2015 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Adirondack Museum to Horseshoe Lake

The pit stop for this leg of the tour... no wait... this isn't the Amazing Race.

The meeting place for this portion of the tour was the Adirondack Museum.  It's a great place for a rendezvous, but it's also a great place to visit as a destination in its own right.

The museum is perched near the top of an escarpment so that it overlooks Blue Mountain Lake. But you won't know that until you are well into your museum visit.

Google maps

The theme for this expansive and well-endowed exhibition space ought to be 'the Adirondacks, a place where modern life and the wilderness meet'.

As you enter the museum's campus, there's no mistaking that you're in the heart of the Adirondacks, yet the space has a big city metropolitan feel to it. The exhibits are meticulously curated and presented, the documentation that provides insight and context for each exihibit is plentiful and comprehensive, and the objects in the museum are of obvious museological importance. In fact there is at least one piece in the collection that is on loan from the Smithsonian in Washington D.C.  You don't get exhibits on loan from the Smithsonian unless your museum has stature and pull.

It was mid-afternoon when Stephanie and I began our visit. We knew we would only be able to see portions of the museum's exhibits.  We also had a lot of ground to cover to get properly acquainted.

We began our visit by purchasing admission tickets (my treat).  From the reception desk outside the gift shop we headed over to the boating wing. The docent on duty (a very kindly and knowledgeable gentleman whose name I can't for the life of me remember - Jim help me out... he was on duty when we were there too) took notice of our armoured pants and boots, put two and two together, and took us straight to a corner of the canoe exhibit to show us a photo of a turn of the century (20th not 21st) motorcycle (it could have been an early Harley) rigged as a canoe transporter.

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Another star of the boating wing is a 19th century ultra-lightweight canoe, cedar I believe, that beats a modern day Kevlar ultra-light by a whopping two pounds!  A ten-pound vintage canoe, can you believe it?

We strolled and talked, and talked and strolled.  The museum was an ideal setting to get acquainted.

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Stephanie was at turns earnest and serious, sharing her considerable riding and touring experience, learning about the museum's exhibits... and playful.  I witnessed first-hand her signature selfies as works in process.

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

250cc Superhero!

We wrapped up our visit at the museum's café.  Jim Mandle really, really wanted the three of us to enjoy this visit and had devoted considerable care and expert attention to an itinerary that was frustrated by the fortuitous sale of his Lake Luzerne home. I had to make sure that Stephanie and I sat at the corner table with the stunning views of Blue Mountain Lake.  Jim these shots are our heartfelt expression of our thanks to you for making our little two-day adventure so very pleasant.

We chatted over our late afternoon snack, getting to know each other. Our conversation inevitably turned to thoughts of a campsite as the afternoon turned to early evening.  It was time to make tracks.

Stephanie and I quickly agreed that Jim's suggestion of a camp site at Horsehoe Lake made the most sense for us. We had each saved Jim's e-mail messages so we had a really good idea of how to locate the evening's destination.

Off we went northbound on Highway 30 with Stephanie in the lead.

Cruising north on route 30 was joyful and thoroughly satisfying.  We stopped at the village of Long Lake to refuel at the same spot where I had topped up my anti-freeze earlier in the day. With a plentiful supply of gasoline we pressed on.

Stephanie pulled over to snap some photos on the causeway that crosses Long Lake.

We got rolling again and in no time we had covered the 22 kilometres from Long Lake to the junction where route 421 heads west, ominously marked as a dead end.

Memories of my ride with Jim came flooding back as we crossed the stone bridge where Jim and I had stumbled on the artists painting in plein air.  This time there were no artists to be seen  but this picturesque spot had attracted swimmers upstream sliding down the gentle rapids on the far side of the stream, and a couple of anglers trying their luck where the water spills north into Tupper Lake.

Hopping back on the Vespas we continued on 421.  The roadway degraded as we made our way to Horseshoe Lake, eight kilometres further west. Potholes, heaved pavement, and loose gravel slowed our progress. We crested a rise and there on the right was a gravel driveway leading to what seemed to be one of the campsites that Jim had suggested.  Stephanie asked that I stay put while she investigated. There were signs that the site had been recently used and we wanted to make sure we weren't about to take someone else's spot. Jim had suggested that if the first spots off the paved portion of 421 were unavailable, me might continue past the point where the road turned to dirt because there were other spots further on.  Stephanie was minded to explore a little further, so off we went.

It turned out that nothing seemed obviously better than the first site, so we turned back and settled on that first one.

As soon as we parked the bikes we were viciously attacked.

It was the camping equivalent of Pearl Harbor. The word had gone out that there was fresh meat at the lake, and wave upon maddening, buzzing wave of winged marauders single-mindedly bent on devouring us whole, made Stephanie and I the ground zero of insect armageddon.  It was a bug-o-calypse of magnificent proportions. That said, not the worst I have experienced, likely because the mosquitoes and blood-thirsty deer and horse flies were struggling in vain to pierce our armoured clothing.  Another reason to ride ATGATT.

Fortunately, modern tents are easily pitched closed, so once we had our safe houses ready for us, we knew there were no invaders within.  That was a very good thing because while we were setting up house, the following conversation occured. Me: "Did you bring any bug spray?" Stephanie: "No. Did you?" Me: "No." So much for my Boy Scout pledge to be prepared.

