2013 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Coasting

On Saturday the traveling trio finally hit the Atlantic coast. It's in that sense that we 'coasted'.

We hit a traffic jam near the junction of I-295 and I-95 in New Hampshire but there was an exit right where the traffic had ground to a halt. We hopped off the Interstate, took some secondary roads and got directly onto I-95.

Karen opted to trade the Interstate for US Route 1 about 10 miles south of Portsmouth N.H. The slower pace was welcome, and it allowed our left coaster the opportunity to slowly immerse in the sights, sounds and smells of New England.

When we got to the other side of Portsmouth we took the section of I-95 that goes over the bridge into Maine. The state line cuts the massive bridge in two. Bob fantasized over the Sena intercom, suggesting that we should stop in the middle of the bridge to snap a 'welcome to Maine' shot. Needless to say, it was only a fantasy.

We did enter at the first rest stop just on the far side of the bridge. That rest stop is fairly unique because it serves both the Interstate and US 1 and both are accessible on opposite sides of the rest area.

Karen suggested that we stay on I-95 for one more exit just to skip the section of US 1 in Kittery that goes through outlet mall heaven (or hell, depending on how you feel about shopping for discount fashion items and housewares).

Once back on US 1, I was on very familiar ground.  I acted as Bob's in-helmet travel agent, pointing out the sights and icons of Ogunquit, Wells, and Kennebunkport along the way, including Wild Willy's burger shack, the shops and restaurants of Ogunquit, and the trolleys (Dolly, Wally, Polly, Holly and their other siblings).  Although we were on a time budget and had Mike, Tom and the crew waiting to welcome us in Portland, I led Bob and Karen down to the Ogunquit beach, over the little bridge over the river and to the beach parking lot.  The beach was thronged with holiday folk, and the river had its usual flotilla of bobbing tubers and floaters aiming to float around the bend and out to sea.  It's kind of a ritual experience for me.  It sounds more daring than it is.  One's bum drags on the bottom as the river meets the sea, so it's more of a natural water park grade adventure than anything else.

Bob snapped some pictures.

We shoved off and headed up US 1.

Along the way Bob and I indulged in a game that I dubbed 'will it wave?'.  We imagined it as a new segment on Letterman, along the lines of the infamous 'will it float?' genre.   I was about eight to ten car lengths ahead of our merry band.  There were many motorcycles and scooters headed south on the highway.  As soon as I spotted one, I'd give Bob a heads' up, and then I'd deliver a wave to the oncoming biker.  The Goldwing guys were the most stand-off-ish.  Or maybe they were doing 'the wave' but couldn't get their hands out beyond the enormous fairings where we could see them.  They might wave at me and not Bob and Karen, more often vice-versa.  I imagine some of our victims were mortified when they found that they were tricked into waving at a Vespa.  Maybe some later gnawed their hands off in remorse.  We had enormous fun with this for a good many miles.

As we got closer to Portland, the intersections got weird.  Bob was leading, I was second, and Karen was sweeping.

Now Karen is a very safe rider and I have a great deal of admiration for her conservative riding style.  Karen rarely speeds, and she likes to own her lane.  She was therefore very insulted (and rightly so) when an over-zealous officer in Bellefonte chided her for lane splitting.  I can tell you, as an expert witness, that she was doing nothing of the kind. Seriously, she wasn't.

Bob was having trouble figuring out the best lane positioning for these crazy Portland five-corner intersections with dog-leg and kangaroo-leg, and Dr. Seuss configurations.  I did my best to help him out with helpful intercom tips and hints.  "No Bob, not there!", "Oh Dear, now Karen's going to give you hell for that!!", "Bob just ask the chick in the car to let you cut in!", "Oh crap! Karen's not going to like that one!".

And so it went.  At one point I got Bob laughing so hard, I was worried he was going to drop his Beemer.

We eventually got to Mike's house in Portland, our destination for this leg of the tour.  Feathers may have been ruffled along the way, but at least there were no casualties of any kind.

Mike was very pleased to see his guests arrive.

Mike and Rebecca were perfect hosts, feeding us with homemade lobster rolls and delicious chicken, with all the right trimmings.

Tom was the executive chef.

Mike, Rebecca and Tina were the sous-chefs.

Unfortunately Tom had to cook and leave, celebrity chef style.  He had a party to attend that was far more important than our evening's goings-on.  He promised to return in the morning to assist Mike in giving us the grand scooter tour of Portland.

Tom has excellent taste in PTW's.

No that's not my bike, it's Tom's.

The meal was delicious, the company was first class, and the banter carried on until late in the evening.  Mike and Rebecca, Tina and Kevin, and Karen, Bob and I, were, it seemed, perfectly happy.  What more can one ask of life?

Bob and I found outlets to recharge our electronic toys (GoPros, iPhones, computers, iPads, Senas, etc., etc.).

Kevin  came up with a brainstorm brilliant idea.  He casually mentioned as we fished for chargers and USB cables, and searched for electrical outlets, that he planned to see if a single iPhone charger-thingy could recharge multiple devices if it were first connected to a USB hub.  Man-oh-man!  Brilliant, could that work?  Imagine the space saving, imagine the efficiency!  To Kevin's surprise, no sooner did he mention the idea than I fished out a tiny four-port USB hub.  It was a conference booth give-away a few years back, and I always keep it handy.  If that el-cheapo hub would work, any hub would work.  Kevin lost no time hooking it up to a single iPhone charger and then plugged my GoPro, GoPro wifi backpack, Sena, and GoPro remote into the hub.  We were like a couple of kids at a science fair.  And what do you know? IT WORKED!  Thank you, thank you, thank you Kevin!

Once the party broke up, the other guests said their good nights and left, and Karen, Bob and I blogged as much as possible, trying to cope with the inevitable backlog.  You see, it takes longer to blog about your life's experiences than it takes to live them.  Karen has a recipe that makes it a little easier.  She does the picture / prose currency exchange math: one picture being worth a thousand words.  As you can see, I am more of a word fan.  I spend a fortune in words and struggle getting the thousand-word photos in.  Oh well.  As my dear brother-in-law often says "A chacun son meshugaas!".

I fell asleep to the clickety-click of Bob's postings.  'Damn!' I thought as I drifted off to sleep, Bob's gonna out-blog me...

2013 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Gettin' outta Dodge

Come Friday morning, we had places to go, and bloggers to see.

We broke camp, loaded up the bikes, and hit the road. The ride objective was Hartford Connecticut, merely a waypoint on the road to Portland, Maine. Five hundred and twenty-eight kilometers of mainly Interstate travel ahead.

We stopped at the local McDonalds for coffee and a bite to eat before setting out in earnest.

The day started cool enough, but the heat wave blanketing the Northeast continued unabated and had us in its fiery grip all too soon. Temperatures by mid-afternoon soared into the high thirties. The thermometer on Bob's BMW R1200R reported 39C. The humidex-adjusted Fahrenheit temp reported in the newspaper in Hartford was 101F.  The day crushed all historical records by an uncomfortable margin.

