The BMW F650 GS: A Crisis of Confidence

I feel guilty. It’s been over a month since I returned this BMW to Kissell Motorsports. It’s taken equally long to write this post. I knew I had to put something down here, so I began with an image I remembered: stopping, pulling off my gloves and walking across the road to take this picture. I was uncomfortable. Like Wayne and Garth from Wayne’s World when they meet Aerosmith in their basement, I could hear my mind crying, “I’m not worthy.” I looked at this brand new BMW and felt like an imposter.

A mini-crisis of faith flickered to life.

I’d been warned. More than one dedicated BMW rider suggested something would happen if I rode one. A slight smile and oblique reference to some strange BMW voodoo. Hints that, once I put some miles on one of these machines, I’d be hooked. Thoughts of my friend Alex joining the Hare Krishna in 1973 came to mind. The usual music that plays in my head when I ride wasn’t there. All was quiet on the riding front.

I’m still not sure I can adequately describe what transpired, but I need to get past this post.

The BMW F650 GS looks at home in the central Pennsylvania landscape. On this bike, I began to think about the hierarchy of riders I’ve closeted away in some small place in my head. At the bottom, minibikes, mopeds and electric bicycles. At the top, those riders who regularly transverse countries and continents. The movie Long Way Round, with Charlie Boorman and Ewan McGregor circling the planet on their BMWs.

Was this really what I believed?

None of this would have occurred if the F650 GS wasn’t a fine, elegant machine. From the moment I heard the engine turn over to the moment I put down the kickstand, returning it to Kissell’s, I was impressed. This bike was well-designed, functional, powerful and smooth. I had nothing to complain about.

Well, almost nothing.

Starting out on a test ride with the thermometer reading 20 degrees Fahrenheit may not be the best way to critique a motorcycle. I’ve convinced myself that cold is a state of mind, and if attired correctly and focused properly on the task at hand (riding this shiny new motorcycle), the cold will melt away. So confident I was that I dismissed the need for my electric gloves (Gerbing plug wouldn’t fit the BMW port) in favor of the BMW’s heated grips.

A mile from home I feel a knife push on the side of my neck where the air found a gap between my helmet and ski mask. Another flow of frigid air inflates my one-piece Olympia riding suit, as air sneaks past the top of my left boot and on up my leg. The sun is out and I tell myself this is temporary. The instrument display still reads 20F. I switch on the heated grips.

Smooth comes to mind as I move down the road at 60mph. From the sound of the starter to the tires rolling on the highway, everything is really smooth. Shifting, cornering, braking. As if this BMW was designed purely to carry a rider along with a minimum of reminders of mechanical intrusion. I could focus on the experience rather than the machine. I think I was smiling.

Then my first minor complaint. An adjustment, really. I have to make a right turn and my left thumb automatically searches for the turn signal button. Returning to mechanical reality, my mind overcomes muscle memory and pushes the right-hand signal paddle next to the throttle. Unlike other motorcycles I’ve driven, which have one switch that operates the signal for both right and left turns, BMW’s are unique in having separate switches for each side. But by the end of that first hour of riding, the turn signal system is set in muscle memory, and it’s no longer an issue. That was the only mechanical stumble I had.

Well, almost.

Fifteen miles from home, it’s still 20F and my hands are getting cold. I am really disappointed with the heated grips. No help at all. I pull off the road to park so I can warm my hands on the exhaust system. I put my hands next to the muffler and see it is well-shielded and gives off no heat. The headlights are recessed a bit and hard to get your hands on, so no relief there either. So I just wait awhile for my hands to warm a bit inside my gloves. The sun is shining so it seems fine.

This BMW is quick. With little effort it seems to be instantly traveling 75mph. I slow down and before long notice a farm lane, more my style and speed. Ice still covers waterholes and I make a mental note so the bright sun and dry roads don’t surprise me.

The ground in this field is hard. Frozen. If this wasn’t a brand-new motorcycle belonging to someone else, I’d ride across this big field to see where I’d end up. The F650 GS seems as if it would be just as comfortable off-the-pavement.

