Modern Vespa

You, Madam, are scootering right. I hope to be like you someday when I grow up.

-Slashy

Keep scootering and blogging. Many of us are living vicariously through your eyes...
Thank you and ride safe...

Dos Vesperados, Part 3: White Sands, Sonorans, Trouble in a Dusty Paradise. February 18-22, 2016.



Early on, I wondered if I would grow impatient at GL speeds - Fred's had the bulletproof P200 engine in it, but it would still be an adjustment from my 4-stroke modern wonder (snerk, spoilers: I went on to buy a bike with a P200 engine). It turned out we fell into a rhythm for more frequent fill ups and stretch breaks quite naturally. The only thing that seemed to wear differently were us, the riders.


Morning at Camp Surprised Gator.


RV tour we missed out on the night before.

A full day on the GL is somewhere between harder and much harder than on my GTS, and we hadn't had a non-riding rest day yet. By the time we pitched camp I saw in Fred that mix of high-strung delirium and fatigue that happens after hours of guiding an exposed vehicle down the road - a mirror of my own state, but amplified. Our schedule was pulling us ahead, but we needed to decompress on our only night in Marfa.

In the longstanding tradition of gathering around a campfire with drinks, we made friends. Most of the other patrons were RVers, and our Vespa expedition generated curiosity.

"You're riding to Vegas?"

"Yep!"

"To get married?"

"Wait what--"

"So how did you meet?"

"Well--"

"On Tinder?"

"I want to hear your version of our lives, it's going to be way more interesting that what I have to say."

That particular circle around the campfire was eclectic, and included a photographer who recently broke up, bought an RV, packed up her life in LA, and took off. We called it a night before we could take a tour of her RV, but took her up on it in the morning.


Camper cat. I like seeing how others travel, and still dream a little about the comforts of an RV.

I guess I'm just not the romancing type, it hadn't even occurred to me that people might interpret our trip to Vegas as a crazy wedding scheme. It almost made me want to stage some fake photos outside a chapel once we arrived... almost. Maybe the scooters can get married. Is that legal in Nevada?


Tumbleweed Laundry, lattes and laundry go hand in hand. Pretty good latte, too.


Scrabble tile menu. How did this level of hipness find itself in the middle of Texas?


Everyone has a cool RV in this town.


And a cool Passport.

Marfa is surprising for being a slice of cosmopolitan lifestyle dropped in the middle of nowhere. It seemed like everyone, regardless where they're from, walked slightly off the beaten path and walked it with a sophistication more typical to a large city, not a dusty town. Here, a beat up old RV is beat up in just the right way, and the residents are probably brewing kombucha in there, or at the very least are part-vegan. And yet, the harsh landscape demands some level of hardiness and determination that would keep away those who don't dare break out.

I mean, Marfa, a town of less than 2,000 in the middle of Texas, was anticipating the opening of a slick new Vietnamese restaurant called Marpho. In case you're uncertain where I stand on this issue, I would eat there.

I hope to pass through Marfa again someday. If not for pho, then to look for the Marfa lights, which we skipped due to the GL's malfunctioning headlight and being tired.


Spark plug check and re-jet break.


McDonald Observatory. Observatories are great waypoints, they're up in mountains and a make for an educational break. We snuck onto a guided tour of the Hobby Eberly telescope, one of the world's largest telescopes.


Scoping it out. 


TX 166 to a smaller road out of Fort Davis, snaking around Mount Livermore range.

This was perhaps the hardest day. Once we picked up TX 90 it was flat and straight, and Fred would only hold it open around 50mph for fear of blowing up his engine. We zipped by the Prada art installation with tunnel vision, and I saw Fred's head whip around but we didn't stop. Rough feelings simmered as we waited for road construction, but it was superficial and smoothed out with a hug at the next rest stop. The day was not done though, and we'd spend the next several hours turning around, chasing threads of a frontage road for I-10. When we finally hit the Rio Grande again, we combed the edges of industrial scale farmland for miles before hitting the sprawl of El Paso/Cuidad Juarez. Our plan get to Las Cruces for the night were extinguished with the sun, and subsequent drop in temperature. The reacquaintance to moisture in the air from the river seemed to make the cold more piercing, and Fred made the call: He found the nearest hotel.


So tired. Very done.

I suppose I'll always take it as a bit of defeat, that I couldn't plan or otherwise procure accommodations before resorting to hotel costs, but it was clear Fred hit the point of no-longer-having-fun. Even if I would have pushed myself or planned to take longer, I must admit the hot shower, privacy, and large bed to ourselves was hugely restorative.

While El Paso was somewhat concentrated, the twinkling orange lights of Juarez stretched out in a massive blanket that hugged the land. In my mind's eye I saw the entire city grid laid out with stop signs, a surging concrete maze. I taunted Fred with the option of crossing the border just to do it, maybe get breakfast in Mexico (he said no, after looking up crime rates and recalling Voni's story about why their hotel had fresh lobster in stock. Hint: Cartel).


All that stuff fits on two scooters.

In the morning, Fred looked at the bed longingly as we packed our gear onto the bellhop. He didn't have to say anything, it was written on his face, Can't we just stay for a bit longer. Ah, how many soft sleeping surfaces I've given that look. But we have a rally to get to.


White Sands Missile Range expedition, until we had to turn around.

As a small consolation, we called it an early day and checked into Las Cruces. With luggage dropped off and the GL parked at the Super 8, we both hopped on my GTS for one place I didn't want to miss: White Sands National Monument. I hit wide open throttle as we made the long, slow climb up the Organ Mountains and accelerated to 70mph on the other side, rushing to make it to the park before closing. Admittedly, after doing 50mph for most of Texas it was exhilarating to open up my bike, even 2-up. We squeaked in just as the gates closed for sunset, and the rangers gave us an hour to wander.