My all-black, non-mesh Tourmaster Caliber armored pants, and Icon Patrol boots that serve well in October and November, were nowhere near as uncomfortable as you might imagine. In fact, believe it or not, they did not cause any huge discomfort. To some degree the heavy gear insulates you from the heat. Up top I was wearing my BMW Airflow 2 jacket, and the Tucano Urbano mesh summer riding gloves I picked up in May in Rome.

Stopping for fuel at about one hundred and twenty mile intervals to feed the Vespa's nine liter tank was not the hardship you might think. We all needed to take a leg stretching and water guzzling break. Unloading and re-loading the Vespa (two dry bags, and the emergency five liter fuel container), was a pain, but is necessary to get at the gas cap under the seat.  There's no point in moaning about it. It's part of the adventure. Just embrace it, refuel, drink water, and like Bedouins trecking across the Sahara, move on.

This was my first experience touring all day with other riders. I had zero experience with what it meant to keep pace with much bigger machines. At first I felt I would eventually slow my friends down so I used the long, long downhill run from State College on I-80 to ride with the throttle locked wide-open. It turned out not to be an appropriate strategy. I was just way too fast, and Karen preferred to keep a steady (more mature) pace at 65 mph.

It took me a while but I realized that I could easily keep that pace whether on the flats, or in the rolling hills.  I eventually settled in behind Karen, with Bob as sweep for the remainder of the trip.

Bob had never paired his Sena with another rider. After a little help from the manual, courtesy of Google, we set them up. What a pleasure. I was cruising along accompanied by Colin James and Rod Stewart, and my 'new swing' playlist rocking out of my iPhone, trading text messages with my friend Marc back home, fielding a call with Melanie at the office, and more importantly, able to communicate with Bob whenever the need arose. At first it was serious manly sharing of ride information. Eventually it became casual banter. Pretty much what we might have discussed in a car.

The only painful experience on this leg of the tour was an interminable bumper-to-bumper traffic jam just outside Hartford. I felt that the heat was beginning to make me feel sick. We finally made it to our Motel 6. Modest accommodations, but clean, comfortable, and AIR CONDITIONED!!!

We had dinner at the adjacent Denny's, then repaired to our rooms for the night.

It was a very satisfactory day.

2013 Blogger to Blogger Tour - R&R

Yesterday was day two for me in State College, and day one for Bob.

Bob needed some downtime following his trans-continental sprint.

Having enjoyed a restful night's sleep, Karen, Bob and I fired up our bikes and headed out for the 20 minute ride to meet Steve Williams and Paul Ruby for breakfast at The Corner Room in State College.

With Bob along this time, the blah-blah fest quickly went from moto to photo. Karen and I sometimes felt like poetry majors at an engineering conference. At one point Karen leaned in and said, sotto voce "Are they still speaking English?".

Just like a bunch of cowboys shooting up a saloon, all of a sudden there were cameras popping shots all over the place. No one was safe, nothing was sacred! I fear a picture of me in an extremely unflattering pose is bound to surface in the bloggosphere at any moment. My heavens I think I saw actual visual puns at work, and what certainly looked to me like photographic multi-cross, double-reflection work that may have come close to straining the fabric of space and time. If they hadn't eventually holstered their weapons, I might be writing this from a whole other dimension.

When the festivities were over we all went our separate ways.

With a good night's sleep and a full belly, Bob seemed fully recovered from his run across the continent because he took upon himself impromptu traffic duties.

Karen headed to Bellefonte to pay a parking ticket she got the previous day. A whopping $5.00. Makes one wonder if the city is losing money on the whole deal, what with salaries, servicing the meters, printing tickets, chasing scofflaws, and collecting the fines.

Bob and I headed to Kissell Motorsports for Bob's oil change.

The good folks at Kissell had their hands full and couldn't promise they would be able to squeeze the oil change in. I gave them my number to call if it turned out they could do it. That meant we got to spend quality time in the KOA pool, behaving like kids.

It happened that later in the afternoon and early evening it was time for Pistons and Pints, the eclectic moto gathering that Steve has been known to frequent. At breakfast we made semi-serious plans to attend.

Unfortunately it wasn't to be. Kissell's called late in the afternoon. They could squeeze Bob in after all. He and I hightailed it down to the shop. With the oil change done, we had to get back to the KOA to rejoin Karen who had no clue where we disappeared to. On the ride back, the skies turned ominously black all around us. I was convinced we were in for a downpour.

It was all enough to put the kabosh on Pistons and Pints for us. It was a real shame because Paul and Steve were there and I'm fairly certain the crazy Canucks would have been feted, had we shown up.

Steve and Paul called and we said our farewells, thanking them for their incredibly warm hospitality. Steve then said he was riding up to the Bellefonte KOA for one last visit. Many more photos were taken, and photography tips and tricks were exchanged between Bob and Steve. It was a really nice way to cap the evening, and the State College leg of our 2013 Blogger-to-Blogger Tour.

2013 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Fun and Games in State College

My day was off to an early start, as usual. There are peacocks, of all things, in proximity to our campsite. If you listen to the sound track of that video carefully you'll hear them. They lent an exotic air to our stay that complimented the large number of fireflies that were everywhere we looked. It reminded my of those forest scenes in Avatar. Very peaceful, very nice.

But there was no time for lollygagging. We had a breakfast date with Steve Williams in Bellefonte (pronounced "belfont" by the locals). When we got to the restaurant it was a pleasant surprise to find Paul Ruby waiting for us as well. It was a blogger-to-blogger tour double header.

We regaled each other with tall tales of moto daring-do, and explored our various areas of shared special interests. Steve and Paul were absolutely charming and managed to keep the Canadian jokes, jabs and jibber-jabber down to a tasteful few morsels.

Steve had to shove off for duties elsewhere, but left us in Paul's most capable hands. Paul enquired about our needs. Karen needed to get to a Wal-Mart, we both wanted to see the infamous Saints' Cafe (made famous by Scooter in the Sticks) and other landmarks of downtown State College, we needed to get to equally famous Kissell Motorsports (made famous for the same reason), and then we needed to make it back to our campsite to greet Bob on his imminent arrival (we were tracking his Spot Messenger relentlessly).

Paul fired up his red Ducati and led us on some beautiful back roads to downtown State College. Along the way at the crest of a hill in the midst of cornfields rose the very imposing Beaver Stadium. Wow, what a sight. I found out later that the stadium is the third football largest in the US. State College is a football shrine.

Paul abruptly stopped at a non-descript house (not his home), stashed his Ducati, and emerged on a blue painstakingly restored vintage Vespa to continue our tour.

He granted all our wishes, including introducing us to the owner of Saints' Cafe.

The last institutions on our tour were the Penn State campus (appropriately on College Street), and the oldest hotel in town, home to the landmark restaurant The Corner Room, which turned out to be the breakfast venue for day two.

After pointing out the Wal-Mart for Karen, Paul dropped us off at Kissell Motorsports so that we could confirm Bob's oil change for his Beemer.

As we ascended a long hill, my GTS started to misfire, and misfire worse than ever. All to say that now I not only needed to visit the legendary Kissel Motorsports, I really needed their assistance. You may recall that I opted not to address my fuel injection issue in Toronto because I needed to move up my departure for State College. I knew from a conversation with Craig Kissell last week, that he did not have my fuel injector in stock.