Cold hands force another stop by a red barn. Or maybe I stopped because I wanted a picture. While sitting on the motorcycle, pondering the switch for the heated grips, it occurs to me I’m not the sharpest crayon in the box. Apologies to BMW for any adverse inference about their technology. It was a minor miracle when I realized I had never actually switched the grips on. On maximum my hands were toasty in a matter of minutes. Verdict: Heated grips coupled with a pair of insulated leather or windproof gloves would probably be all I’d need for temperatures down to the mid-20s.

The BMW eats up the road. It’s no wonder so many BMW riders pile on so many miles. It’s just so easy. Pennsylvania has a lot of roads that reach out ahead with little traffic and endless sights. I’ve spent my whole life wandering in one manner or another, and I’m still in love with this landscape.

Back to the crisis of faith. Last Saturday morning, my friend Paul and I went for a ride. This time on my Vespa. The usual excuse to have breakfast somewhere other than home. We made a stop at the Amish harness shop in Madisonburg. While there, a guy pulled in on a motorcycle obviously configured for travel. You know the look – big Pelican waterproof cases on both sides and top, all those little extras that say “I’m headed somewhere.” And in riding clothes that reflect a lot of time on the road. In the back of my head, I’m already thinking I’m not really a rider, but an enthusiastic dilettante with a scooter.

During the ensuing conversation, the rider relates his plans to leave in a few weeks for a trip to Alaska with a friend. Sixteen thousand miles and six weeks on the road. Listening to him describe his trip, I’m simultaneously calculating vacation days at work and conversations with Kim that contain the phrase “I’ll be gone for six weeks.”

I can’t picture that trip. I’m not sure I would even want to make that trip. The F650 GS could easily make that trip. Before leaving, the guys says he put 97K miles on his other bike in the last four years. And his friend has 240K miles on his bike. I was too embarassed to make a picture.

I’m not worthy.

Looking around in the woods for morel mushrooms, I can’t help but wonder who these people are that ride so much. Don’t they have jobs? Families? Responsibilities? I wonder if I’m jealous. Mostly I’m perplexed about my own riding life. And this BMW I have to play with.

I love riding alone and this motorcycle embraces it perfectly. Riding through the mountains here I’m reminded of scenes from Then Came Bronson. He rode a Harley, but what mattered is a person on a bike, alone, and on the road. This is why I ride. How far is of less importance. There are myriad paths for a rider to follow, literally and figuratively, and my challenge is to figure out how riding fits into my life. Riding is part of my life. A quiet time-out. A meditation. But it isn’t my life.

There were a lot of paths I would have liked to choose, but time and good sense got in the way. I really wanted to ride across this bridge and up into the woods on the other side. I knew, like a faithful horse, the F650 GS would take me.

The crisis of faith triggered by this motorcycle stirred up all the stories, lies, and marketing messages I have consumed over the years. If I wasn’t crossing Mongolia or screaming through an Alpine pass, I was somehow missing something important. I was forgetting who I am as a rider, in favor of some idealized notion.

The BMW was at home in town as well, which is something I can’t say for every motorcycle I’ve ridden. The bike is nimble and easily navigates the streets, alleys and parking spaces around here. Well, I suppose you don't have to be all that nimble in a small town.

Add side bags or a topcase and this bike would be an excellent commuter. BMWs are allowed to be commuter bikes during the week aren't they?

So, here I am, at the end of this post. I wish I’d kept the bike longer. I considered telling Craig Kissell I lost it but that seemed wrong. If I had more time I would have gone on a real ride. Far. Take a trip. I could go anywhere on this motorcycle. Alaska didn't seem unreasonable for a few moments.

But for now, I’m satisfied with the choices I’ve made and the riding I do. This BMW will adapt to my style, or for someone who wants to ride around the world.

I bet there is space in my garage for one of these.

Trying Out a New BMW F 650 GS

The time has arrived to check out one of the new BMW motorcycles at Kissell Motorsports. I was going to wait until the weather was a bit warmer but when Craig Kissell send an email asking when I was going to take a GS for a ride what could I do? So I am starting with a BMW F 650 GS. This one is brand new. Zero miles on the odometer. I get nervous being the first one to take something out on the road. But who am I to complain? A quick check of the bike and the controls revealed a big difference from the usual tools on my Vespa. This bike has ABS brakes, heated grips, built in port for electrics, and a lot more.