I made the smallest possible opening in the tent flap, threw all my gear in, then zipped the flap up tight.

We stood there admiring our handiwork for a moment.

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

It took mere seconds to reach a consensus that this was perhaps a great place to spend the night, but not a place to grab our evening snack. Stephanie had picked up some cheese, dried sausages and some head cheese earlier in the day.  We hopped back on our mounts and made a bee-line back to the  Tupper Lake inlet. When we got there, the swimmers were leaving and the anglers had left, so we had that wonderful slice of Adirondack wilderness to ourselves.

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

We sat on a smooth rock, shared our dinner and chatted some more.  The bugs left us more or less alone.  I suspect that they had massed such an impressive offensive over at Horseshoe Lake, that they had left themselves no option but to leave a skeleton force at the Tupper Lake squadron. They were no match for our armoured clothing, and no match for the speed of our Vespas.

It was nine-ish by the time we declared dinner done, and made our way back to mosquito junction.

I made the smallest possible opening in the tent flap and dove inside, made a clumsy U-turn, and zipped the door shut.  I sat in the tent, surrounded by saddlebags and my two dry bags and assessed the situation. As far as I could tell I was alone in the tent. I zipped the window open pleased that the mosquito netting let the breeze in, but excluded the bloody bugs.  Stephanie was still outdoors, softly cursing the bugs and mumbling instructions and encouragements to herself.  I realized that I had left the fly panels closed, and I asked Stephanie if she wouldn't mind opening them for me, which she kindly did on the spot.

Stephanie settled into her tent as I began unpacking.  Mattress pad, sleeping bag, pillow, camp chair... then I struggled out of my armoured gear, jacket, boots, pants... At length, I collapsed on the bed, spent. Once we were both well settled in, the conversation resumed, tent to tent. It was strangely and wonderfully intimate. We were utterly alone, voices floating between the tents.

Stephanie had some whisky which she offered to share.  She poured a shot or so into an empty water bottle, barely unzipped her tent flap and tossed me the booze, which I retrieved in a similar manner.

I got a decent education on the merits of whisky, bourbon, and scotch, little of which I remember, other than the gift of warmth and relaxation that Stephanie's whisky gave me.

Darkness fell slowly but resolutely, and our exchanges waned slowly too.  Neither of us said goodnight.  It wasn't by any means a lack of consideration, or a lapse of good manners. For my part it was more that I didn't want to close the day, to end the conversation. It was heaven, and I wanted it to last, knowing that it couldn't. We were tired.

At some point our voices fell silent and we slept.

2015 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Departure

The night before I leave is never truly restful. I become apprehensive. The rut of daily life feels deep, and the comforts of home weigh on me as I think of the looming launch. The risks and uncertainties drift around me, like shifting banks of grey fog, as my imagination conjures reasons to stay safely put.

I emerge slowly from my restless slumber and the reality of the trip begins to dawn on me as the rising sun bathes the bedroom in shades of pale grey.

The warmth of the shower, the cascade of cleansing water, drenching my body, washes the doubts away, clears my mind. Reality is the antidote that sets me free.

The final pieces come together, I pull on my armoured pants, snap the buckles down on my boots. I look up to find Susan in the doorway, still sleepy, smiling. We hug and kiss. That seals the launch. I feel myself floating almost free.

I pull on my jacket and helmet, wrestle the tour-laden Vespa off the centre stand, and hit the starter. I roll down the driveway. "Turn left on Beaconsfield Boulevard" the Garmin commands. That's how my 2015 Blogger to Blogger Tour begins.

I was so preoccupied with the departure details that as I hit the highway and my mind relaxed, I realized that I had neglected to take a photo of the adventure-ready Vespa. I hopped off the highway and took the lakeshore road until there was a suitable place to take a picture.

With that out of the way, I got back on track headed to the border. Thoughts of risk were not completely banished.  The specters of risk rose to mind as I crossed the Champlain bridge to Montreal's south shore. I stuck to the middle lane. A few weeks earlier a motorcyclist was killed crossing the bridge when the impact of a crash launched him off the bridge, plunging him hundreds and hundreds of feet to the river below.

The border crossing was quick and easy.

I was headed to exit 29 off I-87 right in the heart of the Adirondack exits.

While there is plenty of beauty to behold on stretches of the Northway...

...  I was anxious to leave the Interstate and head west into the mountains.  The Interstate twists, and alternately climbs and dips as it heads into New York State's mountainous upstate playground.  I was riding wide-open throttle. The speedometer indicated just over 120 km/h, while the GPS, set to miles, reported a slightly more modest, but dead-on true, 74 mph.

Had I been more vigilant, I would have moderated the pace given that the temperature gauge was edging closer and closer to the redline.

But that detail had managed to escape me.

Exit 29 was finally here, I eased off the throttle and coasted off the freeway.

Looking down, I noticed water on my right knee. Huh?

Once off the exit ramp I pulled onto the gravel shoulder.  The sun was shining brightly.  Sweat beaded on my neck and down my spine as soon as I spotted the mess on the floorboards.  Coolant.

Was this the end of my adventure? Over before it had really begun?  Should I bail?

I knew that my Vespa's motor would be toast within mere minutes if it ran without coolant.  I looked at the temperature gauge.  The needle was at the midpoint, perfectly normal.  My mind raced, like a cornered animal, looking frantically for a way out, a path forward.

