Now we'll have something to release a flood of fond memories from our too brief time in Tuscany.
Still two more Tuscan Loop posts to come, sit tight.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Chips
Today, I polished off the last of the potato chips we bought on the second to last day in Florence. No need to wax poetic over the chips. Think Lays Classic and you'd be on the right track.
The only thing left before our Italian vacation is really and truly behind us, is to frame the watercolor print we bought on the way back to our rented condo from the Palazzo Pitti, on the approach to the Ponte Vecchio (X marks the spot).
Susan and I always try to buy what we call travel art. Something we can hang on the wall as a reminder of the vacation. The family room is where we hang our travel art. Looking around the room I see Vancouver, Boston, London, Barcelona, San Francisco, Colorado Springs, Salt Lake City, Bryce Canyon and Ogunquit. I think we are behind in framing. Los Angeles is around here somewhere, not to mention Sorrento and Rome.
Now we'll have something to release a flood of fond memories from our too brief time in Tuscany.
Funny how awesome vacations begin to seem like a dream. You have to pinch yourself from time to time to remind yourself that they really did happen.
Still two more Tuscan Loop posts to come, sit tight.
Now we'll have something to release a flood of fond memories from our too brief time in Tuscany.
Still two more Tuscan Loop posts to come, sit tight.
Tuscan Loop - Museo Piaggio
We pulled into the driveway entrance of the massive Piaggio plant where our Vespas first saw the light of day. To a Vespa owner it's a little like the promised land.
We parked the bikes to the left of the entrance and prepared to tour the museum.
There was already one Vespa parked there which explains the four bikes, if you were expecting to see only three. We met the owner when we were getting ready to leave. She was a young German lady. Imagine her surprise when Sonja and Roland introduced themselves to her.
The thing that struck me most was how quiet the plant was for a weekday. I didn't expect to hear a 19th century cacaphony of hammers pounding metal amid showers of sparks, but I've seen more evidence of industry in the average hospital or even funeral home.
Entrance to the museum is free. And unattended. The only soul to be seen was the cashier in the museum gift shop. She was quiet and demure, to the point perhaps of seeming to be bereft of enthusiasm.
I didn't expect to be greeted by a delegation of Piaggio executives, much less to be offered some free Vespa swag. But hey, Sonja Mager and I are serious Vespa bloggers. We are volunteer ambassadors for the brand. Ken Wilson, Steve Williams, Dave Dixon, Orin O'Neill, Peter Sanderson, Bill Leuthold and others, are assets that Piaggio should at least acknowledge. And yet Piaggio seems officially and unofficially oblivious to the exposure we bloggers and ModernVespa.com forum participants lavish on their products. I guess they don't get social media. What they should be doing is monitoring the web and social media sites so that they know how the brand is faring for better or for worse. They should know who their brand ambassadors are.
It's certainly true that the praise and devotion for the Vespa brand are well earned. But it seems to me that if I were the marketing manager for the brand, I'd make sure I had someone greeting visitors at the museum and finding out who they are.
When bloggers and serious brand ambassadors come calling at the museum, I'd find a moment or two to chew the fat, express some appreciation, and make them feel welcome. "Welcome to the Museo Piaggio! Where are you from? Do you own a Vespa or other Piaggio motorbike? If you care to, please sign in on our visitor guestbook."
Piaggio may own the rights to an icon, but that's where the story begins and ends. They built a decent museum and I guess they figure that's enough.
Anyone who questions whether Vespas have earned the top spot as the world's most iconic motorbikes will find all the convincing they may need at the Museo Piaggio.
I think I'll just let the pictures do the talking for a change.
As you can see I was drawn to the arty aspects of the experience.
Sonja and Roland on the other hand did a better job of revealing the museum and its collection. The following pictures are theirs.
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You've come this far, and I know you are expecting this to be the end of the Tuscan Loop.
Geographically you'd be right, but there's still a little more virtual ink to be spilled before the Tuscan Loop can be considered officially closed.
We parked the bikes to the left of the entrance and prepared to tour the museum.
There was already one Vespa parked there which explains the four bikes, if you were expecting to see only three. We met the owner when we were getting ready to leave. She was a young German lady. Imagine her surprise when Sonja and Roland introduced themselves to her.
Entrance to the museum is free. And unattended. The only soul to be seen was the cashier in the museum gift shop. She was quiet and demure, to the point perhaps of seeming to be bereft of enthusiasm.