It didn't take much cajoling, name dropping and appealing to US - Canada brotherhood, to prevail upon them to swap out an injector from a showroom GTS for me. I decided to catch up on my blog while I waited for the repair to be done. Wow! I barely had time to figure out a suitable title for my post, and I was told the bike was good to go!!! Talk about stellar service by a Vespa dealer above and beyond the call of duty. Craig insisted that I take a run up the hill next to the dealership to see if the graft had taken and cured the GTS hiccups. Yessiree! No more hiccups! Smooth sailing ahead. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you Kissell Motorsports. You saved the 2013 Blogger to Blogger Tour from one major and potentially serious trip interruption, big time.

By the time I got back to camp, I needed the pool badly. That's where I headed without any hesitation or encouragement.

The capper for this wonderful day was Bobskoot motoring up the gravel entrance to our KOA. A sight for sore eyes. We were concerned because Bob had pushed his endurance to the limit. The big Beemer really came through for him.

Once his gear was off and stowed, and his tent pitched, Bob poured himself into the pool with us. He didn't emerge until his fingers were wrinkled like a kid in a bathtub with his favorite toys. He told us of his adventures at the Buffalo Bill Museum, and the Devil's Tower, and Mount Rushmore, and so many other places I would love to see. I was like a wide-eyed Venetian listening to the tales of a returning Marco Polo. How in the world did Bob manage to squeeze all of those wonders out of his itinerary and still make our rendez-vous on time?

I have said this before, but believe me now when I say, that Bob is a wizard.

Exhausted but happy, Karen, Bob and I repaired to our tents, bid each other good night, and fell asleep to the calls of the peacocks.

Believe it or not, there is more to come.

Editorial note: My iPad has decided that it doesn't like moto-touring, and has gone off to sulk. As a result I'm content to let it have it's time out. I am now trying to catch up on the blog posts before my memory of these momentous events dims, or worse yet, I begin to improve the history of this tour with stretchers and fantasy bits that embellish the truth beyond recognition. I have paired my Apple keyboard to my iPhone, and pulled some IT tricks out of my sleeves to keep this blog afloat. I may or may not ever make it back to pretty it up. Bear with me, this is the unvarnished, and likely typo-laden truth, untouched by the ministrations of a diligent editor.

2013 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Toronto to State College PA

I was still cooling my heels in Toronto, patiently waiting for Bob to get within a day's ride from State College, Pennsylvania.

Dawn had barely passed as I gazed out the open bedroom window at what promised to be another steamy day. I fumbled for my iPhone to take a peak at my e-mail. One of the messages that streamed in was from Steve Williams.

Family matters as early as Thursday threatened to complicate our planned get together.

I mulled that news. It didn't take me long to move my plans up. My original plan was to go to Vespa Toronto West to get a new fuel injector installed. There was risk that the intermittent fault would blossom into a total failure and strand me. Then again, the 400 mile ride on day one of the tour was uneventful. I weighed the risk of mechanical issues against missing a chance to meet with Steve. I had to get going.

I showered, dressed, and gathered my things as quietly as possible so as not to wake my sister and her family.

I went out and loaded all my gear on the bike, then went back in to make a light breakfast. I had planned to meet up with Ed Kilner after going to the Vespa dealer. I e-mailed to say I wanted to move our meeting to 9:00 or 9:30 and that I would call to confirm at a more civilized time like 8:45.

At 8:40 I said my goodbyes to my sister and brother-in-law and hit the road. I called Ed from the saddle to make sure moving up our meeting wasn't a problem: it wasn't.

Ed offered me a much-needed second cup of coffee. We chatted about touring and riding. Ed, like Bob, rides a BMW R1200R. He was impressed that I was touring on a Vespa. Bob had discussed meeting with Ed in Kingston, Ontario or alternatively, if Ed had the time, for Ed to ride with me to State College. Ed preferred to stick with the first option and meet with Bob in Kingston.

Ed has ridden in the direction of State College and was very familiar with the quirks of the route that the GPS prefers. He suggested that I ignore the GPS when it suggests crossing the border in Niagara, and opt instead for the Fort Erie Crossing.

Ed wished me safe travels and I set out.

How do I ride past Niagara Falls without stopping for a selfie of The Falls.

I hopped back on the Vespa and set my Garmin's sights on Fort Erie.

On the ramp to the QEW I was travelling at a good clip and there was a sweeping left-hand curve to the ramp. I dialed in the amount of counter-steering required to get the right trajectory and... wait for it... I felt more than heard (highway noise, full face helmet, earplugs, Colin James rocking Satellite Baby on my Sena) the scrape of the side stand. Brrrrrrrrrrecccccccchhhhhh!!!!

No big deal, but I got Siri to make a note of it to post here in case David Bogner (Treppenwitz on ModernVespa) stops by to read this post. You see I never scraped the stand until I read a post from him saying that he hated the side stand and ultimately removed it because it freaked him out each time it scraped. I might well get to that point too. Time will tell.

The border crossing and trip to State College was uneventful. The US Homeland Security Agent was full of questions about the Vespa with Quebec plates. I guess it was a first for him. He wished me safe travels.

I exchanged waves with every rider I met, and chatted with a Harley guy about midway to my destination who was really impressed with my beast of burden.

The one constant was perspiration. I went to great lengths to stay hydrated. At refueling stops (there were four), I would be drenched with perspiration by the time I had taken all the gear off, gassed up and gotten all the gear strapped back on. That's the Vespa greatest touring weakness: the location of the gas tank under the saddle, and it's meagre nine liter capacity. A soon as I get underway, the airflow makes quick work of the sweat and for 10 minutes I get the most wonderfull chilling from it. Once I dry off, I don't feel the heat as much. But I know that's because I'm still perspiring but it's evaporating at that same time. If I don't force myself to drink constantly, dehydration will be the inevitable result.

All I wanted to do once I got to the KOA in Bellefonte was to get into the pool. Karen greeted me as I rolled in. I parked the bike, made camp, and headed straight to the pool. Wonderful. A wonderful treat after a very full day's ride in sweltering heat.

When I dragged myself out of the pool, I called Steve Williams.

Amazingly, Steve rode to the KOA from his home in State College. I now know that it's a 20-30 minute ride.

Steve eventually rode off into the night after we made plans to meet in Bellefonte the next morning for breakfast.

A great end to a great day's ride.

Stay tuned, there's more in store.

Rider profile: Dave Blackburn

Name: David Blackburn
Find me on Earth: White Lake, Ontario
Find me Online: ontwowheels-eh.blogspot.com
Interview Date: Saturday, July 13, 2013
Interview Location: Kettleman's Bagels, Bank street, Ottawa, Ontario

Scootcommute: When did you start riding, how old were you?

Dave: 1966. I was 17 and my best friend had a Honda Dream, I think it was, that he would let me ride on occasion. I didn't get my own bike until 1971 (I think).

Scootcommute: How many motorbikes have you owned?

Dave: I can remember 16 but I think I'm missing some.

Scootcommute: What is your current bike, and is the current bike your favorite?

Dave: 2007 H-D Dyna Low-Rider. Yes. But then that's usually the case.

Scootcommute: Talk to me about the most challenging riding skill you learned.