The amount of fluid on the right floorboard indicated a serious leak.  Since there was some fluid on the left floorboard as well, and anti-freeze had leaked from under the bottom lip of the glovebox, there were indications that it was a massive leak, likely a series of leaks.

Having taken my Vespa apart on a number of occasions, and having dealt with a previous coolant leak, I imagined the hose issues that might cause the cooling system to lose that much coolant. But how did the anti-freeze land on my knee and thigh? And with a massive hose or clamp failure, I would still be leaking anti-freeze. By now the temperature gauge ought to have been pegged at the top, not sitting  at the normal midpoint.

Aside from the fluid pooled on the floorboards, everything seemed paradoxically normal. All the clues pointed to a leak from the top of the reservoir behind the right kneepad.

The big question that loomed unanswered was, did I need to scrub the mission?  Did I call for a tow? Should I limp on and hope for the best? Move on, or retreat?  Was a catastrophic failure looming? Much as I wanted to continue, scrapping my Vespa was not an option. Still the heat gauge pointed to normal.  The check engine light wasn't lit. The motor sounded fine.

I'm not a quitter, and I'm not timid. Press on. Find a gas station, top up the coolant, keep an eagle eye on the gauge. Don't max out the throttle, spare the bike. The decision was taking shape. The whole time I sat there, not a single car went by.  Other than the rushing sound of passing cars on the Northway, I was alone.

Acutely conscious of the risk, I pulled off the shoulder and headed down the road. The one thing I didn't do was check the GPS to see where the next gas station might be.  Go figure.

It was a good thing. Had I checked, I might have second-guessed myself.

Blue Ridge Road,  eventually merging with Highway 28N miles away to the west, climbed and twisted its way west into the Adirondack National Park.  Two lanes of asphalt ribbon hemmed in by towering walls of evergreens. Mile upon mile racked up, no sign of habitation, certainly no service station. Eventually the road began a long downhill stretch with twists and turns, and signs warning truckers to slow their rigs.

The ride was spectacular, and would have been dreamy, but for my ultra-sharp focus on the temperature, and monitoring every other aspect of the bike's performance, nursing it up hills, and riding deeper and deeper into my commitment to the ride. While I rode I turned the coolant leak over, and over, and over in my mind.  I was slowly concluding that the cooling system had overheated and the coolant spilled out of the reservoir. That was the only theory I could muster to explain the amount of spilled coolant, the persistently and counter-intuitively normal operating temperature since, and the fact that the Vespa was no longer leaking coolant.

Thirty-seven very long miles later I came to the crossroads where 28N and 30 meet at the village of Long Lake New York.

 The gas station at the intersection was a sight for sore eyes.  I parked the bike at the pumps, and strolled into the gas station convenience store.  "Do you have any anti-freeze?" I inquired, my fingers secretely crossed in my pants pocket. My heart sank briefly as the cashier looked around the store with a furrowed brow. "Oh sure honey, check on that rack over there." I must have looked casual, but inwardly all I could think was "Yes, yes, YES, YES!!"

I eagerly grabbed the two litre jug, shelled out $15 dollars, and headed back to the bike.  I unloaded the gear, refueled, reloaded the gear, and moved the bike to a parking spot next to the convenience store. I unloaded the bike again, strolled over to the pumps and came back with the windshield squeegee, using it to clean up the coolant mess on the legshield and floorboards.

With the environmental clean-up out of the way, I dug out my  tool roll and a rag, and set to work. It took only seconds to remove the right kneepad to reveal the top of the coolant reservoir. I gingerly and slowly twisted  the cap counter-clockwise.  After a quarter turn it hissed softly.  That was it, the pressure subsided and I was able to remove the cap.  The bike had cooled enough that there was no gush of hot liquid. I peered into the neck of the reservoir with the aid of my super bright flashlight. Clearly the coolant was below the 'min' mark. I added anti-freeze slowly until the level was above the minimum mark and closer to the maximum.  In all, I estimate I added about a cup or at most a cup and a half of coolant which roughly matched the amount of coolant I felt I had lost.  So far, so good.

I made a pit stop in the restroom and refilled my water bottle.

I was now reasonably confident that the rest of the trip would be uneventful, at least as far as the Vespa was concerned.

I turned left and headed south on highway 30.  The miles to the Adirondack museum counted down on the Garmin.  Soon I rounded a bend, and down the hill there it was in all its glory.  I pulled into the parking lot and circled around looking for Stephanie's blue Vespa. She wasn't there. Not that she should have been. She had estimated reaching the museum between two and three o'clock. Even with my little coolant misadventure, it was only one o'clock.

I picked a spot in the parking lot where I could keep an eye out for Ms. Yue.

I got my camp chair out and settled in, desperately trying to get internet service so I could monitor messages.

The sun was hot, and I had to maneuver my chair in an effort to stay in the shade cast by the small tree at the edge of the lot.  I gazed at the passing cars. I looked at the clouds.

Time passed, slowly as it does when you wait.  I sipped my water.  I watched more clouds. I baked in the afternoon sun. I wished I was thinner. I checked the cell service, barely there, mostly useless. I listened to the  birds and cicadas. I wished I had brought a hat. Then I remembered a time when I was nine or ten. I went for a hike with my Dad. He had showed me how to make a hat by tying knots in the four corners of a kerchief.  As it happened, I carry a couple of kerchiefs in the glove compartment.  I fished one out and made myself a hat. Much better. I watched more clouds. I fiddled with taking selfies thanks to my camera's WiFi remote iPhone app.  Thanks Bob.