I didn't expect to be greeted by a delegation of Piaggio executives, much less to be offered some free Vespa swag. But hey, Sonja Mager and I are serious Vespa bloggers. We are volunteer ambassadors for the brand. Ken Wilson, Steve Williams, Dave Dixon, Orin O'Neill, Peter Sanderson, Bill Leuthold and others, are assets that Piaggio should at least acknowledge. And yet Piaggio seems officially and unofficially oblivious to the exposure we bloggers and ModernVespa.com forum participants lavish on their products. I guess they don't get social media. What they should be doing is monitoring the web and social media sites so that they know how the brand is faring for better or for worse. They should know who their brand ambassadors are.
It's certainly true that the praise and devotion for the Vespa brand are well earned. But it seems to me that if I were the marketing manager for the brand, I'd make sure I had someone greeting visitors at the museum and finding out who they are.
When bloggers and serious brand ambassadors come calling at the museum, I'd find a moment or two to chew the fat, express some appreciation, and make them feel welcome. "Welcome to the Museo Piaggio! Where are you from? Do you own a Vespa or other Piaggio motorbike? If you care to, please sign in on our visitor guestbook."
Piaggio may own the rights to an icon, but that's where the story begins and ends. They built a decent museum and I guess they figure that's enough.
Anyone who questions whether Vespas have earned the top spot as the world's most iconic motorbikes will find all the convincing they may need at the Museo Piaggio.
I think I'll just let the pictures do the talking for a change.
Sonja and Roland on the other hand did a better job of revealing the museum and its collection. The following pictures are theirs.
Geographically you'd be right, but there's still a little more virtual ink to be spilled before the Tuscan Loop can be considered officially closed.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Tuscan Loop - The Return
The return towards Pontedera to the northwest eventually took us out of wine and olive country to the river Arno valley bordered by Florence to the east and Pontedera and Pisa to the west.
While there were still plenty of twisties left to enjoy, I hailed Sonja on the intercom and suggested she pass me. I had my GoPro mounted on a RAM mount on the right mirror stem. Recording two bikes making their way comes closer to offering a glimpse of our experience on the Tuscan Loop.
My one regret was not having recorded more footage. At one point earlier in the day I had neglected to switch the GoPro WiFi backpack off and its minuscule battery had depleted itself and a good bit of the camera battery too. I was able later in the day to record these segments because Bob very thoughtfully saved the day months before by giving me a Tenergy dual USB rechargeable battery pack. With that I was able to plug in both GoPro components as long as they rode in the storage compartment.
A better solution would have been to have had the GoPro skeleton case and I would have been able to both charge and record. Sadly it seems now to be unobtainable for my Hero2 model.
The ride back to Pontedera was otherwise uneventful. As much fun as riding the twisties is, it's also nice to be able to relax a little and just enjoy riding.
It was a nice ride back to Pontedera. Just perfect, the way I had imagined it would be.
Up next: we visit the Museo Piaggio. For legions of Vespa owners and lovers it's the shrine where the magic began, the birthplace of an icon, like Graceland for Elvis fans, Vegas for batchelor party animals, and Cannes and Hollywood combined for movie buffs.
While there were still plenty of twisties left to enjoy, I hailed Sonja on the intercom and suggested she pass me. I had my GoPro mounted on a RAM mount on the right mirror stem. Recording two bikes making their way comes closer to offering a glimpse of our experience on the Tuscan Loop.
My one regret was not having recorded more footage. At one point earlier in the day I had neglected to switch the GoPro WiFi backpack off and its minuscule battery had depleted itself and a good bit of the camera battery too. I was able later in the day to record these segments because Bob very thoughtfully saved the day months before by giving me a Tenergy dual USB rechargeable battery pack. With that I was able to plug in both GoPro components as long as they rode in the storage compartment.
A better solution would have been to have had the GoPro skeleton case and I would have been able to both charge and record. Sadly it seems now to be unobtainable for my Hero2 model.
The ride back to Pontedera was otherwise uneventful. As much fun as riding the twisties is, it's also nice to be able to relax a little and just enjoy riding.
It was a nice ride back to Pontedera. Just perfect, the way I had imagined it would be.
Up next: we visit the Museo Piaggio. For legions of Vespa owners and lovers it's the shrine where the magic began, the birthplace of an icon, like Graceland for Elvis fans, Vegas for batchelor party animals, and Cannes and Hollywood combined for movie buffs.
Friday, May 30, 2014
Tuscan Loop - San Gimignano
The way to San Gimignano was as twisted, narrow and convoluted as any I have travelled. Susan and I, Andrew and Anuschka, Lauren, Jonathan and Vicky, had travelled in these parts just a few days before to get to Siena.
My skills were improving, but there was still little joy and much concentration to be found in those left hand sweepers.
The road began rising once more, twisting as it rose.
