile that will take us to New Orleans and back.

This year’s ride won’t be on a par with Long Way Round but it will offer some high points:

We may see an old friend of mine from high school – 40 years ago! – if our schedules allow.

We’ll ride the Natchez Trace again. We rode the Trace exactly once 15 years ago and we’re looking forward to seeing it.

We’ll get to ride along the Gulf Coast from Mobile, Alabama, to New Orleans and we’ll ride part of U.S. 61, immortalized by Bob Dylan in his 1965 album Highway 61 Revisited.

We may get the chance to visit the African American Military History Museum, which has a special permanent exhibit for Jesse Leroy Brown, the U.S. Navy’s first black aviator.

And on the way home, we’ll do a one-day layover in Nashville and have dinner at the Loveless Café, one of our favorite places. We’ve been there before, but never on the motorcycles.

Note from the mission historian: The Loveless Cafe has no relation to The Loveless movie, a 1981 film noir by Kathryn Bigelow starring Willem Dafoe.

The restaurant began in 1951 when Lon and Annie Loveless sold fried chicken and biscuits out of their home to travelers on Highway 100. The food proved popular, they converted the house to a restaurant and later built a motel.

The motel eventually closed – small shops occupy the rooms these days – but the restaurant’s Southern culinary fare has become part of American mythos. You may have seen the Loveless Café on TV, on shows that venture out of big cities in search of country fare.

So Linda and I have made a date at the café. Being there on the motorcycles at the end of a ride will make the Loveless Café part of our folklore, too.

2017: New Orleans

Getting Back on Track

July 16, 2017 George Petras 6 Comments

“Yeah, I’m hip about time. But I just gotta go.”

– Peter Fonda (as Wyatt), “Easy Rider”

After much procrastination, delay, and downright dithering, we’ve decided to forgo The Great River Road for now and head to New Orleans in September for this year’s motorcycle ride.

It’s never taken us this long to decide where the annual motorcycle ride will go and I can’t explain the delay. Time, age and work have been more of a distraction this year.

We figure about 2,400 miles total, but we don’t have a real mission profile yet. There are some good possibilities, including Skyline Drive and the Blue Ridge Parkway to Tennessee, then southwest to Mobile, Alabama, where we’ll pick up coastal roads to New Orleans.

Then maybe we’ll head northeast on the Natchez Trace, which we haven’t been on since 2002.

Linda’s been to New Orleans twice, the last time for an Investigative Reporters and Editors seminar last year, but I’ve never been there.

Closest I got was I-10 north of Lake Pontchartrain in 2000 in my uncle’s car during a madcap dash from San Diego to Flagler Beach, Florida, to my grandmother’s funeral. Not much joy then.

But I’ve always wondered what it would be like to arrive in New Orleans aboard a motorcycle. Perhaps that comes from reading too many Tennessee Williams plays, or being swept away by the romantic history of the French Quarter, or simply watching Easy Rider too many times. But at last, I’ll be there.

Let’s just hope it doesn’t end like Easy Rider.

2016: Thunder Bay

The 180-Mile Divert

September 26, 2016 George Petras 2 Comments

“By the Lord God I promise to take the fleet out, and through the grace of God, bring it safely home again.”

– James Clavell, “Shogun”

Day 5: Wednesday, Sept. 7: It was the last thing we wanted to see on a long-distance ride: The equivalent of a “check engine” light on the Vespa’s dashboard.

It’s the fuel injector warning light, a cheery little orange disc on the left side of the dash. It flashes once as Linda is struggling to back the scooter out of a deep gravel driveway in Swanton, Ohio.

We were attempting to find the house of Don Lee, a good friend and colleague of mine from Sandusky Register days. The Garmin Nuvi GPS told us we were close, but I overshot and we ended up using the driveway to turn around.

Linda tells me about it at Don’s house, but says she only saw it once. The light is connected to the scooter’s fuel injection system that delivers fuel to the engine. If the system fails, the engine shuts down.

“Keep an eye on it and let me know if you see it again,” I say.

We roll north into Michigan on U.S. 23 enroute to Frankenmuth when the Orange Signal of Death flashes again, just once, outside of Ann Arbor. I’m flying wingman behind her, as usual, so I follow to the breakdown lane when she pulls over. It’s afternoon rush hour and cars are rocketing by as I try to figure out what’s wrong.

I can’t, so we agree to get off the highway to someplace safer. We find a BP station and fuel up. After some discussion, we agree to continue to Frankenmuth, where I’ll hunt for the nearest Vespa dealer.

The nearest Vespa dealer. Vespas are exotic Italian machines and I have no idea where we’ll find one. It’s the same problem I feared while running Endurance, my BMW GS; the support network can be mighty thin.

But we get to Frankenmuth and once online I’m relieved to learn Michigan has more than a half-dozen Vespa shops. This allows me to sleep.

Next day, I start making phone calls early. The first is to our Vespa mechanic at Modern Classics on V Street N.E. back in Washington. I describe the problem.

“Oh, that is not good,” the guy says. He gives me a few scenarios, suggests I find a Vespa dealer with a diagnostic computer, and says, “You really should get that checked out.”

I call Traverse City. “Well, I guess you could bring it here, I could try and fit you in,” the guy says hesitantly. “I may not have the parts you need, though.”