Ever since visiting with Tim in the car, I've wanted to set tire here.


Accomplished.


Sunset lit up the clouds and mountains, framing the surreal expanse of pale sand.


There's a lottery for overnight camping stays. Next time...


Got something on your face there.


The gypsum sand feels slick between your fingers. I poured a bit out of my boots when we got back to the motel.


Otherworldly.

On the other side of the mountains, I pointed out the campground where I'd stayed last time I was here. It was covered in snow. We gladly scooted back to our warm room indoors at Super 8.

Fred said he was glad for the GTS because the GL would have died on that climb, but I think if you had more time it wouldn't matter...


The town of Hatch, NM stood out to Fred, but he wasn't sure why.


Let's stop for a snack break at Sparky's anyway. There's a bison with a top hat, it's gotta be ok.


I know why the name Hatch stands out now!


That's a damn good burger. All the Hatch green chiles.


This looks more like a McDonald's art installation, but I believe it's a ranch?


Nobody home.


No gas here.


We made it to the next pump before they closed, whew.

In our effort to stay off I-10 we took TX 9, the most remote road we'd ridden so far. I drank deep the peaceful spaciousness of the desert, completely oblivious that Fred was riding nervous beside me. He told me later he was going over in his head what he would do if the bike broke down. A few breezeblock shacks and border patrol cars were the only signs of human life for miles. The desert scrub could have looked like this 100 years ago. Judging from the man with only one tooth at the lone gas pump in Animas, maybe dental care was just as dated. The pump closed 5 minutes after we filled up.


Rusty's RV Ranch in Rodeo, NM had some space for tents by the orchard.


Aw, scooters on a camping date. Let's overlook the age difference. She's high mileage.


Break mid-camp setup to photograph the sunset.


The only game in town for food is 7 miles up at Rodeo's Tavern.


Challenge coins embedded in the bar.


Good morning, mountains and scooters.


Breakfast company.


Orchard in the morning.


A nod to Jeremy and Caitlin.


Thanks for packing up while I wandered around taking photos!


Darn, no game break because The Lost Arcade was closed.


Boo.


Robots of justice?


Another state, another break! Bisbee, AZ and the usual culture shock of going from empty desert to bustling resort town. Colorful people watching over lunch, I nearly dog-napped Charlie the adorable chihuahua. We also made a Lavender Pit stop.


These boots have seen some times.


Junction to turn north towards Tucson is popular for motorcyclists.

Bisbee and Tombstone were along the route, but neither of us were feeling like the Disney Wild West and our needs for civilization were topped up before long.

Moreover, I'd started to notice a disturbing trend in interactions with strangers. As a solo curiosity, there was only one option for questions. As a duo, Fred would always be the one addressed. Naturally, the vintage Vespa with a comically oversized pack stands out, and I certainly don't need to always be the center of attention. But I began to also suspect something else...

In traveling with a male counterpart, it's presumed I'm following along. Fred does a marvelous job of giving both our backstories and is not a man prone to ego, but I still don't know if he noticed the subtle, unspoken assumption of authority. Overwhelmingly, I've ridden more miles solo than with companions of any gender, but as those small moments stacked up I realized: the day I choose to ride with a boyfriend, in the eyes of the average person I'd be assigned the role of accessory. The bitter reality is my individual journey would be undermined, unless I worked extra hard to be heard. The motorcycling world puts solo female riders on a pedestal, but in a stunning display of hypocrisy forgets that same woman was noteworthy the moment she's chosen a partner for the road. Like riding solo is the only way to be a real woman rider. I'd think it's more remarkable to have found another person who's willing to take the road alongside you, but hey maybe they all just have sour grapes.

I hadn't needed to deal with those assumptions on a regular basis until riding with Fred, and admittedly I felt a hint of resentment. Of all the potential challenges I'd worried about facing together, I'd imagined scenarios like losing tempers when hungry or tired, arguing over which way to go, or becoming frustrated at the unique limitations of our bikes. I hadn't anticipated the predicament of becoming invisible, nor that it would sting so frequently. If I'd like to travel more with a significant other, I'm going to need to develop tools to handle myself and others in such situations, without too much cursing. Maybe I'll go with the cursing for now - Hey, this was my fucking idea too!

This is by no means to say it spoiled travel together. For now, it was actually a relief to let Fred be the magnet for inquisitive strangers. I'm many thousand of miles past that heady elation that consumes you when first escaping daily doldrum for the open road, but in him I saw that kind of NRE - New Road Energy. Where I may have given a more deadpan response depending on whether I'd had a snack before being accosted with, "Do you need a license for that?" (for the millionth time), Fred was always animated, and it was refreshing to see him share the excitement.

Laundry and miles had piled up, and we were overdue for a rest by Tucson, AZ. We booked two nights at the hostel, eschewing the world-at-your-service rates to mingle among the weirdos, crazies, unsocialized, or merely free-spirited (and boy did that hostel deliver). We also needed to find an urgent care clinic, to determine whether Fred's sore throat was strep. Dammit, riding hard is hard!


El Guero Canela in an old car dealership.


Cutaway view of the Sonoran dog. For science.


A sign outside Batch advertised donuts and whiskey. We were like moths to a flame.

Thankfully, Fred's throat threat was downgraded to merely tonsillitis, probably exacerbated by the dry climate. After a Trader Joe's picnic lunch at the hostel, re-knitting our paracord bracelets that had been used to line dry our laundry, we watched Deadpool in the type of theater that brings food and drink to you in your big cushy recliner. And then had Sonoran dogs. And then had donuts and whiskey for dessert.