Dave: Not so much learned as developed - that sixth sense that's saved my skin more than once. Comes from a combination of training and experience - both good and bad experience.

Scootcommute: Are you a moto-commuter, a tourer, or a fair weather rider?

Dave: Mostly fair weather rider but not averse to getting caught in the rain on occasion. Hate riding in the cold though.

Scootcommute: Are you a solitary rider? How about riding in a group?

Dave: Prefer solitary or with one or two riders I know well. Exception is when I'm part of a very large group (100 or more) - that's pretty cool.

Scootcommute: I dare you to share an awkward or embarassing riding moment.

Dave: Perhaps I've blocked them all out as a defense mechanism, but aside from a couple of low-speed drops on sandy parking lots I really can't think of any.

Scootcommute: What is the best place your bike has taken you?

Dave: There have been a few. The most awe-inspiring was approaching the Rockies north of Edmonton on the Yellowhead Highway for the first time. The most interesting was riding in the badlands in South Dakota around Sturgis.

Scootcommute: Tell me why you ride.

Dave: The most basic of reasons - I like it. I like the smells of riding, the idea of being out there immersed in the elements (good and bad), the 360-degree panorama. The sense one sometimes gets of flying at ground level. The feeling of getting off and stretching after a long time in the saddle - and then getting back on again. It's all part of the package.

Scootcommute: If I could grant you one riding wish, what would it be?

Dave: I'd love to ride New Zealand, tip to tip.

_____________________________

You can find other rider profiles on the Rider Profiles page

Dawn in State College, Pennsylvania

Rider profile: Peter Sanderson

Name: Peter Sanderson
Find me on Earth: Cornwall, Ontario, Canada
Find me Online: www.Vespaadventures.ca
Interview Date: Saturday, July 13, 2013
Interview Location: the Sanderson residence, Cornwall, Ontario

Scootcommute: When did you start riding, how old were you?

Peter: I was seventeen when I got my first motorcycle, a Yamaha 125 street bike in 1975.

Scootcommute: How many motorbikes have you owned?

Peter: Yamaha 125, Honda CB 350, Kawasaki 400 and then I took a thirty year break from riding until now. I now own a Vespa 300 GTV.

Scootcommute: What is your current bike, and is the current bike your favorite?

Peter: Vespa GTV 300, yes it's a pretty cool bike and I would say it is my favorite to date.

Scootcommute: Talk to me about the most challenging riding skill you learned.

Peter: I think I had a lot of problems with the theoretical portion of push steering.

It seems like the more I tried to push, the less my body lined up properly, and the more difficult it was. After a winter of not riding, I got on my bike in the spring and didn't even think about push steering. After that steering was never a problem.

Scootcommute: Are you a moto-commuter, a tourer, or a fair weather rider?

Peter: Today I am tourer and generally in fair weather. However, I just purchased a complete rain suit and I will never shy away from the rain in the future.

Scootcommute: Are you a solitary rider? How about riding in a group?

Peter: To date I'm a solitary rider but now my wife also has a 300 Vespa and I look forward to touring with her when my wrist heals. I also ride with another friend once in a while. I have never ridden in a large group of bikers.

Scootcommute: I dare you to share an awkward or embarassing riding moment.

Peter: When I first got my Vespa GTV, I was at a shopping center and it would not start. It was less than two days old. I had accidentally clicked the engine stop button and left it in the off position without noticing. A guy on a Harley came over and looked at the Vespa, turned the engine stop button to on position, held the brake and started the engine.

Scootcommute: What is the best place your bike has taken you?

Peter: I think I enjoyed an early morning ride to Lake George the most. I had left early in the morning and rode by many lakes with a mist and fog on top of them. I think I took the most wonderful pictures along the way and when I arrived in Lake George the weather was beautiful.

Scootcommute: Tell me why you ride.

Peter: There is a feeling of freedom, the feeling of becoming one with my environment, a feeling of joy and a feeling of total satisfaction with life when I am riding. Because of my wrist surgery, I cannot ride this year and it is very depressing.

Scootcommute: If I could grant you one riding wish, what would it be?

Peter: I would love to ride across Alaska.

_____________________________

You can find other rider profiles on the Rider Profiles page

2013 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Kickoff and day one

I got off to a late start yesterday.

My initial thought was to meet Peter Sanderson at his home in Cornwall at around 9:00 a.m. and then continue on to Ottawa.

I also really wanted to install a fused lead directly from the battery terminating in an SAE two prong plug.  My portable compressor has an SAE plug so using it requires that kind of connection.  I also have a long 12V extension I could use for charging stuff at night.  I also needed to make a SAE to 12V cigarette lighter type female outlet.

My electrical skills are not first class, so it took longer than I planned.  I didn't get underway until closer to lunch time.

I did a little kickoff video once I got the bike loaded up.
I really enjoyed my visit with Peter.  I'll be posting his rider profile based on ten questions I'm asking all the riders I'm meeting.  I haven't decided exactly how I'll do that.  I think that the rider profiles deserve a separate post.
Even though Peter is convalescing from some very nasty surgery on his hand, he was the perfect host.  He was generous to a fault as well, giving me some Vespa swag, a Vespa cover that he no longer needed, and a chrome luggage rack for my topcase that he purchased, and decided not to use.

I said farewell to Peter and set out for my second destination: Ottawa, our nation's capital.

On the way I was trading text messages and eventually a phone call with Dave Blackburn (you may know him better as Canajun when he comments here from time to time).  The combination of my iPhone and Sena SMH10 bluetooth helmet headset makes staying in touch very easy.  The iPhone lets me know when a text message comes in, Siri reads text messages to me, and sends my reply flawlessly.

Dave happened to be in Ottawa proper (he lives about an hour west of the city).  It turns out his daughter lives just down the street from where my Dad lives and he suggested we meet at a bagel bakery and restaurant (Kettleman's) literally across the street from my Dad's apartment.

I got to my meeting with Dave at about three-thirty.  We spent a very agreeable hour or so chatting.  He offered a demonstration of the ingenious remote controlled GoPro panning mount he invented and built.

I shot a brief video with my iPhone.

Dave shoved off for home, and I rode across the street and parked in front of my Dad's place.

At 5:30 it was high time to hit the road for Toronto.  It was blistering hot.  I needed the quickest route from A to B.  I keyed my sister's address into my Garmin and was  happy to take its cues.  Once I made it through a massive lump of bumper-to-bumper traffic on the 417, it was clear sailing south to the 401 and then west towards Toronto.

I had hoped to be in Toronto before sundown.  That wasn't happening.  To be honest, I had never done the trip from Ottawa to Toronto.  Naively, I figured that if Ottawa was an hour and a half from Montreal, that would at least shorten the Ottawa to Toronto leg.  Apparently a navigator I'm not.  It turns out that Ottawa to Toronto is basically the same as Montreal to Toronto.  Who knew?

So it turned out to be like snakes and ladders.  It was 5:30 and I had a trip in front of me that would take a good five hours in an air conditioned car with cruise control and a 600 km range.  I now know what it's like to stop at very single service centre on the 401 (well maybe not all, I may have gone out on a limb and skipped the odd one).  It didn't matter because my butt and legs needed the pit stop as badly as the Vespa did.