I didn't really have time for any riding today. Just a less than direct ride home from work with a few stops to check out the motorcycle. The turn signals took a couple of practice runs to reprogram my brain from the one button all function switch on the Vespa to the three button self canceling function of the BMW. A smarter person could make the adjustment on the road. I had to pull over and look at the controls for everything to make sense. A little side trip up a gravel road did the trick. This motorcycle is smooth, quiet, and seems to pull no matter what speed I'm traveling or what gear I'm in. My kind of performance.

Home appeared too quickly. I stopped the motorcycle at the end of the driveway being cautious with this shiny new machine. On the Vespa I would have zipped right between our cars and on to the garage.

I'm planning an early departure tomorrow despite the weather forecast calling for 20F at daybreak. And since my Gerbing electric gloves have the wrong connector I won't be able to plug them in. So I will have a chance to try out heated grips. And if all else fails I can cozy up to the big shiny muffler.

I'm excited. I can tell. For the next few days I am a BMW rider.

The Triumph Tiger

Snow’s falling again and I’m daydreaming about the road and the Triumph Tiger I was riding back in late November. The last motorcycle of the 2009 season with temperatures hovering in the mid 40s the memory of that motorcycle fresh. And tempting. The Tiger story’s been hibernating in my brain all winter. Now may be the right time to revisit the prowl. Thanks to Craig Kissell of Kissell Motorsports I have the opportunity to ride such fine motorcycles.

The Tiger is sleek, powerful, and tall – at least in terms of getting onto the bike. With the hard side cases attached I needed to make a real effort to mount up without scuffing things up with my boots. On dicey terrain I didn’t want to step up on the pegs either. Some flexibility work would definitely be in order before I could bound onto the back of the Triumph. Once onboard the sense of height was gone.

With excellent planning I always seem to ride before breakfast. As much as I wanted to head out into the Moshannon Forest my stomach was making a stronger argument as I headed over the mountain towards Unionville. It doesn’t take long to realize how sweet the Triumph Tiger is. Everything about it is smooth – the ride, the transmission, the brakes. And the torque it puts out allows it to pull hard at just about any speed and any gear. Definitely a plus for a tourist like me who likes to wander and not be overly concerned with the workings of the machine I am riding. Coming down the mountain into Unionville I was pleased at how well the Tiger holds the road in a hairpin turn. I’m no racer but I’m sure this bike could fly through the curves if I made a request.

Railroad tracks strike a wandering chord in me. Looking at them vanish in the distance has me wanting to explore. What’s out there, over the next hill, around the next corner? It’s a big part of what riding is for me. The Triumph would be happy to come along and take me anywhere I want to go.

The Tiger is a nice looking machine. Even in a rush to get breakfast I couldn’t help buy admire it. This bike could take me to a lot of breakfast places. I can see myself in the northern reaches of the Adirondacks, or south along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Or in front of a diner in Utah. Alas, if I only had the time.

The Unionville Café is a good, solid breakfast place. Any riders passing through the area will find a place to relax and eat. It’s always nice to stop when it’s cold outside. There are times when I get warm I don’t feel like climbing back on the motorcycle and facing the elements. This wasn’t one of them.

The road out of Unionville towards Moshannon State Park is a clean, winding road climbing up to the Allegheny Plateau. The Triumph Tiger could race to the top if good sense didn’t govern the throttle. I’ve been up this way many times on a variety of machines. I just never got there quite so fast before.

Central Pennsylvania is blessed with endless miles of roads that no one seems to use much. Concern for other motorist’s fade as I find myself more concerned with bear, deer, and dogs.

Local forest roads come in two varieties – paved and gravel. A path heading off the main road is hard to resist. While more aggressive tires might be a nice addition for some riding the stock tires on the Tiger were easily up to the choices I made. With so much natural gas drilling and timber cutting underway there are a lot of places to explore.

Riding along a road more packed dirt and sand than gravel I began to worry that the heavy, grey sky would begin to release rain. With little desire to return a mud covered big to the dealership I returned to solid ground. But it was hard to resist the siren’s song of those long, winding, dirt roads.