Roland spotted a secondary road veering left off the main road. We were in no hurry, and exploring was the order of the day. Off we went.
A fellow rider on a sport bike who had overtaken us impatiently, and in my estimation to his peril, fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, now swept by us in the opposite direction. I imagined he must be a courier and had made his delivery somewhere up the road. It turned out to be a clue and its significance was entirely lost on us until a little later on.
The sun shone brightly high overhead leaving few shadows and flattening the landscape. We rode at a moderate pace, swooping up, then down, left then right, with the road all to ourselves. Fields undulated with the road interspersed with olive groves and vineyards, farmhouses and isolated woodlots. The cypress trees stood like sentries here and there punctuating the landscape and making sure we didn't mistake the surroundings for anything but Tuscan countryside.
And then the dream ended. Rather the road ended. Well, it didn't actually end. We could have easily by-passed the unmanned road block and continued along. But for how long? Would we come to an eventual impasse? We confered on the intercom. We left it up to Roland. He thought about it out loud, weighing the explorer's thirst for adventure against the potential annoyance of having to undo the digression even more than would be the case if we turned around now.
With the slightest tinge of regret that drifted momentarily across his face, Roland made the U-turn and we headed back to the main road. The failed serendipity of the alternate bucolic route was well tempered, in fact entirely mitigated, by the obvious conclusion that the road was every bit as much fun to ride in reverse as it was on the way in. Somewhere along the way it dawned on me that Mr. Sportbiker had regretfully come to the same conclusion. We never crossed paths again. As I mentioned earlier, he was a clue, and we were clueless.
Somewhere between the roadblock and our return to the main road a snake made a mad squiggly dash across the road, about fifteen feet ahead of Roland's Vespa. That was a first for me, and I think a first for Roland. Certainly something you don't see every day. Roland came through on the intercom "did you see the snake??".
I'd say that snake was a good three-and-a-half or four feet long, and as black as the Ace of Spades. Skinny too. I'm guessing it was a nasty character with a mean disposition and irritable to boot. It made me think twice about how casually I had lain back in the tall grass to snap that shot outside of Volterra.
All thought of that incident melted away as we approached San Gimignano. I fear that words will fail to convey the wonder of that town. Don't bother heading to Google street view. Sure you'll find it allright, and yes you can stroll its street to your heart's content in the virtual world. I know, because I did that very thing in the weeks before our trip. But that experience pales beside the actual experience.
Once more we found the moto parking and stabled the bikes.
Sonja took charge of storming the town and led us up, and up, and up, until we found a path into the fortress. I'm not sure who was huffing and puffing most, but it wasn't Sonja. I believe that Roland and I were tied in the out-of-breath department. The reward for the exertion was a terrace with beautiful views of the surrounding countryside.
We continued to explore the town, following our noses as tourists are wont to do.
One of the remarkable things about this ancient walled city, is that it is very much alive and lived in.
Along its narrow streets are doors. Some of those doors allowed tantalizing glimpses of beautiful gardens, and of the residence beyond. I can't even imagine what it would be like to live here.
Not too long after taking the citadel by storm, and roaming its streets we stumbled on the world's best (if self-proclaimed) gelateria, serving what could be the world's best gelato. As fate would have it, we three were ripe for gelato. It was sorely needed to replace all the calories lost in the climb.
And so it was that we parked our butts on a convenient bench and watched the never-ending stream of tourists coming and going, parading to and fro in the early afternoon sun.
Gelato only lasts so long. Once you're done, you're done. Time to move on.
We made our way to the centre of town. Roland explained that San Gimignano is a town of towers. Competing families expressed their lofty positions of power in the citadel's hierarchy by building massive towers, that, well, towered over the city, more or less the way the family towered over the town in the social and political sense. A crude message yet no doubt an effective one in the days hundreds of years before social media.
While we busied ourselves trying to fit the towers into the viewfinders of our cameras, I spotted a truck perched at the top of a flight of stairs. It lurched forward. No... you're kidding... you can't get here from there I thought. But no, in Italy I guess you can drive a truck down a flight of stairs.
Actually, technically, it wasn't a flight of stairs, more of a ramp with stone ridges, but let me tell you, it sure looked strange.
Having explored San Gimignano as thoroughly as we were enclined to do, having seen its treasure trove of baubles and do-dads for tourists, it was time to head for the bikes.
Thankfully we didn't need to climb up to the bikes. The law of averages is kind that way. We had gone up, strolled down, so that was it. It was a pleasant walk to the motorcycle parking.
On the way out of town, we climbed a hill and Roland pulled over for the quintessential Tuscan photo op: riders with the town of San Gimignano in the distance as a backdrop. It doesn't get much better than that.