All told, I basically traveled for twelve hours and covered 679 kms, or 422 miles if you prefer.

Today I ran errands with my brother-in-law and basically took it easy. I washed the Vespa, its first ever wash by my hand. The driveway was in the shade by late afternoon and the cool water splashing my bare feet was a welcome respite from the sweltering heat.

Before supper I pitched my tent in the back yard. My niece and nephew tumbled around in the tent, emerging drenched with perspiration.
Their earlier plans to sleep in the tent faded with the setting sun.

Coming down to the wire

Bobskoot has left Vancouver and is on his way to our agreed meeting place.

I still have preparation to do, including a little electrical work on the GTS to add an SAE power lead direct to the battery, I need a memory card for my GoPro, and a few other odds and sods.

Yesterday my Vespa went into the shop and got its oil change, a new rear tire and CVT belt, and a full tune up.

 Everything was looking peachy, and I expected the intermittent hiccups the engine was having to be a thing of the past.

I was hoping that my second-hand bike would be as fresh and functional as a brand new Vespa straight from the factory.  Like this one for instance.

Not so fast optimistic one!

The hiccups are still there. So the bike is back in the shop. The culprit has been found. An intermittent fault in the fuel injection. Oh dear.

I don't think it's going to be a problem. The only issue is getting it fixed. The dealer doesn't have the injector in stock. That's the bad news. The good news is that it doesn't need to come from the plant in Pontedera in Tuscany. Also the offending part is very small and should travel quickly (photo is from the ScooterWest site - if you need this part too, click the photo).

Still, my departure planned for Saturday may get postponed, which will delay my return. Not the end of the world because it is unlikely to put the trip in jeopardy or the rendez-vous with my fellow travelers.  I just want my GTS back in tip-top shape.

So cross your fingers for me and pray to the Piaggio injector gods.

  ___________________________________________________

PRECIOUS TIME PASSED

___________________________________________________

I checked back with my dealer.  They don't have the injector and can't get it for seven to ten days.

That news set me on a search farther afield.  

ScooterWest has the part, but getting it here in time is beyond the realm of possibility.  I then called Vespa Toronto West and was waiting for their service department to call me back.  

My next step was to call Kissell Motorsports in State College Pennsylvania.  Talk about service.  Of course I did drop Steve Williams' name.  But still.  They confirmed that they could get the part by Monday or Tuesday and slot me in to have it installed.  Craig Kissell mentioned that they gets lots of Canadian riders coming through and they reserve shop time for travelers' needs.  How cool is that?

Then Vespa Toronto West called me back.  They have the part, and they can install it on Tuesday when I'll be in Toronto.

Colour me very relieved.  Very relieved.

So the Great 2013 Coast to Coast Moto Blogger Get-together Extravaganza (Eastern Edition) is set to launch on schedule on Saturday, July 13, 2013 at 8:30 a.m. (all other things being equal).

The Great 2013 Coast to Coast Moto Blogger Get-together Extravaganza (Western Edition) launched on schedule yesterday.

Bobskoot is now here, well into Montana:

Guilty, or not guilty

You be the judge.

It's finally freaking hot. I roll out of the underground garage at the office and onto Mountain street planning to head south.

I am greeted by hordes of teenage girls converging on the Bell Centre across the street from the office. Apparently all the commotion is caused by something called "One Direction".

Unfazed because I ride a Vespa, I filter through to the traffic light at the intersection right next to the Bell Centre. It's bedlam, and a police cruiser is sitting with its lights flashing blocking the northbound lane.

A police officer is doing traffic duty. She has all the traffic stopped, while vehicles are slowly backing out of the street that runs in front of the Bell Centre which is thronged with people.

Traffic is backing up in both directions as far as the eye can see.

I sit one pick up truck back from the intersection as the light cycles green, yellow, red, over, and over.

There is no reason for the southbound lane to be stopped and backing up, other than the police officer who is not allowing that lane, my lane, to proceed down Mountain street.

After 10 minutes of this, I've had it. The police officer is oblivious to the unnecessary mess she's making.

My latin blood gets the better of me, and I honk my Stebel horn. When she looks my way, I give the police officer the universal gesture for "come on, already, give us a break, let us go". You know that gesture, both arms rising like a conductor about to strike up the band. The universal gesture for expressing frustration for incompetence.

This elicits a fierce look from my adversary, and she interrupts the festivities to yell gruffly at me "I decide when you get to go, not you!"

She goes back to her duties messing up my commute and those of the hundreds of motorists victimized by her stunning inefficient performance.

What seems like another ten minutes passes. The pickup truck is lurching periodically in protest. My blood is beyond simmering.

I then do what any imbecile in similar circumstances would do, I deliver two more Stebel blasts. Once I have her attention I give her the universal symbol for "come on, please give us a break". In case you're wondering, that's arms oustretched, palms out, arms held downwards, pleading.

Officer plod is certainly paying attention now because she is coming for me with a vengeance.

"Driver's license!" she commands, her hand outstretched, a scowl on her face.

I ask her what law I've broken. "Driver's license!" she repeats ignoring my question. It isn't going well.

She grabs my license, and tells me to pull over and wait for her.

She ignores me for a while, but finally lets the traffic proceed. When she eventually marches over, she demands my registration. I tell her that I did nothing wrong. She says that I was showing disrespect for her authority. This I deny, suggesting to her that I was encouraging her to open the lane because she had a serious traffic snarl to uncork.

She storms off to her cruiser. I call Susan to explain my predicament. She's not surprised. She knows she married a shit disturbing lawyer.

When my friendly neighbourhood cop returns she has her partner in tow. I'm guessing as backup because of the surly dude on the menacing black Vespa. She has a gift for me. A $161 ticket as a reward for my public service. She snarls "You have thirty days to pay or contest". I tell her the traffic ticket is unnecessary. We aren't seeing eye to eye.

When I get home, I check out the offence I've been charged with committing: "Using the horn of a road vehicle, unnecessarily" it says.

Did I? I don't think so. I think that it was obviously necessary, since she was clearly abusing her authority, behaving incompetently with utter disregard for the public she was sworn to serve, and failing to do the very thing she was ostensibly there to do, direct traffic. She wasn't directing as much as obstructing.

In addition, I think that my use of the Stebel was protected by my right of freedom of speech under the constitution.

After all I'm on a bike in full armor and a full face helmet, all of which is black, in the sweltering 30C+ heat, and I have a Stebel air horn. What other choice did I have, honestly?

Your honor I rest my case, and place my fate in the hands of the court of public opinion.

Play Misty for me

This morning was a follow-up appointment with my GP to review blood tests results following my annual check up.

Turns out I've been a fairly good boy.

I rewarded myself by taking the slow route to work while listening to Jazz FM. The music playing softly in my helmet matched my mood, and the lake's mood, to a 'T'.

These photos, taken kilometers apart, one in Pointe Claire, one in Lachine show a common theme: it's high season for sailing school.

The sailboats that the yacht clubs use to train fledgling sailors remind me of ducklings. A flotilla all askew, and not going anywhere in an orderly way. Except the drink that is, when the skipper muffs a turn, or tack, or whatever the correct nautical term is for low-siding or high-siding a sailboat.