Many of the smaller roads are uneven, the pavement heaved and twisted from the harsh winters. The suspension of the Tiger doesn’t blink.

There comes a time in almost every ride I make where I am not sure where I’m going. Riding down through some of the thickest growth of rhodendron I’ve ever seem I thought I might head towards Snow Shoe and a different kind of landscape. By this time I have been crisscrossing the region for most of the morning and was aware of how comfortable the seating position, seat, and handlebar position is on the Triumph Tiger.

A course correction and another little traveled road leads me to lost. The tank has plenty of fuel so I’m not too worried. I can’t remember exactly where this place was or whether I was crossing the West Branch of the Susquehanna River or Red Moshannon Creek. Lost is a gift in my book. And the reason why I’m not too keen on GPS. There ‘s something magical about being lost. And in the East, you seldom get that opportunity.

I eventually passed through Snow Shoe and headed off the plateau towards home. This little red and green building, some sort of remnant of the coal mining in the area just called out for a picture.

I had the option of trying the Tiger on Interstate 80 and see how it prowled along with the 18-wheelers. Passing on the freeway option I found more interesting roads that allowed me the chance to put the Triumph through some performance paces. Acceleration, check. Braking, check. Fun, check.

Tired, cold, and still not ready to take the Tiger home I make one last run along the rolling hills leading up to the Allegheny Plateau. Standing in the corn stubble and looking at the motorcycle and the valleys beyond I feel lucky that I am a rider. Being out here with the day fading and the temperature dropping is not what most riders strive for. But the spirit of adventure is something a lot of riders have in common. It feels good to stand up straight and take in the world. With this motorcycle I could take in a lot of places.

Until those rides come along I had to be content prowling home on the Triumph Tiger and hoping winter would not be too long or severe.

Triumph Thunderbird Conversion

In my dreams the road goes on forever.

I gravitate towards empty roads and places off the beaten path. Standing in the middle of old Route 220, once a place of pandemonium and aggressive drivers, I feel at home. And also a bit surprised at how A few weeks ago I sat on a motorcycle outside Kissell Motorsports. I found myself at the beginning of an unexpected conversion. A dedicated Vespa rider enthralled with a big cruising bike. The Triumph Thunderbird.

It's been almost a month since I had the Thunderbird. Enough time to sort out feelings and reactions to the biggest, heaviest motorcycle I've ridden in a long time. I expected a slow, lumbering, unresponsive ride. What I found was a remarkably nimble and easy to handle machine. The engineers at Triumph would probably cringe to read what I am about to say -- I found myself thinking more than once "This feels like my Vespa.". With the Triumph Thunderbird sitting along the road while I try and figure out the best angles for photographs it looks nothing like a Vespa.

I left early one morning for what would become a hundred mile short ride. Patches of fog were scattered through the valley producing areas of limited visibility and wet pavement. While making this picture I noticed the prominence of the exhaust system. Big pipes for the big almost 100 cubic inch parallel twin engine produce a deep rumble. Not too loud and not at all obnoxious. Something I can't say about most of the big cruisers that pass through my neighborhood, especially the ones that operate between 2am and 7am. Moving mechanical obnoxious alarm clocks. But I digress.

The exhaust tone of the Thunderbird reminds me of the growl of a big, mean dog. You know he's big and he does too. No need for any barking.

I confess limited experience on big cruisers. Or anything with two wheels weighing close to 750 pounds. Call me crazy but I always take new bikes to some empty parking lot for some experimentation. Not to see what the bike can do but to determine how little I know. The Mount Nittany Middle School has a nice big lot that supports all sorts of turns, swerves, quick braking, U-turns and anything else you might want to try. In less than 30 minutes imagined myself comfortable and at home on the Triumph. A quick stop for a picture in the fog and I was off to meet my friend Larry for breakfast.

Anyone who's followed Scooter in the Sticks knows a lot of my riding is slow-paced and riddled with numerous stops for pictures. A motorcycle has to be easy to manuever, run smoothly at slow speeds, and allow for quick on and offs. The Thunderbird engine and transmission produced extremely smooth riding at any speed, was agile at even the slowest speeds, and was simple to park almost anywhere. Stopped to photograph a tunnel of trees in the fog I was wondering if the Triumph and I would be a good fit. With the addition of some saddle bags for my camera and gear I could ride this machine anywhere.