I think it was at Good Oak the day before, tucked into the polished and tastefully lit heart of the restaurant, Fred mentioned, "On this street, in this restaurant, you could be in any city." It did seem ironic to ride so far, merely to immerse yourself in an environment not dissimilar to Boston. I suppose for myself though, this one rest day in Tucson was a wistful taste of the other side, of 'normal life'. Would this be what it's like to spend a Sunday with Fred, if I settled back into working weekdays in a fixed location? If life is like a pendulum, was mine swinging back towards dormancy? I still hadn't decided what I was doing after the rally.


The road. It wears stuff out.

Cleared of strep, clothes afresh, we had one more overnight till Vegas.

Q: How wild...the smallest town hold the greatest surprises, eh? Even the town's name sounds invitingly cool, RVs and all.

It sounds like Fred's GL managed okay, albeit going slower than Serenity, however nervous he was about it along the way. Altogether, more breathtaking fun for you both!

And...yes, travel with a steady companion inevitably brings up various and sundry challenges in terms of assumptions and habits...hopefully whatever potential friction that arises can be quickly sorted out.

EDIT: If I've learned anything in my own travels (which have been far more truncated than yours), it's that people can't help making assumptions: transitioning from being single (and male) to being part of a couple, I have to keep reminding myself of the different ways people react...even people who aren't total strangers. I'm clearly better at it now than I was, say, thirty years ago, but it's a never-ending process.

(P.S. Cursing works just fine.)

I am hoping to go visit Marfa and to also go to Trinity in NM someday soon..
I admire Quezzie and her bf doing this trip and giving schmucks like me no excuses to ride the GTS 300 to finger lakes region in upstate NY this summer.
I am so with you Quezzie on how you and other women get treated when you travel and ride with another male. It isn't subtle as such, and I would hope fellow MV male members will make a conscious effort to recognize the way we may treat a lady traveling with a male companion and make assumptions/judgements etc...

I think in general we as humans even if we may not discriminate someone based on the various categories we tend to put people into, if we stay silent we are as much responsible as those who do discriminate..
Keep driving safely and keep us delighted by your writings and pictures...

Funny you should bring upstate NY up: Significant Other and me visited friends of hers north of Poughkeepsie, and as she was driving along there were roads I just salivated about riding on - some lovely stretches of well-maintained two-lane that would make for a lovely spring or summer weekend trip. Might attempt it this year, and have no doubts whatsoever about the GTS being up to the task.

It's interesting reading your experiences with strangers, while riding with Fred. As a female rider I've experienced this every time I ride with my male friends--sometimes even FROM my male friends. Then, when I ride with my female partner we often get the question: "You ladies rode here alone?" Sometimes even "On that??" I think it's just part of how many Americans see motorcycling/riding in general as a recreational activity, followed by how many Americans see women, period.
An example: I'm getting ready to go to Amerivespa this summer and I will be riding my GTS300. When I tell people I'm doing this ride (Sac-Seattle) they often say I won't make it, impossible, they laugh derisively, mock my Toreador Pants, etc.
A couple of my male friends are going and one of them is riding an ET4. When people hear that HE is going, they just talk about how large his male appendage must be and laugh admiringly. There's no question in their minds that he will make it there. It's just funny like that.
Anyhow, I love reading your story. And since I am occupying part of your thread right now, I wish you would draw some stickers and sell them!

Thanks, Quezzie, for another interesting post and pics of your travels.

fried okra

Dos Vesperados, Part 4: The Rally Finale! Scooting into the Sunset. February 23-28, 2016.



In the past, I made a concerted effort to travel slowly and drink deeply rather than touch briefly many places over vast distances. The intention was to break the work-vacation dichotomy that compresses personal time, forcing you to rush through places for fear of missing out. I still prefer to wander slowly, but I've become much more relaxed with the ebb and flow of scheduling - sometimes (often with other people) you hustle, and other times you crawl or are at rest. It's impossible to see everything and meet everyone regardless, but the experience is still rewarding. The balance between journey and destination is a moving target.

So, our rest in Tucson was too short, but we only have one more night till Vegas!


Gates Pass to Saguaro National Park outside of Tucson is one of my favorite rides (see March 2015).


Mountains, cactuses, curvy roads.


Lunch break at a soul food shack in Maricopa, AZ.


Spotted quite a trailer while filling up outside Gila Bend.


Halfway between Tucson and Vegas, we found a classy motel in Salome, AZ.


The Westward Motel is full of rustic, retro details.


...They're also full. They recommended the Stanford Inn, a mile down the road.


Less charm, but the rate was reasonable and we had breakfast at the attached restaurant.

It seemed even our slight turn northward resulted in a sharper drop in temperature as soon as sunlight faded, and our fingers were numb by check in. Our gear was unceremoniously chucked onto every surface so a hot shower could be attended to. It was swiftly followed by nuking some soup in the microwave, opening the beer, and pillaging our collection of Trader Joe's snacks for dinner. We ate in bed to the soft sound of reruns on TV, sharing an unspoken agreement not to go outdoors again for the rest of the night. It was like that, in bed surrounded by jerky wrappers and with the lights still on, I passed out confident that I'd demonstrated to Fred the finest scooter travel could offer.


Morning at camp-motel scoot.

I think left before we definitively found out how 'Salome' is pronounced (Wikipedia says 'Suh-loam'). Along the Colorado River near the Parker Dam were clusters of RVs and boats, but they appeared eerily deserted. Another stretch of just two scooters along a river, it felt like we were the last people on earth.


Nice view from the Parker Dam viewpoint, crossing from Arizona into California for a hot second.


Actually we pulled over here because the GL's clutch cable broke, but Fred came prepared with an entire set of spares.


Oatman, AZ. Back among humans and burros, for a Navajo taco snack and Rt 66 kitsch.


One of my favorite rides is Sitgreaves Pass, along the Oatman-Topock Highway. Big tour buses may clog Oatman, but this road climbs and twists, and is too rough for them...


...But look at this view!


That scooting life.


Hauling along NV 93. The last stretch.