It's a shame I have to work.

Inflection: explore, explorer; discover, discovers.

A cryptic title to be sure.

What the heck am I trying to get at?

The best times of my life, the most memorable experiences, the most intriguing events, have been when I have set out to explore, looking to discover.

The summers stretched so long when I was ten, eleven, twelve. I loved exploring. We all had shoulder bags or knapsacks we would stuff with sandwiches, cookies and apples, a canteen for some water, and perhaps a pen knife. Then we'd just go. Hop on our beaten up bikes, and go.

We were gone all day. It seemed that there was always some corner of our world we hadn't been, things we hadn't seen. We would go wherever our bikes could take us, following familiar streets to unfamiliar ones, leaving paved roads to take roads under construction. Those would take us to the edge of our world, to farmers' fields where there were farm tractor paths to bump along, and woods to explore.

What was it that made those times so satisfying?

It may be a guy thing, but I hope not. Certainly there were never any girls sharing our rides. It wasn't that we excluded girls. But it was a time before girls. I don't know how girls spent those summers because we were oblivious. We were exploring Mars, they might as well have been on Venus.

One of the magic ingredients was that for the first time in our lives, for whole days at a time, we were self-sufficient. And we could go places. Places our parents knew nothing about. Places our parents would never take us, places our parents wouldn't, practically couldn't, go. We were free, and we had bikes.

It was serious business. Sprawled, perched, or squatting on the lawn or our front steps, or the curb, or the hot pavement of our suburban driveways, stuffing our bags and talking about where we'd been and where we could go. And then we would just go. Four or five of us. Following our suntanned noses, no particular destination, no rush, no hurry, but rolling. Truly content to feel the wind on our bodies, hear the hum of our tires, and the occasional clank of our chains.

Having a Vespa re-kindled that experience. My world has expanded. My riding buddies lived in houses within two blocks in the burbs. Now they're in distant cities. We explored a suburb, we're now set to explore a continent.

Where once we were just looking for new places, now we're looking for new people and places, kind of.

Why kind of?

Because an important part of this voyage of discovery is riding with each other, and meeting you. Well, not all of you, but many of you. I wish it could be all of you, but it will be many of you. Those of you who live in Ottawa, Cornwall, Kingston, Toronto, State College, and Portland. You are in some ways new. In many ways not. You blog and post on ModernVespa.com. I already know quite a bit about you, a slice of your life, your life on two wheels.

If once my friends and I returned from our rides with stuff we'd found, now we will be collecting faces, stories, and memories.

And we will be displaying them here, for all of you to enjoy.

I can't wait.

Back to the beginning. This is about the importance of inflection. A shift. Moving from the idea "explore", to the doing of it. From the imperative "discover", to the pleasure of finding. Riding marked an inflection point in my life, then and now.

To borrow from a friend, I'll find you on the road.

Reporting for duty, Sir!

All the big pieces are ready for the great Blogger to Blogger 2013 coast to coast extravaganza.

New bike so I can run with the big dogs - Check!

Tool roll, compressor, tire plugging kit, flash light, first aid kit, 100' of paracord - Check!

Saddle bags, dry bags, and ROK straps - Check!

Camping gear (tent, sleeping pad, sleeping bag, pillow, camp stove, lounge chair) - Check!

Five liter auxiliary fuel container, and 32 ounce stove fuel container - Check!

Sena bike-to-bike intercom - Check!

GoPro, digital SLR, iPhone, and GPS - Check!

Road test at 130 km/h to make sure nothing rattles or shakes loose - Check!

Kickin' it nu skool

What do you when you've reached the end of the road, you've pitched your tent, inflated your mattress, laid out your sleeping bag, stowed your gear, made a mug of instant joe with your ultralight alcohol stove, and locked up the bike?

You break out your barkalounger, put your feet up, sip your java, share some tall tales, and in the words of Mark Twain, tell a few stretchers.

I can do that now.

Recreational vehicle

I never thought of myself as the RV type.

Today I got my hands on a borrowed three-man tent and mattress pad: basically a large ranch house with master bedroom furniture to go.

It all fits very nicely on a Vespa GTS. Heck, I'm not even going to feel the extra presence back there!

I've been offered the possibility of upgrading to a larger and more comfortable mattress pad.  Naturally I leapt at the chance.  I've barely begun and I'm getting comped!  I love getting comped!

My RV is rapidly headed to King-Size Komfort Land!!!  Well Gaaawwwwwllllllllllllleeeee!  Soon I'll be the envy of the Clampett Clan!

Coasting

Lake St-Louis isn't the coast, it's the lakeshore. Yet, when I take the slow route to the office the view is still coastal.

Sharing it means taking a moment to stop, strolling a few feet to the shore and snapping a picture.

This particular view shows the point that's home to the Forest and Stream Club.

If you have eagle-eyes you'll spot a plane making its final approach to Trudeau airport.
My new bike is like a Siren enticing me to take the fast path where it can stretch its legs and zoom along. It's easy to neglect the benefits of coasting.

Distance challenges

As you may know if you've been hanging around here for a while, I began riding a motor scooter as a commuter.

It's been three seasons and three months since I rode my first commute. In that time, I have learned one heck of a lot about what it means to commute daily.

You can fill a thimble with what I know about long distance riding.

What's a long distance?

Well I have one long distance day-trip to my credit: 375 kilometers, or if you prefer, 233 miles. That's definitely a long distance ride, but it's about 70 miles shy of what I think many motorcycle tourists consider a decent day's ride.

I only think that, based on casual reading I've done from the comfort of my easy chair. I haven't researched it or attempted anything approaching semi-serious study.

I have a lot to learn. As is my lifelong habit, I plan to learn mostly by doing. Of course I am planning, you would have to be crazy not to plan.

My right wrist hurts. Right at the base of my thumb. It's some kind of strain injury. Whenever I develop a strain injury, I have to ask myself "what have I been doing since this pain started, that I wasn't doing before?". The answer is "I've ridden 15 thousand miles on a motorbike."

As you also know, things come to me slowly.

"Do you think that working the throttle is causing the strain that's causing the pain in my wrist?"

How will I feel after another 300 mile day, after other 300 mile days? It kind of makes me think.

What do motorcycle tourists do?

I was privileged to be at Bobskoot's place admiring his nu-2-him Beemer. He didn't seem to be too fussed that I sat on it. I didn't drop it, so it worked out allright. I noticed that Bob had some hardware on his throttle that I don't have. As soon as I saw it, I knew what it was. Did I mention that I read?

Today I had twenty minutes or so on my way to the office after a doctor's appointment.

I stopped at Moto Internationale, Montreal's largest BMW and Harley Davidson dealership. I was hoping for some instant gratification, and I wasn't disappointed.
For the uninitiated, the thingy on the left is a universal cruise control. The gizmo on the right relieves wrist strain. Both devices slip in one direction, grip in the opposite direction.

I tried the palm assist on the ride home. Interestingly, I felt relief in my wrist as soon as I started using it. Do you think that the throttle is causing my pain? Hmmmm...

Tomorrow there's rain in the forecast so I won't be testing the cruise control quite yet.