A lot of riders don't understand the slow traveling part of riding. They want to get somewhere fast, ride along with a group, or just can't get their head or their hand to agree to speeds that are more akin to bicycle riding. But once the speedometer passes 25mph it is amazing how hard it is to react to things in the landscape. I might just be slow in the head but by the time my brain recognizes something of interest it's already behind me at higher speeds. And I resist turning around just to look or take a picture. I was sitting on the Thunderbird at about 30mph when I noticed the fog strewn across the farm. I don't want to miss this stuff.

I was getting hungry but still would stop to examine some odd detail along the road. The road surface was wet from an early fog but the Thunderbird offered no trouble or complaints as I moved along. The riding position on this bike was near perfect for me. An upright seating position, bars that were wide and just right for me, and foot pegs that seemed to be exactly where my body thought they should be. Both rear footbrake and shifter lever were easy to find and use. Something I can't say for every bike I've ridden where they seem small and hard to manage with the standard issue scooter clod hoppers I wear courtesy of Wolverine Boots.

Fog strouded the Sunset West Diner in Pleasant Gap. It looked like something out of Twin Peaks. Very odd. The Triumph looked appropriate in the lot. It is a handsome motorcycle. Triumph does an outstanding job of producing machines with classic lines. For anyone wanting a big cruiser with elegant lines and complete functionality this is worth looking at. Twice.

Fat and happy from my standard breakfast fare it was time to see how the Thunderbird performed in it's more traditional role as a highway cruiser. Jump on Interstate 99, twist the throttle and watch the needle on the speedometer leap to 80 in no time. All similarities to my Vespa evaporate on the freeway. With so much power, torque, and a smooth, stable ride at any speed I was willing to travel. Even the windblast in my chest seemed stable.

Central Pennsylvania is a beautiful place to ride. The views along the highway can, at times, be breathtaking. Looking at the Triumph I can easily imagine riding it anywhere in America.

The single guage on the tank is a model of simple design and complex function. In addition to the big speedometer a button on the right-hand grip allowed me to toggle through a variety of functions like fuel level, mileage remaining, clock, trip meter and more. And there was a readout for RPMs too but I wasn't concerned about that. Between the engine sound and it's ability to pull at any speed in any gear I didn't pay much attention to how fast things were spinning around. I was just having a fine time riding.

The big gas tank was easy to put fuel in. Not something I would normally notice but for some reason it seemed easier to see what was happening as I added. With all these new bikes I worry about splashing gas all over pristine paint and chrome. Not a worry with this bike.

I stopped to visit with the Nittany Road Riders who were taking part in Chris Kepler's 7th Annual Pennsylvania Grand Canyon Ride. The Thunderbird was the lone cruiser in the group but I'm certain it would have no problems keeping up. I found myself wishing I could go along but duty called another direction.

Around town the Triumph Thunderbird continues to excel. Up and down alleys, backing into parking spaces, making U-turns -- whatever I asked the bike to do it complied without complaint. Or perhaps I should say my skills did. With solid riding skills on a small scooter or motorcycle the transition to the Thunderbird is simple. My limits were apparent and areas to practice more were as well.

I rode the Triumph to work on the last day I had it. Backing through a gap between a pickup truck and another bike and into one of the motorcycle spaces was far easier than I would have expected. Standing there before going to my office I wondered how I could have dismissed any interest in a cruiser style motorcycle. I had ridden them before. I can remember riding a Harley back in the 1970s. Maybe that was the problem. This wasn't the 70s and this bike was a 2010 Triumph Thunderbird.

I've been converted. There is a place in my garage for the Thunderbird. Figuratively speaking.

Ducati HyperMotard: Engineering Meets the Beginners Mind

I knew the HyperMotard was different by the way Craig Kissell was carefully describing how to best operate and ride the bike. Other employees and even one of the technicians weighed in with their opinions and stories of life on this particular Ducati. By the time I left Kissell Motorsports I had a list of cautions and riding procedures. I wasn't sure if this was standard operating procedure for anyone going out the door with a Ducati or if they felt this scooter rider might be in over his head. Whatever the reason for the first time I climbed onto a motorcycle nervous and uncertain of my skill. Anxious as if I were climbing aboard a Thoroughbred racehorse after years of pleasure riding on a gentle old mare.