And then it happened.  A bike rounded the curve at the bottom of the hill to the south.  Could it be?

Of course it could!!!

And there she was, in the flesh. Stephanie Yue and her blue Vespa with the Rhode Island plates, most recently hailing from southern California.

Stay tuned my friends, there's more to come.

PS:

I just got Stephanie's photos.  Here are two of me that Stephanie took soon after arriving. I wore the T-Shirt that Bill Leuthold sent me. The perfect attire for the trip.

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

2015 Blogger to Blogger Tour - Ms. Quezzie, I presume

Copyright - Stephanie Yue

Imagine reading about someone you've never met. You share some things in common that set you apart from most people you meet in your day to day life. You are curious. What makes them tick?

How far out of your way, how far from your comfort zone, what sacrifices would you make, to meet that person face to face? To share a slice of your life with them. To share their path, if only briefly.

I can answer those questions.

This past Monday, July 20, 2015, I set out on a two day 600 kilometer road trip to meet Stephanie Yue. She is known online as Quezzie, an avatar she adapted from a video game that proved handy online, chiefly because it was unique enough that it was never taken when signing up for online forums or e-mail services. I think that's how I stumbled on her story, most likely on ModernVespa, maybe on the adventure riding forum known simply as "ADV".

Stephanie is an illustrator by profession, and an avid martial artist and climber in her spare time. She is also a prolific diarist, a blogger as we know them these days.

On May 5th, 2014, Stephanie put her life in Providence Rhode Island to one side, pared her everyday belongings down only to those things that could travel with her on her Vespa, and set out to see America. Solo. All forty-eight of the contiguous States. All four corners. Key West, Seattle, San Diego, and Lubec Maine, her ultimate destination for this chapter of her life.

Her riding blog began with her departure preparations. I have followed it pretty much from the beginning. Online diaries are powerful. You follow a person, you get to know them. The best bloggers are candid about their trials and tribulations. Stuff that went well. Things that took a toll. Stephanie is one of those.

Like an astronomer tracking a comet, I knew that inevitably Quezzie would approach my orbit. I reached out to make contact. Could we meet?

The answer to that question, deceptively simple, involved layer upon layer of planning, set backs, contingencies that could not have been predicted, potential mission-scrubbing glitches, and, in the end, depended on courage and determination. Hers, and mine.

This past Sunday I spent, by Susan's reckoning, four hours prepping my Vespa. I gathered gear, checked my touring checklist, swapped in a large windscreen, filled the tank, filled the spare tank, picked up my loaner tent and mattress, loaded my saddlebags, and strapped it all on the Vespa.

On Monday, July 20, 2015 at 08h00, I raised the garage door and launched. It sounds simple, doesn't it? Rendez-vous was at the Adirondack Museum, a place I was now familiar with. Three and a half hours distant, in the very heart of America's largest national park.

I plan to take my time telling this story. It was only thirty-six hours out of a remarkable year in my life, but if I tell the story well, put you in my shoes, lend you my eyes and ears, I will do you, and I a favour. That's what I believe. If you have come this far, you believe it too.

Do you think it's weird, that a 63 year-old newly-retired guy, very, very happily married, would set out to meet a single woman half that age far, far from home? On a motorbike? For an overnight camping trip? In the wilderness? Some people thought so. If you are one of those folks, read on. You may judge for yourself.

How about Stephanie? Do you think it's weird that a young woman in her prime would knowingly venture deep into a vast forest, well beyond cell phone coverage, to spend a pitch black night camping with a man twice her age, a stranger she had never met? You wouldn't be alone if you thought so, I'm sure you'd have plenty of company.

Could you, would you, do what either of us did?

Stay tuned. No intimate detail will be spared.

--------- PS ---------

To read this story from Stephanie's perspective, click here.

Project report: Installing Viking Lammelar saddlebags on a 2003 Honda Shadow VT750 ACE

Sonja and I purchased the Honda Shadow VT750 ACE so that Sonja, who lives in Germany, could have a bike to tour with in Eastern Canada and the U.S.  You can read about that in a previous article.

When we¹ got the bike it was basically stock. The only changes that had been made to the bike were the addition of an SAE power point direct to the battery, a Cobra after-market exhaust, a pillion backrest, and a rear rack. If anything, the Cobra exhaust hindered rather than helped because of the unnecessary noise it made, and it seemed to cause backfiring when slowing on compression.

Although the backrest/sissy bar and the rear rack are excellent touring accessories, for the Shadow to become an acceptable touring option, it needed some additions.

One of those additions was a set of saddlebags.

Sonja and I looked at what was available that would be functional, yet still look good on the bike. We are slaves to fashion.

Our taste leans towards being understated, so neither of us was really looking forward to lots of buckles, rivets and tassles.

After taking our time to see what was available, and after exchanging e-mails and web links, we found saddlebags that seemed like they would fit the bill.

That was step one.

Step two was keeping our costs manageable. This is where blogging pays dividends. This means that I need to digress, just a bit. Please bear with me.