Riding into a brilliant sunset. Fred opened the bike up, figuring if it blew up we're close enough! It was fine, holding 60-65mph.


We made it!

Fred, figuring we're close enough, opened the P200 engine wide and we flew over the Hoover Dam at 65mph. The brilliant orange sky faded to deep blue as we hit the first traffic lights of Vegas. We checked in under cover of nightfall, which is to say around 7pm.

And we were asleep by 9:30pm. This party is pooped.


The road shared, about 2,200 miles over 12 days of travel. 19 days total including Austin and LVHR.

A few stats for this leg of the journey: When we compared mileage, we discovered our counts were similar at about 2,200. From start to finish was 10 days total of riding, 3 days setup in Austin, 1 'rest' day in Big Bend, 1 rest day in Tucson, and 4 days remaining to rally rally rally. We rode in 5 states and 3 timezones. On the last day we crossed into California briefly in Parker, making it a 3 states day. We spent 5 nights with friends, 4 nights in motels/hotels (the first in Kerrville featured a Texas shaped waffle iron and patrons sporting black cowboy hats trying to negotiate the rate, reinforcing villainous or at least slightly sleazy black-hatted stereotypes), 3 nights camping, and 2 nights at a hostel. Including the group rides with LVHR, Fred used all 4 liters of 2-stroke oil. Breakdowns include one fuel line falling off (Serenity) and a broken clutch cable (GL).

And now, to rally!


Donuts at Pawn Donut & Coffee (now closed, boo), followed by wandering through the Gold & Silver Pawn Shop, setting of Pawn Stars.


A mild-mannered strip mall from the outside, Pinball Hall Of Fame on the inside.


Some people go to Vegas for the shows, or strippers, or gambling. Fred's pilgrimage is for pinball. Is that The Who I hear?


More useful things to collect on a scooter!


Feeling buzzed, buzz button buzzed.

An excursion to Frankie's Tiki Room was a given, but Fred claimed to have a novel way to make my tongue tingle if we're willing to go to the Strip - how could I refuse? We headed to the Chandelier Lounge in the Cosmopolitan for The Verbena, a secret menu cocktail. Instructions were to first chew the flower bud, a Szechuan button, then make like Alice down the rabbit hole and drink the drink. The cocktail was similar to a margarita at first, but after thoroughly macerating the flower I began to get a sensation like sparkling water constantly sitting on the surface of my tongue. It felt like my salivary glands were going full tilt, but actually much of the sour element of the cocktail was neutralized by the kind of 'numbing spiciness' found in mapo tofu. It made for a confusingly smooth and buzzy experience. Leave it to Vegas to turn mapo tofu into a margarita.

Also, that bar is beautiful.


No tie downs? Just buckle up for safety.

We went this far without a flat, so why not get one at the Strip? The best part was how Fred was nearly arrested on the rescue mission, for 'stealing' a ramp from his friend's unlocked van - security looking on didn't know they were already acquainted. The ramp was returned safely after the GL was buckled in, nothing on anyone's records.


Another hitchhiker, from the pinball prize collection.


I wonder if that weighs the same as Fred's pack.


Rally! In both senses of Rally.


Marco met up for the group ride to Bonnie Springs.


Annual Red Rocks Canyon ride.


Live music and porthole peepholes at the Golden Tiki.


Topcase is for snacks! Ronald's Donuts for everyone!


Quad-rophenia.

Lake Las Vegas had the authenticity of a movie set, so Cyd, Fred, Marco and I bailed in favor of a sign for Crystal Palace Skating Center on the way back...

There's a sadistic side of me that enjoys watching the varying discomfort levels when other's feet are replaced with 8 wheels. Cyd grew up in an era when this was just what kids did for after school, and Fred was a skater and thus natural on wheels. Marco, however, had never skated, and spent about an hour dragging himself along the outer wall before progressing to another hour of slow shuffle. I did my best to teach him to skate, but eventually the training wheels had to come off. At least he was enthusiastic.

As for me? It was exhilarating to be on quad skates again. It brought back memories of roller derby days, and I regaled Fred with various drills with did in PRD. Every so often Cyd would skate by and mime body checking me, and then pretend to flail and bounce away. I counted Marco as 1 point every time I lapped him. With wind in my hair and rumble beneath my feet, I began to wonder if I should cross the continent on roller skates. Apparently I like going around in circles, on all sorts of wheels.


Also notice Fred has lost the facefuzz.


Getting my $3.99 shrimp cocktail on at Du-Par's.

If you think that dress looks familiar, you'd be correct: I wore it for Davide's wedding! I left a small flat-rate box with Tim Orton when I stayed with him in Herford, NC. As Fred and I closed in on Vegas he shipped it to the hotel concierge, who held it for me until arrival. Thanks to Tim, I have lady-clothes to flounce around in at the rally!


Meanwhile, at camp Moose: Meatfest.


Moose and Joe also rode into Vegas from SF. They went with a more traditional camping rally activity though: cooking meat around a big fire... In the backyard of their AirBnb.


PublicUs has the most delicious get up and go brunch cocktail: Espresso old fashioned.


The end...for now.

Until Sunday, I'd been focused on getting to Vegas and enjoying my numbered days with Fred. With raffle prizes allocated and scooterists catching their flights home, the question was, What now? Do I relent to travel fatigue, store Serenity in Vegas, and grab a flight to Boston with Fred? Do I ride on, in spite of exhaustion and longing, which is to say the same old for me? Perhaps I set the bike aflame and pursue a completely different path. I thought I was playing tour guide on this trip, but maybe I was the tourist in Fred's life. How would I know?

On the morning of February 29th, with a lump in my throat and a fist around my heart, I packed up the bike. The open desert road soothes all. By the end of the day, I'd crossed the mountains and could smell the Pacific again.

WOW......another interesting saga.....amazing!!!

fried okra

So good, it's like the never ending story.