I call Grand Rapids. “I’d say bring it in, but my computer’s not working,” the guy says.

I call Dearborn. “We have a Vespa mechanic, but he only works Tuesdays and Thursdays,” the woman says. Today is Wednesday.

I call Lansing. “Sure, bring it in,” says the guy. “We’ll see what he can do.” He says his name is Brendan, and I tell him he’s my new best friend.

Our mission navigator estimates it’s 90 miles from Frankenmuth to Lansing. We have reservations in northern Michigan that can’t be broken without losing fees, so Frankenmuth to Lansing to tonight’s destination of Tawas City will mean a long 260-mile day for us, plus whatever time we have to spend in Lansing.

I insist the Vespa be checked. We’re riding north into Ontario, Canada, and we plan to arc around the northern shore of Lake Superior. While it’s not the Dalton Highway in Alaska, it’s still fairly remote, and we won’t find any Vespa dealers on the Trans-Canada. It’s irresponsible to do otherwise.

So we ride to Lansing and find Full Throttle Motorsports, and Brendan, a young, optimistic, competent guy, soon has Linda’s scooter hooked up to his computer. In less than an hour, he has a verdict.

“It really doesn’t look too serious,” he tells me. “It looks like the fuel injector is getting a slightly higher charge from the voltage regulator – not all the time, just once in a while.

“I can’t tell if it’s the injector or the regulator. Could also be two wires are crossed and affecting the voltage sometimes.

“But you should be okay.”

I tell him where we’re going and emphasize the remoteness. “Will we get another 2,000 miles out of it?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, “Easy.”

I thank him profusely and ask how much I owe. “No charge,” he says, “You’re on the road. Glad to help.”

I collect Linda from the showroom floor and we prepare to leave, but I go back to the Service desk and give Brendan a $20 bill. “Dude, you saved our ride,” I say. “At least buy yourself some beers on me. Please.” He laughs and says thank you. And we ride away.

For the next 13 days I will think about his diagnosis and he proves to be right because the Orange Light of Doom never reappears, not once, for the rest of the ride. I will marvel at this every day as the mission progresses.

Late that night it begins pouring rain as we approach Tawas City. We and everything on the bikes get soaked. We pull all our stuff off the cycles and spread it out to dry, an explosion of wet gear across the damp motel room floor.

Motorcycle Days

Tag Archives: Vespa

The Abandoned Dog We Found Outside the Marriott in Texas That Night, or: Why We Went Off-Mission

That empty desk at AA Auto

Part 1: Why I Am Haunted by a Fellow Cannonball Rider

Part 2: Why I Am Haunted by a Fellow Cannonball Rider

Hardware Store Envy, or: Man, This Sure Ain’t the Home Depot

Motul 4T 5W-40 full synthetic oil looks like red wine salad dressing, but most certainly does not taste like it

The Scooter Name Kinda Fits, Since I’ll Feel Some Terror, or At Least Trepidation, Before & During the Scooter Cannonball

The Music That Haunted Me in Warrenton

The View at 1,021 Kilometers, or: How the Sei Giorni Feels So Far

We May Laugh About This Someday, But Probably Not Today (Part 1)

We May Laugh About This Someday, But Probably Not Today (Part 2)

Pass the Mountain Dew, or: Our Dinner at Chez Sheetz in Orange

Mission Prep: Lights In The Night

‘Assembly of Vespa Luggage Rack Requires Great Peace of Mind’ or: ‘Sweet Jesus, Did I Really Do That?’

1 – Vespa Motorsports how-to videos are top-notch, in my opinion.

2 – That’s his nom de guerre, I reckon.

New Bike & Next Ride

1 – She loves Vespa red more than the Cookie Monster loves Oreos.

2 – It was something about the inability to upsize the engine and still keep the classic Vespa profile, or some such.

3 – Hence the new mission designation.

4 – This one sort of hurts. We always say we’ll go someplace we haven’t been before, and we’ve been pretty good about that, up to now. At least we’ll see some new places on an untraveled route, since we usually go by air.

5 – They were actually bolts with the Italian flag on them, but if you rotate them 90 degrees counter-clockwise, they become Hungarian.

6 – Modern Classic closed about three months ago, we learned. It wasn’t the coronavirus, but because the owner retired. He’d mentioned to us in 2019 that he was considering it. It was a great shop; we shall miss them.

7 – I assume it’s permanently closed for business, though someone is living there.

8 – Which is an acronym for Knife Attachment-Browning Automatic Rifle. In other words, a good-sized knife.

Well, We Did 522 on a Vespa…

1 – It started as a scooter-specific dealership but has expanded to selling Triumph, Moto Guzzi and KTM. Accordingly, they’ve changed their name to Moto Richmond, but Scoot Richmond is still our moniker of choice.

2 – I’m still part of a group that covers coronavirus and it’s so disheartening to see the blacklash against science.

4 – I’m betting it’s the fifth one, Anger, since drivers are apparently driven mad by the stop-and-go traffic and start cutting in front of innocent motorcycle pilots.

6 – That’s another Farscape reference. You’re welcome.

A Date at the Loveless

Getting Back on Track

The 180-Mile Divert

Motorcycle travel