Motorcycle House, an online vendor that owns and sells the Viking line of motorcycle clothing and motorcycle accessories, had approached me in 2014 to see if I would agree to do some product reviews for them. At the time, owning a cruiser-style motorcycle was the furthest thing from my mind. I was a dedicated Vespa man. Viking’s product line leans heavily to the cruiser market.

I was flattered by the offer and I took them up on it, agreeing to review a classic motorcycle jacket that I had always wanted. That style is a stretch on a Vespa, but I figured what the heck, take a chance.

Working with the folks at Motorcycle House and Viking turned out to be mutually advantageous and, frankly, quite enjoyable as well.

Looking back on this adventure, I’m not sure whether the Viking Cycle Angel Fire jacket attracted the Honda Shadow cruiser to me, if the so-called law of attraction did it, or whether there is some other inexorable and universal force of nature at play here. One thing is certain, there is a cruiser in my garage, and it now has some really nice saddlebags.

Here is how those saddlebags came to be.

Sonja and I made a pitch to Motorcycle House and Viking Bags. Sonja and I would agree to feature the saddlebags we wanted prominently on our blogs, covering every aspect from selecting the saddlebags, through the installation process, and eventually how they performed on the road during Sonja’s upcoming Maritime tour. Viking Bags requested a business case which Sonja and I were happy to provide. Viking liked the proposal. No surprise there, because it was patterned on Jim Mandle's pitch to Piaggio North America. Jim is a former advertising and marketing executive and he knows his way around a business case, don't you know.

A few weeks later, the saddlebags showed up on my doorstep.

That was the easy bit. Getting the bags installed is what this article is all about.

Before explaining the installation I should share something about the saddlebags themselves.

They are sold by Viking Bags as Viking Lamellar hard saddlebags. They are fibreglass saddlebags entirely covered in black leather. The bags have dedicated locks and are hinged at the front. They are designed to match the arc of the cruiser’s rear fender. They have a reflector on the side. These saddlebags have elegant flowing lines that complement the Honda Shadow VT750 American Classic Edition.

Courtesy Viking Bags

The saddlebags are slim, provide good clearance from the Honda Shadow’s exhaust and rear shock absorbers, and make excellent use of the space available on the bike, as you will see. They are lined with a soft synthetic fabric with some padding on the bed, or floor, of the saddlebag.

The interior portion of the locking mechanism is shielded to avoid getting snagged by items carried in the saddlebag. That’s a small detail, but it’s very much appreciated. The Vespa top case lacks that feature and as a result is sometimes difficult to lock and unlock.

The Viking Lamellar hard saddlebags are supplied with the necessary mounting hardware. Because the saddlebags are intended to fit more than one type of cruiser-style motorcycle, the bags are supplied without any holes drilled in them for the mounting hardware.

To install the bags, you have to find a way to mount one of them on the bike in a temporary way so that the bag is held in place while you check to see if the placement is appropriate. Because the left and right sides of the Shadow’s backend are symmetrical as far as the mounting points are concerned, it’s only necessary to determine the location of one bag. Once the holes are drilled in one bag, and the bag is mounted, assuming the holes are in the right places, you transpose the holes onto the second bag. That’s the theory.

I wouldn’t say that installing the saddlebags was trivial, because it wasn’t. But I will say that if I managed to do it, then so can you. All you need is a little skill, some patience, some ingenuity, and, in my case, just a little help from a dear friend who is a talented mechanic.

To put this job into its greater context, I have to say that every job I tackled on the Honda Shadow turned out to be significantly more challenging than the jobs I did on the Vespas. I measure the difficulty of jobs in sweat, curses, and the onset of the feeling that the particular job might be beyond my meagre abilities. Jobs on the Vespa rarely rated (on the traditional scale of ten) more than 3 for sweat, 2 for curses and 0 on the feeling of impending doom.

Fortunately, I managed to overcome all the tricky bits for the saddlebag installation, and I am happy to share them here with you. That should make your purchase and installation of these Viking Bags even less challenging than it was for me.

Here we go.

Tools required

• Electric drill 
• Set of drill bits
• Set of socket wrenches
• Dremmel tool and metal cutting disk (to cut screws to the proper length) 

Supplies

• 85 mm M8 fully threaded bolts
• 20 mm M6 fully threaded machine screws
  

  NB: Although the mounting kit supplied with the saddlebags comes with the necessary bolts, I found that the supplied bolts were too short to do the job on this particular bike.   The reason the large M8 70 mm bolts supplied in the installation kit didn't fit is that our Honda Shadow has an added rear rack and a sissy bar back rest. Those additions are what required longer bolts. I had to order the bolts as a special order since the local big box hardware stores don’t carry that size of metric bolts.

Installation Steps

1. The first step is to remove the saddlebags from the shipping box. Find the key for each saddlebag and set that aside. They are only supplied with a single key and the saddlebags are not keyed alike. Eventually you will want to have some additional keys cut. I cut two additional sets so that I have a set, Sonja will have a set, and there is a backup set.
   
   
2. Start the installation process by taking the right side saddlebag and holding it against the right side of the motorcycle to get an approximate idea of how it will fit. Start with the right-side bag because the exhaust is on the right side of the bike and you need to take exhaust clearance into account in positioning the bag.
   