Birthplace of the Scootcommute

Few people know the birthplace of the ScootCommute.

That's because I was, until this very second, the only person to know the birthplace of the ScootCommute.

The ScootCommute was conceived, like so many other conceptions, in a hotel room.

To be more specific, in a very nice room at the Fairmont Palliser hotel in Calgary, on March 28, 2010.

I happened to be there on Monday and it struck me that I had returned to the scene of the crime.

So there you have it.

High octane question?

Bob (no, not you) sometimes sends me questions.

Sometimes I'm not smart enough to grasp the problem that Bob tosses my way (other Bobs, please refrain from jumping in to provide testimony corroborating my occasional thickness).

A while back, Bob (no, not you) sent me a gem that I didn't immediately grasp the true meaning of.  So Bob (no, still not you) had to explain it to me patiently.

Well, it certainly is a puzzler in the fine tradition of NPR Car Talk, and I'm not nearly knowledgeable enough to shed any light on the matter.

So I turned to the world's most encyclopaedic source of scooter-related intelligence.  Yes, that's right, the Modern Vespa forum.  Here's a link to the post.

Here's Bob's question (I took some small editorial liberties to help the dimmer wits like yours truly in wrapping their brains around the nub of the problem).

Hmm... I see that the image makes Bob's question impossible to actually read.

Here it is clearly this time:

Once again I seek your help.

Perhaps you or one of your readers can answer a question that has long perplexed.

My new scooter requires high octane fuel - at least 91.

Back in the day it was simple - there was a dedicated premium pump somewhere at the station that pushed only the good stuff.

Now all the pumps are dial-a-matic with one hose and three or four grade selections.

Since the single big fat hose and filter hold a considerable volume of gasoline, and I assume that the gasoline in the hose is whatever the last customer selected (likely lower octane), how can I possibly get any of premium fuel into my tiny 6.0 L tank?

I strongly suspect that when I select and pay for premium, in most cases all I'm getting is regular, and treating the next cheapskate to a couple of gallons of my premium fuel for free.

A friend has a clever solution: He bought a 2 gallon can which he fills first, then takes home and empties into his car.

Alas I lack a second vehicle.

The best I've been able to come up with is that I lurk at the entrance of the station and follow immediately behind the person in the Mercedes, BMW or Ferrari.

Surely someone must have a better idea.

To be honest, this never crossed my mind. I guess I always assumed that you got what you paid for.

Is this a misplaced concern?

Is there some kind of check valve re-sucking system that purges the 'wrong' fuel from the hose?

Enquiring minds want to know.

If you, dear reader (that means you, Bob... yes you!) can shed some light, please chime in.

I'll wait for the smart answers to kick in on MV and then re-post the best of the lot here. If you're not the patient type, feel free to follow the link above and follow the action (if any) on Modern Vespa.

- - - - - TIME PASSED - - - - -
If you click the MV link you'll see that not much of any great merit happened, other than people suggesting that Bob shouldn't worry so much, and some folks pointing me in the direction of other threads (click here, and here) where, supposedly, the question had been asked, vigorously debated, and possibly answered.

Well it turns out that this one has the MV crowd pretty much stumped, making wild guesses, and stabbing in the dark. The consensus is "fugetaboutit" and "don't worry, be happy" and I find myself agreeing, yet being totally unsatisfied with the responses.

Otherwise very well-informed people are saying "there's hardly any gas in the hose, half a cup, max!".

Others say essentially the same thing, but estimates vary from half-a-cup (125 ml), to a cup (250 ml), to two cups (500 ml).

So I started Googling.

The smartest answer from the best source was this, from the Wall Street Journal:

Q: I ride a motorcycle with a typical three to four gallon gas tank. I ride where fuel stations are farther apart, so I fill up when the tank is still half full. The bike requires premium fuel, and doesn't run well on lower octanes. If the previous customer was pumping regular fuel, I assume the refueling hose is still full of regular fuel, perhaps a couple of gallons. This would mean I'm initially getting a mix instead of pure premium fuel. Is this a genuine concern, or does the system have a mechanism for evacuating the gas pump hose between uses?
-- Paul Kowacki,
Orange Mass.

A: It is a genuine concern, but one that motorcyclists tend to appreciate more than car drivers. According to the American Petroleum Institute the gas-pump hose typically retains about one third of a gallon of fuel. So when you pump a couple gallons of 93-octane premium after the previous customer pumped 87-octane regular, your fuel load would be diluted (not to mention overpriced).

This is more important to motorcyclists because bikes have smaller fuel tanks and a lower tolerance for low-octane gas compared with most cars. I have found that high-performance motorcycles designed to burn premium fuel run poorly on regular. They generally do not have the complex engine-control systems that allow cars to run on fuels of varying octane ratings.

I don't think diluting your premium fuel with a little regular will harm your motorcycle, especially if you always select the highest octane rating available. However, next time you're filling up you may want to get in line behind the driver with the highest-performance car in the station.

So if the WSJ is to be believed, and they are so far the most credible source, there is not half a cup, not a cup, or even two cups, but five cups (give or take - 1/3 of a gallon is 1.24919 liters, which we can round to 1.25 liters, which is five cups on the nose) of fuel left in the hose.

Just in the interest of trying independently to get to the nub of truth, let's say that the average gas station hose is 12 feet long.  According to Goodyear's web site, gasoline pump hoses are either 3/8" or 3/4" outside diameter hoses.  Let's take the worst case scenario, that's a 3/4" hose.  All 3/4" gasoline hoses have an inside diameter of 19.1mm (don't ask me why Goodyear's specs give the outside diameter in SAE and the inside diameter in metric).  The volume of gasoline in twelve feet of that type of hose is Pi (3.14159) times the square of the radius of the inside diameter of the hose (19.1mm divided by 2  = 9.55mm, squared = 91.2025mm) times the length of the hose (12ft, which in mm is 3657.6mm) equals  1,049,416.44 cubicmillimeters, or 1,049.41644 ml, or, rounded down is 1.05 liters, which is just a tad over four cups.

Based on the credible WSJ source, as somewhat corroborated by our mathematical, semi-scientific, guesstimated calculations, if we average the anecdotal journalistic number (5 cups) with the semi-scientific guesstimate (4 cups), we get 4 1/2 cups of questionable fuel in the hose.

In the case of the Vespa GTS 300 i.e., the tank capacity is 9.2 liters.  But even if you fill up only once the low fuel light comes on, the tank is not empty.  There are still about two liters of fuel in the tank.

Basically I'm buying 7 liters of fuel when I fill up.  That means that I'm getting 1.1 liters of questionable gas, and 5.9 liters of the good 91 octane gas that I need and want.  Assuming that the octane rating just dilutes like any other liquid, I'm not really getting a full tank of 91 octane, I'm really getting 90.37143 octane.

I think that's pretty well within spitting distance of the truth.

Based on everything I've heard and read about octane ratings and internal combustion engines, that's close enough to 91 octane that the Vespa engine won't suffer for the difference.

So I am declaring this one done, solved and one for the history books.  And I am going to join the ranks of the MVers who don't worry about the fudge in the gas that the local gas station is selling me.

Thanks Bob (no, not you, the other Bob), I thoroughly enjoyed digging to the bottom of this week's puzzler.