Yeah, I'm runnin' down a dream
That never would come to me
Workin' on a mystery
And goin' wherever it leads

The song just came to mind after finishing this entry, Stephanie. And I think it fits very well.

Looking forward to more, of course.

(EDIT: Roller Derby...? Do tell, sometime.)

Nice to hear from Quezzie...
So are ya off to San Fran or Boston...

There is little doubt that most folks on this blog live a little vicariously through Quezzie. Her courage and sense of adventure are inspiring, I suspect many of the readers would love to unplug and do what you are doing, at least for a few months or even a year.

While I'm sure traveling with a companion is great, I think the solo adventures are maybe the most cathartic. There is a great book by Robert Fulton, Jr. titled "One Man Caravan", who in 1932 drove a motorcycle around the world alone, it took almost 2 years. An amazing story of fearlessness and adventure that has inspired me for years.

Quezzie, this is a fascinating chapter in your life and we are all richer for your having shared it with everyone. Thanks and ride on.

She just announced she's off to Alaska! Leaving next month

http://250superhero.blogspot.com/

What an epic journey. I saw her working at Scuderia in S.F. but didn't want to bother her since she was working. Wish I had just said hi, wished her well on her journey and gotten some of her bad ass scooting mojo by association.
Oh well, the beautiful thing is she's still on her scooter quest. It's good that she's living our dream.

Thank you all for following along! I'm sorry I'm not great at getting back to replies quickly. I read them all, but between full time work at Scuderia, jiujitsu, blog catchup, and trip prep it's hard to find time to give the thoughtful responses I want to!

amateriat: I know I can't control assumptions, and I can't single handedly fight ALL the battles...but if I can change one person's assumptions about female riders, or the capability of a scooter, or the accessibility of extended travel - whatever it is that expands their world - that's worth it to me. Selfishly, I just want to be able to be myself and ride my ride, but like baba12 said, staying silent is part of the problem.

Maybe in a lot of ways I'm like the Vespa GTS: unassuming and regularly underestimated. ;)

That being said, 10+ years of martial arts and everyone wants to know about the year I spent playing roller derby. Well, it was a fun change of pace, I made some fantastic friends, and you get to pick a superhero name!

Purzell: I wish I had more words to express my frustration at something so common that it's easy for half the population to overlook it. I suspect I've been spared a large portion of that kind of BS simply because I ride alone. The few times I've traveled with a guy, it's either Davide or Chris and they're both on big bikes (Beemer and Tiger, respectively), making us an odd duck pairing. The opener is usually, "How do you keep up?" and then when they discover I usually lead, there's some comment about who has the bigger genitals, my male companion takes it in stride admirably (there's a reason I ride with them), and then everyone rides away. I suspect for two women riding together, the assumption must be some sort of empowerment movement, instead of just...hey I have this bike, I like to ride it, and so does she so we're both riding bikes. End of story.

Benevolent sexism I've seen my share of though, that weird offshoot of hostile sexism masquerading as being 'protective' of the 'fairer sex'. Example, when a guy (usually older) says, "I wouldn't let my wife/daughter/sister do what you're doing" (yes, I have literally been told this) or even the constant, "Single young girls gotta be careful out there" (what do you think I've been doing) "You're doing it ALONE?" (no one else volunteered at the time, but I'm willing to bet if a dude was going solo you'd be ribbing him about getting laid in every state).

On the whole though, I've met more men and women and everything in between who are simply fantastic people. I hope their awesomeness is infectious!

Stang: Friday is my last day at Scuderia, if you want to say hi. I think I saw your immaculate GT60 on the lift last week? The battleship grey is beautiful.

My coworkers and I have been following your adventures, and have said those exact words out loud. Not because you're female, but because they are dangerous places. Detroit, south Philly, Baja... You certainly wouldn't catch me scooting through those places alone.

Best,
-Slashy

GoSlash27: Actually, I felt more in danger on the wrong side of Amarillo than any of those places you mentioned! Especially Baja. Contrary to fear mongers up north, the entire country is not actually overrun with banditos. If you're talking danger from remoteness, then Nevada, Arizona, Texas, and Montana would pose as much of a threat, and preparedness will go a long way.

There's a line between feeling uncomfortable and recognizing danger. I'm willing to be uncomfortable, but I'll leave if I sense true danger...and that's what the bike is great for, having the power to ride away.



Let's be realistic about risks in the US: Stable government (even in spite of the recent election), not too much corruption, generally good road conditions...so mugging and having things stolen from me are top of the list. There are easier targets for mugging than someone on a bike - I mean, it'll take me 15 minutes just to dig out my wallet, and I can be pretty careful to suss out a bad situation beforehand and NOT ride there. Broad daylight with people around? I'll probably be okay.

I tend to pack everything away on the bike at night, and the only times things have been stolen have been in Providence, where I started, and the Tenderloin neighborhood in San Francisco, which has a large population of mentally ill and homeless. If you're crazy, not much I can do is going to help with that except strap down everything I can't pack away.

Kidnapping is up there with getting on the wrong side of a bear (you can mitigate that though), or in the US, shot. Rape and sexual assault happens without even leaving home.

But everyone sets their threshold for risk at their own place, and it would be wrong for me to tell someone to do something that's beyond their limit!

Quezzie,
You are 100% correct in your statement regarding the 50% of us that don't notice the inequality of how we treat each other, but I think the notion of having concern for a sister or daughter is more of a realization (or perception) of the advantages that will be taken of a female versus a male. A lot of times we men don't worry as much about our own stupidity when it pertains to getting painted in a dangerous corner and just don't realize that those situations can be avoided. And for the same reason, a predator (usually male) would think a female to be easier "prey."

Hopefully society as a whole is on the cusp of thinking past a lot of that. It takes a lot of undoing on a lot of our parts and sometimes, even when we know better, we revert to our learned instincts.