   
3. Unless you have someone helping you, or you’re a mutant with octopus arms, now you need to find a way to hold the saddlebag in place on the bike while you step back to assess whether the saddlebag is properly lined up. I used a length of marine docking line that I keep in the car to fasten loads when the need arises. This turned out to work really well for me. I attached the saddlebag with the docking line so that it was held in position, yet I was able to move the saddlebag around to make sure that was properly positioned.
   
   
4. In determining the proper position for the bag consider the following:
   a) is the bag level?
   b) does the bag clear the bike’s muffler?
   c) is the bag positioned well front to back: does it clear the rear shock absorber, does it clear the rear turn signals?
   
   
5. I was able to position the saddlebag, making small adjustments, using the docking line. I did this over a period of days. I wanted to make very sure that I had nailed the optimal positioning before drilling any holes. Rushing this step is definitely not a good idea. In that way, working solo forced me to come up with the docking line solution and that worked really, really well.
   
   
6. Once you are absolutely confident that the bag is well positioned on the bike, press the bag very firmly against the bike in the hope that the two rearmost fender bolts will leave an impression on the leather of the bag.  If you look very, very closely at the next photo below, you will see a faint mark on the leather right at the tip of the drill bit.  You may be able to spare some effort and gain a little accuracy (although the pressure method suggested by Viking did work for me), if you butter up the fender bolts with a substance that will leave a mark on the bag.  Toothpaste might do the trick.  Plus it's minty fresh.
   
   
7. Select a drill bit that matches the diameter of the Viking mounting bolt and drill the two holes for the two top mounting points.
   
   
   
8. With the saddlebag on the work surface (in my case on the kitchen counter) assemble the mounting hardware as follows:
   
   a) first attach the crossbar to the bottom part of the black metal tubular braces. The bottom part is the part with the shorter of the two mounting tubes. The instructions are good on this point, so follow them as indicated. If you’ve done this bit right, you’ll have the mounting hardware interconnected in a kind of sloppy ’U".
   
   
   You may find, as I did, that the geometry the bag with its curves, and the rigid geometry of the mounting brackets, makes attaching the mounting hardware a challenge.
   
   The solution I found is to use the drill to work the holes a little bit larger until everything lines up and fits.
   
   b) mount the hardware on the bag as follows:
   
   
   1. place a large supplied washer on each of the large mounting bolts, and insert the bolts from the inside of the bag.
      
      
   2. place a large supplied washer on each bolt from the outside of the bag.
      
      
   3. place the mounting hardware on the bolts.
      
      
   4. You will see that you can now swing the mounting hardware left and right on the bag. Position the hardware so that the brackets will support the bag well. Too far to one side and the bottom mounting bracket will be too close to the edge of the bag. Too far in the other direction and you’ll be too close to the other edge. Find a spot in the travel of the mounting hardware that’s just right. Trust your judgment and the Goldilocks principle. You’ll know ‘just right’ when you see it.
      
      
   c) Mark the two spots on the bag where the bottom holes for the mounting hardware will need to be drilled. Use your wits and perhaps some toothpaste as suggested earlier, or lipstick if you’re feeling kinky (make sure to get prior approval from the lipstick’s owner, otherwise may heaven help you).
   
   
9. Once you are absolutely confident that you’ve found where those holes need to be, select a drill bit that matches the diameter of the screws for the lower part of the mounting hardware. Remove all the mounting hardware from the bag, and drill those holes.
   
   
10. We’re getting close now. Reassemble the mounting hardware on the bag. This time, the cross bar goes on the inside of the bag, not the outside. Place the smaller supplied washer on each of the lower mounting screws, place the supplied black powder-coated crossbar on the screws, and insert the screws in the lower mounting holes. Insert the black powder-coated female bolt into each vertical mounting bar and loosely hand-tigthen the lower mounting screws. Now swing the vertical mounting bars into position and insert the large bolts with washers from the inside of the bag.
    
    
11. It was at this step that it became clear that the supplied screws for the lower part of the mounting bracket were also too short. No problem, I found longer M6 metric screws at the local hardware store. I would later find that the large supplied mounting bolts were also too short, in each case by about 15 mm. The longer lower mounting screws I bought were a little too long, so I cut them to the right length using a Dremel cutting wheel.
    
    
12. Now that the mounting hardware is properly mounted on the right side saddlebag, let’s move from the kitchen to the garage.
    
    
13. Using a socket wrench, remove the two most rearward bolts on the Shadow’s rear fender.
    
    
14. At this point you can save yourself from much sweating, cursing and despair because, if like in my case, there is a rear rack and sissy bar or pillion backrest, they are mounted to the same mounting points on the bike that the saddlebags will use. The effect of those accessories is to link the left and right sides of the bike and transfer stresses and pressure from the left to the right. The result is that when the right side mounting bolts are removed, the metal bits become misaligned, and the result is that mounting the saddlebag, while possible (I know, I did it after much sweat, cursing and despair), is very, very, very difficult.
    
    My close friend Gino offered some very sage master mechanic’s advice: “When it’s too hard to do, you’re doing it wrong!”
    
    I ended up taking the bike over to Gino’s and he spotted the issue immediately. “Loosen the left side bolts to release the pressure, then install the saddlebag” he said.
    
    And just like that, everything lined up and the saddlebag installs in a wink.
    

    

    Gino tightening things up

15. Once the right-side saddlebag is installed, and you’re sure that the mounting position is good, remove the bag, remove all the mounting hardware and move back to the kitchen counter.
    