Project report: Installing a Stebel Nautilus Compact air horn

The stock horn on the Vespa GTS 300 i.e. emits a very polite "meep" when you press the button. Press it twice, and you get "meep-meep".

Until our recent trip to Italy, I couldn't understand why you would ever want to go "meep-meep" when you're in heavy downtown traffic doing 60 km/h and the oblivious cabby next to you suddenly moves to obliterate you. It's even more of a mystery when you consider that the Vespa GTS can cruise all day long on the autoroute at 118 km/h.

Italy changed my opinion of the engineers at Piaggio.

In Italy, the stock horn fits right in. In Italy you use the horn politely on blind corners; or just before cutting another vehicle off with brio; or when you coast down a street in Sorrento (here we call them sidewalks) and want to announce your arrival politely to your friends seated at tables in the street enjoying pizza and drinking Chianti; or when you want to join ten or fifteen other drivers who are honking to 'help' clear congested traffic. Those uses account for 99.99% of all Italian horn use. And "meep-meep" or sometimes "meeeeeeeeeeeeep!!!", is just the right tone. You see, in Italy the people in the cars KNOW they are sharing the road with motorbikes, and expect to be cut off with brio.

That won't do here. Here when you need your horn, you have to get the attention of Cadillac Escalades in the hands of well-meaning, well-heeled, but distracted, assassins. You want to press the button and go "BBBLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!".

Fortunately the Italians invented just the thing for North American needs. It's name is the Stebel Compact Nautilus, and it's an air horn for motorbikes. It goes "BBBLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!".

The trick nowadays is finding one of these gems. The manufacturer seems to have discontinued them (likely too little demand in Italy; too few buyers here). Fortunately I have one.

I extracted it from my Vespa LX 150 and here's how you install it in a Vespa GTS.

This is not especially difficult.

First find a Stebel Compact Nautilus on Ebay and snatch it up.

Once you have it, the bit that's tricky, is getting the right kind of juice to the horn.

The stock horn gets all the power it needs straight from the horn button. The Stebel horn is a serious horn. It needs power straight from the battery. When in operation it draws close to 20 amps. It needs its own fuse (I use a 25A fuse).

Here's wiring diagram that I made for the installation. If you click on it you'll get a larger more user-friendly image.

The first thing you need to do to get the installation going is to open up the bike.

First remove the Piaggio badge.

Next remove the single screw that secures the horncast.

Slide the horncast up, and off the bike. Next remove the two kneepad panels.

That exposes the screws retaining the legshield and glove box. There are two screws under the horncast, two screws at the base of each side of the legshield on the rider's side side, two screws behind each of the kneepads. Finally, there is another screw inside the glovebox. Once all the screws are removed, and once you remove the cap from the radiator fill tube,  it's possible to wiggle the legshield free. Here's a link to an excellent video produced by Mic Bergsma that will make this all crystal clear.

Now disconnect and remove the stock Vespa horn. The wires that are connected to the stock horn are then reconnected to the 85 and 86 terminals of the automotive relay. The automotive relay can be zip tied to the horn assembly.

Now run the negative lead from the terminal strip to the negative Stebel horn terminal located on the base of the horn. Run the positive 25A fused lead from the terminal strip to the 30 terminal of the relay. Now run a positive lead from the 87 terminal of the relay to the positive terminal of the Stebel horn.

Here's video that shows what the terminal strip I made looks like. It's handy because it makes it easy to install more circuits (like heated grips, eventually).

Working from the rider side of the legshield, wiggle the horn into position so that the horn is essentially vertical with the mouth of the trumpet aligned with the horncast opening. The fit is extremely snug. I was not able to use a zip tie on it. Once the legshield is buttoned back up, the horn will be stuck there and will not move.

Here are some photos showing the horn installed and that relay zip tied in place.

Before buttoning the Vespa back up, it's best to test the installation to make sure that the horn is working well. Here's a video that follows the negative and positive electrical leads from the battery, up through the interior of the legshield, over to the terminal strip, and then shows that horn test.

Now that the horn has passed its test, and the ringing is subsiding in your ear, it's time to put the bike back together.

There's a trick. You knew that there had to be a trick, right?

It took me some cursing and Googling, and I'll spare you the pain.

Piaggio has a fiendish streak in their industrial design, usually involving things that lock, like the glovebox, for instance.

It turns out that wiggling the glovebox into place and making sure that the mechanical link that unlocks the glovebox when you push on the ignition switch assembly, is impossible, unless you get an elastic band, hook it on the base of the dogleg lever that actuates the glovebox lock release, pass the elastic to the front of the legshield and hook it onto something (anything will do), all to make sure that the blasted little free-floating, four-flushing, dog-leg lever stays put in the retracted position.

Now you can go ahead and wiggle the legshield back into position, and button everything back up.

Simple (OK I cursed a little). But now I have my loud horn back. Yesssssss! Feeling safer already, and it's already saved my bacon on a couple of occasions.

Farkle, meaning

Main Entry: far·kle
Pronunciation: \ˈfär-kəl\
Function: verb
Inflected Form(s): far·kled; far·kling \-k(ə-)liŋ\
Etymology: Moto English, conflation of function and sparkle
Date: 20th century
transitive verb, to add after-market functionality to a powered two-wheeler, especially chrome-plated accessories
synonyms: splurge
— far·kly \-k(ə-)lē\ adjective
noun, a device extending the function of a powered two wheeler

Vespas may be the ultimate urban vehicle.  They are compact, comfortable, nimble, powerful, rolling works of automotive art.

Vespas are also wonderful beasts of burden.  A stock Vespa offers spacious underseat storage and a glove box in the legshield, both of which lock securely, and a bag hook on the legshield.  There is also the passenger seat. With a few straps, bungees or cords you can carry some surprising stuff on the passenger seat.

Most Vespa owners augment this already impressive capacity by adding a rear rack, a topcase and sometimes a front rack.

It's the carrying capacity of scooters, and Vespas in particular, that makes them superbly suited as a commuting vehicle.

But can the ultimate commuter bike also tour?

The Vespa's achilles heel as far as touring is concerned has nothing to do with its small wheels, and  everything to do with its small fuel tank.

It's a more or less open secret that I'm gearing up for a major touring challenge.  It will be a significant challenge for me.  On the other hand, I have every reason to believe that my Vespa GTS 300 i.e. Super is more than capable of carrying me there, and back.

The trick to touring on a Vespa is to use other Vespa strengths to compensate for the Vespa's main weakness.

Today I received a long awaited farkle from Didge at Classic Racks in the UK.  Didge is legendary among Vespa cognoscenti as the inventor, manufacturer and purveyor of the versatile footrack.

No, a footrack is not a rack you wear on your foot, nor is it a rack on which to rest, or store your foot.

It's a sturdy metal rack that turns the Vespa's footwell into a superb place to carry gear that would be challenging to carry elsewhere.  It's also the perfect place to carry a small jerry can of gasoline.

True to Vespa form, Didge's footrack serves its utilitarian purpose, and does it in style.  Installing the rack took a screwdriver and all of fifteen minutes.

Next step: go to Canadian Tire and pick up a suitable gasoline container.