I, for one, was amazed when I began reading your posts/blog. Initially, I questioned the whole female alone thing but soon realized what a grand undertaking it was and how grandly you were undertaking it-as well as how geezerly I had been thinking. A lot of us (male and female alike) have come to travel vicariously through your adventures. I know I have.

You are rocking the whole scooter touring thing. Keep it up! Ewan Mcgregor and Charlie Boreman got nothin' on you!

Quezzie,
Not arguing any of that. Whatever you've been doing so far has worked splendidly. You've been enjoying life and we've been enjoying the stories.
I'm just pointing out that people can be concerned for your well- being and not have it be rooted in sexism.
Keep on rockin' the free world,
-Slashy

Technically, none of the risk-mitigation factors I mentioned were related to sexism. My attempt was to try to put you (and other concerned readers) at ease with information on how I assess risk - and that I do realize travel, solo or otherwise, isn't possible without it! Thankfully, it seems good and interesting people far outweigh villains.

Though seriously, scoot Baja.

...actually I take that back. Don't visit Baja, keep it a secret.

Alas, that was not my scoot. My immaculate GT60 was in Marin. Enjoy your last few days in the city.
And good on ya for getting to El Guero Canelo for some Sonoran hot dogs. I have a little sausage shack beer garden/ patio in Marin and serve those on occasion. If you're ever cruising through Marin and want some road fuel, come on by for a dog and a beer, on me. It's called Stang's and it's in Corte Madera.

Keep on keepin' on, and enjoy wherever your scoot takes you!

Stang: I may take you up on that, when I start cruising north towards Seattle! I'm thinking April 26th-ish.

Anyway, all of the talk of fear and risks is just to say...contrary to the image of adventure, I'm actually often quite full of trepidation. I'm constantly assessing risks. It's challenging and tiring, but you can't be open to others without allowing yourself to be somewhat vulnerable. Extended travel isn't always blue skies, but ultimately I've found it's more rewarding for both the tribulations and triumphs.

OK soon I'm going back into hiding, to dial in Serenity for her Alaska journey, and document it for future posting.

This cracks me up immensely. I watched DVDs of their journey on repeat while I finished up work and set off from RI in 2014.

I do still consume extended travel media when I can, here are a few that are inspiring:

Somewhere Else Tomorrow
c90 Adventures
Ride DOT with Gene and Neda
One Steph Beyond
Books by Lois Price, and Ted Simon...I'm sure I can come up with more.

Hold it...you mean to tell me that the title One Steph Beyond was already taken? How many of you are OUT there?

(Wait, don't answer that...)

Anyway...there'll be a step-by-step of Serenity's prep to view? Would love that, even though I'm going to be taking my explorations one state at a time...in as sane a state as I can muster.

Saw Quezzie's tweet she is headed to Alaska.. Should be awesome and we (I know I do) get to read and enjoy vicariously...
Keep up with the safe riding and good writing...

In case some of you missed this, here's a link to her interview...

Saw it posted on her FB page but wasn't able to listen to it at the time. And then today I was reminded about it on another post within MV.

https://www.motorcyclemen.us/episodes/blog/episode-73-interview-with-the-250cc-superhero-stephanie-yue

Thank you for sharing your adventures with us, Stephanie!

SEVANS: Big thanks for that link. Great interview, and a voice to attach to the rider to boot.

^^^^^^ What he said!!!! ^^^^^^

It's been a while, but I'm getting caught up! Here's what I've been up to since we last left off...

Dialing in Alaska from Outer Sunset. Jan 10 - April 5, 2017.


Ocean Beach, a quick scoot from my SF spring home.

Alaska was in my sights, but it wouldn't be ridable for months yet.

On Jan 10, 2017 I landed in San Francisco from Hong Kong, solo again after a whirlwind month traveling with Fred. The weariness of jetlag shared space with the ache of separation, while gale force wind and driving rain rattled the panes of my aunt's home. Of course I'd landed during one of the many storms that season that would eventually collapse Californian spillways and put an end to their five year drought. Normally, I poke fun of what California deems 'weather' but as I hiked to the grocery store, flimsy umbrella held in front of me against a wet, windy protest, I allowed that this was indeed serious. Every few steps a gust snatched the whole thing and flipped it backwards, and as I blinked away raindrops I noticed two spokes were already broken.

What the fuck am I doing here?

Last year, from the comfort of Fred's home, it seemed a grand idea to put Alaska on my agenda. The month of May would be the earliest I could arrive, so I'd designated the months beforehand to San Francisco, one of my favorite cities. It made sense; my bike was already stored there, I had a place to stay, I could get some jiu-jitsu in, and it was generally temperate enough to ride, allowing me to stay sane and generate some income to stay afloat until the north thawed out.

I just hadn't expected it to start out so... cold, wet, hungry, and alone.

Anyway. The plan?


Serenity is well adapted for courier service.

Introducing Serenity Delivery, joining the Postmates fleet. While other parts of North America were suffering through varying degree of tundra, the climate on the coast (when it wasn't experiencing record breaking rain) was quite tolerable and even pleasant. The 'dash' - as an energetic bicycle courier referred to it - brought me to corners of the city I'd never visited, and fit around my jiu-jitsu schedule. I already had plenty of luggage space, and California is the only state that allows lane sharing, which makes scooting around the city a joy.


Not a bubble was lost.

I'd arranged to stay at the house my aunt inherited from her late father (much gratitude!). It currently sat empty in the sense that it was unoccupied by humans, but thoroughly populated by several generations of audio equipment, floor to ceiling drawers of cassette tapes, two dozen non-operational DVD players, nests of snaking extension cords just itching to catch fire, at least one drawer full of plastic bags, and... actually a lovely garden in the back. I was borrowing a house with a past life, a sanctuary of a 90's era Chinese-American childhood that I never had. The walls were pastel, the doorways rounded, and the floor was carpeted. While making curry, I found 7 can openers in the kitchen drawers, about 0 of which I felt were food safe. Ironically, I couldn't find any chopsticks.