    
16. Place the left-side saddle bag next to the right-side saddlebag. Make sure the bags are perfectly aligned parallel to each other. After trying various means of transposing the mounting holes from the right side to the left-side bag, I settled on using a drywall screw. It is really very pointed and sharp, and I managed to make a tiny mark in the leather on the left-side bag for each of the four holes.
    
    
17. All that’s left to do is to drill the required holes in the left-side bag, install the mounting hardware, and install the saddlebags on the bike. Piece of cake.

Now the Honda Shadow has saddlebags, and the result is one really good looking bike.

The Viking saddlebags easily hold the following touring necessities with room to spare:

1. Portable electric air pump;
2. Tool roll;
3. Tire pressure gauge;
4. Rain gear;
5. Sunglasses;
6. Multi-tool;
7. Flashlight;
8. ROK straps;
9. Miscellaneous Boy Scout stuff (four sets of 25’ paracord and Figure9 tensioners, emergency rescue tool (window breaker, seatbelt cutter), medical kit);
10. A rag, and a can of Pledge (for cleaning visors and windscreens).

All the other stuff one needs to carry for touring in comfort, mostly clothing and toilettries, will fit in the Viking tail bag.

Yes you are correct, that means there is another product review in the works.

Time will tell how Sonja finds the set up we have put together performs on the road.

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1. "We" and "Our" refers to Sonja and I.  Sonja lives in the Black Forest in Germany, and I live on the Island of Montreal in Canada.  We co-own the Honda Shadow that is (or will shortly be) the subject of many posts here on Life on Two Wheels, and on Find me on the Road.  The idea of co-owning the bike came out of a discussion I had with Sonja in early 2015 when she asked me if I could give her advice on how she might purchase a bike in Canada or the US, and use it to tour whenever she came here on vacation.  One thing led to another, and with the consent and support of our spouses, we became co-owners.  It's a very cool and cost effective way that enables riders to tour easily far from home.

Rider profile: Jim Mandle

Name: Jim Mandle
Find me on Earth: Hernando, Florida
Find me Online: ModernVespa.com (ADK Jim)
Interview Date: July 6, 2015
Interview Location: Lake Luzerne NY (ed.: spiritually)

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

Jim: My real riding career started at age 64, but I first fell in love with scooters when I saw pictures of the early Vespas in the Sears Roebuck catalog at about age 8. I just loved the lines and aesthetics of them and used to keep pictures of them on my desk, and later in my briefcase, to dream about. My first riding experience on a motorized two-wheeler was when a friend in junior high school used to let me ride his Cushman scooter around his family’s backyard. What a thrill!

Scootcommute: How many motorbikes have you owned?

Jim: The first was a broken down Honda, which I think was around 125 cc. I was given it by a friend in non-working order, and spent an entire summer trying to get it to run. On its “maiden voyage” I made it halfway around the lake where I lived and had to be towed back – I looked like a water skier being pulled by our car. My second “real” scooter was my 50cc midnight blue Vespa LX 50. I kept it for less than a year, building my riding skills, until I realized it was underpowered and unsafe for the roads I intended to ride.

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

Jim: My current bike is my favorite - a red 2013 Vespa 300 GTS Super.

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

Jim: I have taken riding seriously from the start and try to do all I can to increase my personal safety. I took motorcycle training classes, purchased the best helmet and safety clothing I could find, and continually practice and seek knowledge from my riding friends with more experience and skills. My most challenging skill has been being smoother at tight slow speed turns and also working on gaining greater comfort at highway riding speeds.

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

Jim: I would like to think that I am a tourer and have been taking ever increasing long distance rides. It combines my love of travel, ultra-light camping, and the Vespa. Using much of my backpacking gear, I can get a week’s worth of food and camping gear down to a small pack weighing only 23 pounds! I hope to do more really long distance rides combined with camping. I’ve been fortunate to take some great rides becoming friends with riders like Bill Leuthold, Ken Wilson and “Captain Gary” Kinney, and my Canadian Hero, David Masse! (ed.: blushes, resists the strong urge to edit)

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

Jim: There are so many, like knowing that I look like an overgrown bumblebee (yellow helmet and yellow/black jacket and pants) walking into stores. Embarrassment – I just appreciate the patience of my riding buddies as I was learning and know the embarrassment that they must have felt just being with me!

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

Jim: Every ride is a thrill as I continue exploring on two wheels. Just riding and having all my senses alive – smell, sound, greater concentration riding, are all the things you don’t get in a car. I especially enjoyed the long rides like the one to Dothan, AL and the trips in the Adirondacks.

Scootcommute: Tell me why you ride?

Jim: Mostly it is exploring and the sense you get by riding on two wheels. I also never tire seeing the lines and look of the Vespa. It just makes me smile! Every time I ride the scooter I meet people who mention how good looking it is. People don’t react that way to a typical motorcycle.

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

Jim: One riding wish? How about that all motorcycle and scooter riders ride ATGATT (ed.: All The Gear, All The Time) eliminating all two wheel accidents! (ed.: Jim snuck in two wishes, but that's OK)

_____________________________

You can find other rider profiles on the Rider Profiles page

Rocket and me

Bill Leuthold is on my must-meet list of riders, bloggers, and characters.

Bill is a Cannonballer, a serial and multiple Vespa owner, and he knows how to make a 200 cc Vespa GT fly like a rocket.