And so we moved on. We had strayed as far from Pontedera as our agenda allowed. We had a date with the Museo Piaggio. The holy grail for Vespa owners the world over.
Stay tuned. There's more of the Tuscan Loop to come.
My skills were improving, but there was still little joy and much concentration to be found in those left hand sweepers.
The road began rising once more, twisting as it rose.
Roland spotted a secondary road veering left off the main road. We were in no hurry, and exploring was the order of the day. Off we went.
A fellow rider on a sport bike who had overtaken us impatiently, and in my estimation to his peril, fifteen or twenty minutes earlier, now swept by us in the opposite direction. I imagined he must be a courier and had made his delivery somewhere up the road. It turned out to be a clue and its significance was entirely lost on us until a little later on.
The sun shone brightly high overhead leaving few shadows and flattening the landscape. We rode at a moderate pace, swooping up, then down, left then right, with the road all to ourselves. Fields undulated with the road interspersed with olive groves and vineyards, farmhouses and isolated woodlots. The cypress trees stood like sentries here and there punctuating the landscape and making sure we didn't mistake the surroundings for anything but Tuscan countryside.
And then the dream ended. Rather the road ended. Well, it didn't actually end. We could have easily by-passed the unmanned road block and continued along. But for how long? Would we come to an eventual impasse? We confered on the intercom. We left it up to Roland. He thought about it out loud, weighing the explorer's thirst for adventure against the potential annoyance of having to undo the digression even more than would be the case if we turned around now.
With the slightest tinge of regret that drifted momentarily across his face, Roland made the U-turn and we headed back to the main road. The failed serendipity of the alternate bucolic route was well tempered, in fact entirely mitigated, by the obvious conclusion that the road was every bit as much fun to ride in reverse as it was on the way in. Somewhere along the way it dawned on me that Mr. Sportbiker had regretfully come to the same conclusion. We never crossed paths again. As I mentioned earlier, he was a clue, and we were clueless.
Somewhere between the roadblock and our return to the main road a snake made a mad squiggly dash across the road, about fifteen feet ahead of Roland's Vespa. That was a first for me, and I think a first for Roland. Certainly something you don't see every day. Roland came through on the intercom "did you see the snake??".
I'd say that snake was a good three-and-a-half or four feet long, and as black as the Ace of Spades. Skinny too. I'm guessing it was a nasty character with a mean disposition and irritable to boot. It made me think twice about how casually I had lain back in the tall grass to snap that shot outside of Volterra.
All thought of that incident melted away as we approached San Gimignano. I fear that words will fail to convey the wonder of that town. Don't bother heading to Google street view. Sure you'll find it allright, and yes you can stroll its street to your heart's content in the virtual world. I know, because I did that very thing in the weeks before our trip. But that experience pales beside the actual experience.
Once more we found the moto parking and stabled the bikes.
Sonja took charge of storming the town and led us up, and up, and up, until we found a path into the fortress. I'm not sure who was huffing and puffing most, but it wasn't Sonja. I believe that Roland and I were tied in the out-of-breath department. The reward for the exertion was a terrace with beautiful views of the surrounding countryside.
Along its narrow streets are doors. Some of those doors allowed tantalizing glimpses of beautiful gardens, and of the residence beyond. I can't even imagine what it would be like to live here.
 | |
| Copyright Sonja Mager |
 |
| Copyright Sonja Mager |
 |
| Copyright Sonja Mager |
Gelato only lasts so long. Once you're done, you're done. Time to move on.
We made our way to the centre of town. Roland explained that San Gimignano is a town of towers. Competing families expressed their lofty positions of power in the citadel's hierarchy by building massive towers, that, well, towered over the city, more or less the way the family towered over the town in the social and political sense. A crude message yet no doubt an effective one in the days hundreds of years before social media.
 |
| Copyright Sonja Mager |
 |
| Copyright Sonja Mager |
Having explored San Gimignano as thoroughly as we were enclined to do, having seen its treasure trove of baubles and do-dads for tourists, it was time to head for the bikes.
Thankfully we didn't need to climb up to the bikes. The law of averages is kind that way. We had gone up, strolled down, so that was it. It was a pleasant walk to the motorcycle parking.
On the way out of town, we climbed a hill and Roland pulled over for the quintessential Tuscan photo op: riders with the town of San Gimignano in the distance as a backdrop. It doesn't get much better than that.
.jpg) |
| Copyright Roland Mager |
 |
| Copyright Sonja Mager |
Stay tuned. There's more of the Tuscan Loop to come.
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