No matter, any number of shops in the Sunset district would carry them, and everything else under the sun, packed floor to ceiling at low prices. This and the discovery of Kevin's Noodle House (Moose's favorite pho spot!), and I was all too easily enamored by the neighborhood.


Distracted in Sunset district shops. Buy it all!


Vespa headlight grill?


Joined these awesome women for the Women's March. Thanks for the photo, Miki!


Umbrellas and pink.


Normally I hate milling around Market Street, but normally I remain apolitical.


Crossing 60k on a breakfast run with Pete.

My Postmates career proved short-lived though. In a lucky (and unlucky) break, Scuderia was short an employee due to a collarbone fracture. I already haunted the shop and the guys all knew I would be leaving for Alaska in 8-ish weeks, which happened to coincide with the healing time for a collarbone. Thus, I was hired to push some bikes around!


I got to do fun stuff like this!


Secretly, I learned to look forward to rainy days at the shop, because it meant I got to work on my own bike.


I never want to have to change a tubeless tire without this machine again.

It'd been 10 years since I held down a job with regular hours (I had to count, I can't believe I've been my own boss for that long). I feared for the worst, but Scuderia turned out to be a great place to learn about working in a shop, as well as pick up mechanical tips. My workdays began to take on regular rhythm - pack lunch to save money, ride to work, drink coffee/tea, ride back, change into gi and go to the late night Jitsu classes. On Wednesday nights, I joined Moose and Joe to go bouldering. All of it happened, rain or shine. Weeks took on a predictable and not altogether unpleasant shape. I only wished I could attend those morning Jitsu classes, regular job hours hogged an inconsiderately huge portion of the day. Aside from that I could coast like this for a while...

At the shop one day, a video was playing in the showroom of a group of scooter riders, gloriously gliding along a richly forested mountainside somewhere in Europe. The sun sparkled off the bikes as the camera tracked them, and the riders, presumably friends, stopped and removed their helmets to take in the scenery.

I wondered then, how many people stared at such videos from the seat of a secure job - the kind with regular hours, benefits, an upward trajectory - and longed for the feelings depicted in that video. How many hours are lost to longing, versus how many hours spent living. Or is it enough to shoehorn those feelings into a weekend, maybe a couple weeks every few years? Would it be easy for me to slip into a 'regular' job again, as long as I had a date picked out to leave it? For a couple months, I looked in from the other side.


Rebranding my new helmet. Yay for buying at cost.


Wednesday night became a regular climbing night with these two, with subsequent feast.


Oh, California.


Sunday became group ride day.


Postmods Valentine's Day group ride...Till Death Do Us Part, a cemetery tour (cackle).


Surprise birthday cake for Postmods founder and chief, Pete!


Fun warmups at Charles Gracie.


Fred had flowers delivered on Valentine's Day. Aww.


Now, how do I get them back to the house.


SF Burger Posse, special guest and fellow BGL client, Caroline!


Still making pickups, but for Scuderia now. Freshly re-upholstered BMW seat.


KTMbrella for runs on foot. Samovar Tea Bar in the Mission smells so lovely.


After hours, I set up time to work on my own bike. And help this guy with his tranny. Thanks to Matt for loaning me specialized tools! I was exceptionally anxious about this job, but it went smoothly. Check out what fell out of my front fork in my gear talk post.


Late night at Scuderia.


At Peoples Barber, you can sip on bourbon while waiting for your haircut. Oh, SF.


Interlude for a weekend in Vegas for the High Rollers Rally.

Due to work constraints, I couldn't justify riding to the Las Vegas rally... so weird! Fred and I flew in from separate edges of the continent, and rented a Triumph. This better not become a habit.


Seven Magic Mountains art installation. These giant fluorescent paperweights throw color on everything.


I spy a Fred!


Show and shine.


GL turn signals, so pretty, so fragile.


The rare helmet fruit blooms in clusters at the base of rental Triumphs.


Tamales at Broadacres Marketplace, a cure all.


I knew I should have gone right down to metal on mine.


Back at the Sunset shops, must refrain from buying all the Engrish things.


Sometimes you just need a Mission burrito and some reading at Scuderia.


Smile House Cafe has Laksa noodle! I love the Sunset neighborhood...


Rainy day scoot is ready for massage?


The mouse and the motorcycle.


Another quiet day.


Upside down, is says GOGOG.


Oliver tolerates the new lounge at Scuderia.


Sweet lofts above the shop.


Moose, Lucy, and I joined Pete for a scooter dropoff at Morgan Territory Road. The recent rains caused mudslides, isolating communities along quiet country roads like this.


But with some local pointers, scooters can pick their way through.


Got some city riding in with jitsu friend, Haley, on his Ninja 250.


Blue scoot peeks through the barrier at Ocean Beach.


Grillin' on the beach, thanks for organizing, jitsu Josh!


Happy birthday, Matheus! The hardest part about leaving Sunset won't be leaving the food, or shops full of trinkets.It will be saying farewell to the family I made at Charles Gracie. Thank you guys.


A visit to Bagel's home in Santa Cruz. I want to cut custom vents into my case now.


Bagel walks Moose through a rear tire change.


Bagel invited me to be on the Motorcycle and Misfits podcast, out of Re-Cycle Garage! You can listen to it here.


Re-Cycle Garage is a non-profit co-op garage where you can learn to work on your bike.


It was fun to poke around the garage and meet Emma, Liza (briefly), and everyone!


I enjoyed the decor. I don't know if Moose realized what he was sitting under.


(snicker)


I was very nervous. To be honest, as of writing this post I still haven't listened to the episode.