Bill’s GT is so fast, it got the testosterone all riled up because he was making such incredible times on various legs of the Hyder Alaska to New Orleans 2014 Scooter Cannonball. Suspicion fell on his trusted mechanic Boris.

Remember Boris and Natasha? Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale. Cold war era cartoon spooks. When your mechanic’s name is Boris, and he’s got talent, and your Vespa GT blows the GTS’s away on a cross-continental odyssey, and there are points for each leg, suspicion is natural. And totally misplaced.

Bill is living testament to the wonders of the Vespa GT.

I remember when I was shopping for my first Vespa. I went to a dealer who was selling a GT. I looked at it. Very nice. Portofino green or something like that. It was on a battery tender tucked away with the other scoots and motorcycles in winter storage. “How fast is it?” I remember asking the dealer. He looked at me like I was missing a screw. “Oh, it’s fast” he said, in a kind of Seinfeld-Kramer-ish way.

In the end I didn’t buy it. It got nixed by the finance minister in favour of a somewhat less spendy dragon red Vespa LX150.

Seems hard to believe that a 200cc bike can travel like that, but Bill and Rocket are proof positive that the Vespa GT is one fast bike.

Check out his blog, and go back and follow the 2014 Cannonball. Time well wasted, to be sure.

Now what was the point… Oh yes.

I was looking in on Bill’s blog, Rocket and me, as I strive to do, making the rounds of the moto-bloggosphere, and I saw he had a T-Shirt done up to celebrate his blog.

“I’ll buy one” I thought, more or less instantly. As I read on, I was gobsmacked, as they say in Blighty, Bill said he was sending me one, unsolicited.

Now it takes an extraordinary amount of time for the postal services of Canada and the U.S. to ferry mail between us, so the package only arrived the other day. But arrive it did.

I am tickled pink.

What better garb to don as I wrote the article on my retirement.

Thanks Bill! I am indebted.

A last commute

Retirement.

That word has been daunting for the last twenty four years. “You have to start paying yourself”. Wise words from my accountant. That’s how it showed up on my radar. A tiny, faint, scary blip in what seemed back then like a distant, dim, uncertain future.

I couldn’t afford to save much. “We’ll retire to a trailer park…” I thought, without any idea how Susan and I might actually avoid that as our eventual fate.

I was a young partner in a law firm. Three kids, a mortgage, a lawn to mow in the burbs, and no pension plan.

Friday was my last commute. I had choices. I opted for the Honda Shadow - Black Betty to Sonja, Thunderbird to me -  though I don’t name my rides, really, I don’t. Not exactly a ScootCommute. The only constant is change.

It turns out retirement will be fine. I plan to earn some money. Traveling money. That’s what it will be.

For the next little while Susan and I will coast, enjoy summer, as we begin the graceful descent to a retirement lifestyle in Toronto. Gradually less altitude, some flaps, ease up on the throttle, wheels down, and a three point landing in a new town, new home.

We’re clearing the table, wiping the slate. Out with the old, in with the new. We’re exchanging our plodding caterpillars for butterflies.

Thursday’s commute was nostalgic. I took the Vespa along the route of my first two-wheeled commute. That was six years ago. Man I love that Vespa. Smooth as silk with power to spare. Beauty, and a beast.

That morning the sun played with the lake shore route, dappling the winding road with warm patterns of bright light and cool shade. Casting glittery flashing diamonds here and there on the lake. I rolled into the underground garage at 10:30. Not a care in the world. I left the office at five-ish, came home the same way, savouring the slow path home.

Friday, June 26, 2015.

The last day of work. A last commute.

My first day of work was in the spring of 1980, immediately following my last Bar exam. Thirty-five years. Three employers. Fourteen offices. 36, 19, 44, 17, 75, 19, 37, 40, 5, 6, 5, and 19 are the floors I worked on. All in office towers, all downtown, most in Montreal, a few in Toronto. Never a dull moment. Quite a lot of high drama. Serious stuff. Many hours spent in knee-length black robes, a handful of all-nighters. A life spent learning, crafting, honing, pitching, deflecting, defending, writing, speaking, losing, but most often winning, arguments. A lawyer’s lot.

In keeping with the vibe, Thunderbird was the only logical choice for my last commute. Blues playing in my helmet, cruising on the 20, rockin’ my way downtown on 750 burly cc’s of raucous thundering adrenaline-fueled fun. With a devil-may-care attitude, greeted  by waves from guys on badass cruisers (my new ‘brothers’) many of whom I would almost certainly steer clear of on the sidewalk while avoiding eye contact, I headed straight for the office.

The remaining work was dispatched in a workman-like way. Hands were shaken, backs were slapped, there were heartfelt hugs and kisses, smiles were beamed, memories relived, personal contact information exchanged. In the process, my co-workers had hidden my helmet while I was roaming the building to ensure I couldn’t leave without final adieus to those closest to me. It worked.

I abandoned my credit card, put my access card on a colleague’s desk, and walked out the door in the company of one of the kindest, smartest, and most charming lawyers it has been my pleasure to work with. He knows it. I believe in telling it like it is.

No regrets, happy, confident, released. I think those I left behind felt the brunt of the departure. I had to fight and struggle to leave on my own terms. Like a child leaving the womb, in a way. I was striking out, breathing fresh air, free to roam, to be myself, care free, no work obligations.

I won.