Pausing along the road to look at the bike and make a few pictures I was reminded of the grace and power of this motorcycle. I was also reminded of my riding skill and experience and my habit of beginning slow. A beginners mind.

Ducati makes fine motorcycles. It only took a few moments to appreciate the engineering and craftsmanship that work together to create an avid following of riders. After familiarizing myself with the handling of the HyperMotard before sunrise in the parking lot of the Pennsylvania Military Museum I pulled over along a small gravel drive to make a photograph of the evaporating fog under a setting moon.

The Ducati is a powerful motorcycle. At 390 pounds and 90 horsepower it wants to go. Craig warned me that this is not a cruising bike and would complain when the RPMs dropped below 3000 rpm in the wrong gear. The Hypermotard just didn't feel right going slow and I could sense myself wanting to go faster. Definitely not designed for putting along looking for the next picture.

Fast traveling on roads like US 322 is simple. Turn the throttle and the Ducati leaps forward. Developing a sensitive touch on the throttle took a little practice. It's easy to imagine an inexperienced rider having trouble. A bit too much throttle and the bike feels as if it is trying to eject you backwards onto the road. Panic a bit and grab tight on the bars may only succeed in turning the throttle more and making matters worse. Years of careful control of power on my Vespa kept me in the safe zone.

To be completely honest I was nervous riding the HyperMotard, nervous beyond any passing thoughts of dropping an expensive new motorcycle dodging a chipmunk or some other unfortunate riding incident. On this bike I was concerned with the sheer power and how to manage it with the tools I have in my own riding experience toolbox. One thing frequent stops to make pictures does is to give a person a chance to assess what is going on. During this stop I realized I needed to apply the basics, all those simple skills and techniques that have served me well to manage risk. I may not be a beginner in terms of miles under my belt but I try to stay close to a beginners mind and show the respect a motorcycle and riding demands.

Appreciation of the landscape and a desire to capture it on film (you know what I mean) has that unintentional effect of slowing me down. I can't see the little details if I am flying down the road. It does indicate to me that control of the machine is only one part of the equation. Control of myself and the choices I make are just as important. Riding the Ducati I felt a constant pressure to go faster. The temptation is strong.

As empty as this road looks I have been surprised by geese, ducks, deer, dogs and fisherman appearing out of nowhere. I've passed many riders whose pace far outstrips my own faith that the fellow coming the other direction will do his part not to mention the critters who don't know there is a part to play.

I seem to be standing in or alongside the road more than traveling on it. While fishing the camera out of my riding jacket I heard a truck coming down the road and rounded this corner taking his lane out of the center of the road. When I photographed the red truck he was doing a bit better but not much. The HyperMotard thrives on diving into curves. It's here I have to balance what the bike and I can do against what seems prudent. We all set that line differently. The difference between my Vespa and the Ducati is how the more powerful machine seems to tempt a person towards the edge.

Just so I don't seem like a complete milktoast rider I did push the Ducati where it seemed prudent to do so. And after a couple hours of riding I felt as home on the bike as I do on my scooter. I had tested the brakes in a range of conditions and panic stops and I have to say that compared to anything I've ridden the front brakes on the Ducati startling in how they bite. I worked a bit to become accustomed to them just in case I needed to take advantage of all that stopping power.

At the end of the day I remain a tourist on two-wheels. Speed and performance are lost on me. My habits on the road find other traits more desireable. Still, the HyperMotard was smooth, powerful, and just an elegant piece of mechanical engineering. And given the right locations, skills and circumstances you could really have fun with one of these. I'm sure if Joe Paterno was a rider he would be running to get one.

The Ducati HyperMotard is fast and fun. Those two elements are a challenge to keep under control. If those things appeal to you, if you think you can't handle the potential at your fingertips then the Ducati may be the right motorcycle. For me, it offers too much and I fear my mind may be too weak to manage this bike responsibly. Besides, where would I carry my tripod?

Or in a couple months a Christmas tree??