Moose works in the food industry, so I was spoiled for food even at home.


St Patrick's Day cluster at Scuderia.


Making some mock-ups for my new crash bars.


Group ride to Point Montara Lighthouse.


Come ON, California, this is unreal.


Not even fair.


Point Montara Lighthouse has a hostel, for future reference.


It's views like this that make me think of that Black Mirror episode, and how San Junipero was such a perfect amalgamation of the best parts of California.


Moose is outdoing himself in the kitchen yet again.


Colin was in town from Boston for an afternoon! I played tour guide with this giant on the back of my bike.


We watched the sun set from one of my favorite spots, the Sutro Baths.


More city sightseeing, Haley and I were on the hunt for bison in Golden Gate Park.


250s team up. I swear he did this pose on his own.


Remember Gina?

Two years ago, when both of Pete's wrists were broken, I stood in for his arms and legs for Gina's scooter riding lesson. Fast forward to 2017, and Gina is 2 motorcycles in and planning a cross country trip on her Bonneville T120! You can follow her trip on Instagram. We planned to ride south along the coast together for a day, as a send off - how cool, I get to send someone off instead of being the one leaving!


Verna and I had a quick Presidio scoot.


It looks like our scooters are on a date.


The elusive Verna.


Weekends at Joe's are spent mastering corn hole technique.


Scooted to South Bay to meet family for Grave Sweeping. Among the graves visited was my grand uncle's, who's home I was staying in. I said an extra thank you.


My parents were in town for Grave Sweeping. Hi, Mom!


Hi, Dad! It occurred to me my parents have never seen the bike in person.

Often I'm asked, "What do your parents think about your trip?" My gut reaction is to tell them to ask my parents themselves next time they see them, because I'm not the authority on that. I don't know what the questioner wishes to hear; that they support me even if they don't understand, or that they're concerned in the way parents are obliged to worry about their offspring? Until this April, my parents had never even seen my Vespa in person. Perhaps it spared them some worry when it was merely an abstraction, one of many inscrutable enterprises that Steph, the artist one, engaged in on the other side of the world. To confront them with the object that altered the course of my life so much (for the odder, but better!) felt unreal. It was more awkward than introducing a boyfriend, and for a while they stood about 6 feet back. There's a particularly Chinese brand of guilt that comes from making parents worry, and even my hyphenated American identity cannot escape it.

I'm thankful for their support, but I'm also thankful for the space and independence they gave both my sister and I. It's hard enough to leave loved ones, if I had to ride away from my parents as well all the time, I don't know if I could have embarked on any ambitious overland journeys.

...Nah, I probably would've managed.


Moose is down for a Rick & Morty marathon, with cheese and salami and wine.


Helping Gene, my sister's friend, settle into his new home city by finding oyster happy hours.


Packing for bear test ride.

Finally, my last day of work at Scuderia was behind me, my boxes were shipped off, and the house was cleaned up. All my eggs were in a row, or were those ducks in one basket? Idioms are better scrambled. All my eggs were in one Vespa basket-case, time to get cracking and make an omelet! Let's get to the good stuff.

(She's aliiiiive!)

Goodness...I need to re-read this from the start, it's all chock-full of stuff. Glad you've got it still going.

Just unbelievable. An adventure to last forever. Makes me wish I was 50 years younger...I would strike out too. Thank you so much for making us a part of it.

Yes, another well written episode with GREAT pics.....thanks!!!!

fried okra

Oh no: she's down -- but not out.

From the GoFundMe page:

"Mission Serenity: Return and Repair
My 250 Vespa GTS, Serenity, has been my home and stalwart companion for 3 years, 66,780 miles, 49 US states, 5 Canadian provinces and territories, and Baja Mexico. A wipe out in Alaska this summer meant I had to leave her on the side of the Dalton, to pursue my own recovery. Thanks to Mark, a kind passerby, Serenity made it safely to Anchorage where she's currently sitting in his backyard. Now is the chance to help bring her in for repair and keep her going!

Boston is my preferred location for repair, where I can comfortably make a full recovery and rebuild her over winter. The estimated cost of shipment on uShip is about $1000. I believe the damages are mostly cosmetic but I won't know until I see in person. Regardless, after so many miles she's due for an engine rebuild/replacement (~$400-600). Everything and anything beyond that would be greatly appreciated, and go towards new parts, crash bars, racks... the touring package.

I don't know what's in Serenity's future, but we can keep her on the road. She just doesn't seem to quit."
https://www.gofundme.com/serenity-return-and-repair

Looks like it's gone well. I caught it on FB at the beginning...she went over the top quickly. Good on you for sharing. I'm sure the funds will be well spent.

Keep Stephanie going, she's one of our very own heroes. I'll be contributing.

tdrake, fledermaus: Thank you for the share on MV!

First of all, yes, I went down. I'm fine. I'm recovering steadily from a fractured clavicle - a small bone that's annoyingly vital enough to keep me from riding for a while. FYI I recommend against diving off your bike directly onto your shoulder, especially in remote regions like the Arctic Circle. It's a bit embarrassing to advertise a get off and ask for money in one fell swoop, but I'm deeply appreciative of any and all contributions. The ride report isn't forgotten, but I've been focusing on healing and picking up the pieces. The full story will emerge when I've gathered myself (and maybe worked up a bit more emotional distance).

Hopefully this week I'll get a uShip auction up and running, and I'll see old blue again after so many weeks!

Didn't know about the off. Glad you're doing well under the circumstances. Heal quickly. We're not being totally unselfish you know....those of us stuck inside all week get a lot of vicarious experience through your escapades.

If you need someone to commiserate with, check in with Madison Sully. He's sort of a professional at fracturing collarbones.

I just made a minor donation, simply because I really admire what you are doing. Just wish I had done the same thing years ago.

Really enjoy your posts