Tim’s Motorcycle Diaries – Page 44

Sea to Sky and Back Again

My son and I are two up on a BMW F800ST on our way out of Sooke on Vancouver Island’s south coast. It’s the last big stop before heading into the wild, and it’s not that big a stop. The road has met up with the rocky shoreline and I’m bending the bike left and right around constant corners, I’m seldom able to see more than a couple of hundred feet down the road. From the steep hillside down to the Pacific Ocean a deer pops over the barrier onto the road right in front of us. The BMW seamlessly comes to a stop five feet in front of the startled deer that tears off into the forest. I wait for the inevitable follow up deer and see it next to the barrier watching us. We pull away slowly and elect to ease off a bit and keep it under 80 kilometres per hour. Even at speed limit speeds this road is something special.

I’m supposed to be in class, at work, instead I find myself over four thousand kilometres away from home on a cool and sunny Friday morning at the end of May with a rented motorcycle, beautiful weather and three hundred kilometres of astonishing roads in front of me, sometimes life offers up nice surprises.

I’ve only been riding on the road for just over a year. I have my M2 license and I left an ‘07 Kawasaki Ninja 650R at home. The BMW is only the second road bike I’ve ever ridden. It’s amazing how different two machines that do the same job can be. The BMW is a bigger bike, with larger seats, it’s much more comfortable according to my pillion. The suspension is soft and supple compared to my Kawi, and the controls feel lighter. The clutch take up is smooth and the brakes make me think I need to do the front pads and bleed my Ninja when I get home. The BMW is a more mature bike in every sense. The redline is a sane 8000 rpm, and with the soft suspension and big seat it’s easy to ride for a long time. Other than the weird left hand/right hand indicators it’s an easy transition from the Ninja (one of the reasons I chose it).

The rider of this fine machine,
in his beaten up, old BMW
leathers was in his seventies!

We work our way down this increasingly empty coastal road until we stumble across the small town of Shirley and Shirley Delicious. We’d been told by the technician at Cycle BC where we’d picked up the bike that the temperature can drop ten degrees on the coast, and he wasn’t wrong. After a hot coffee warm up and the best sausage roll I’ve ever had, we bump into another BMW rider who is in his seventies. After some affable, Teutonic chat we are back on the long and winding road.

From Sooke to Port Renfrew,
endlessly entertaining

From Shirley we wind our way north west up the quiet coast of Vancouver Island. The east coast faces Vancouver and is as busy as anywhere in Canada, but the west coast faces the endless Pacific and remains largely unpopulated. From Shirley we saw only a couple of other vehicles as we chased the tail of this amazing road that clings to the side of mountains edged by ocean. The switchbacks that lead down to single lane bridges over mountain rivers look more like Scandinavian fjords than Canadian back roads.

We stop and stretch about forty minutes into the ride at a scenic lookout, which along with many provincial parks, dot the route. As we clear the straits between Vancouver Island and the mainland and begin to face the Pacific, tsunami warning signs and escape routes begin to appear. You really get a sense of being on the edge of the world here. The edge of North America, the edge of the former British Empire, facing half a world of ocean.

Port Renfrew is more an idea than an actual place; a few buildings scattered among the trees. We pass through it in moments and find ourselves on a rough paved road into Juan de Fuca Provincial Park where we hope to find Botanical Beach. We strip off the bike gear and stow it in the big Givi box on the back and head down the trail. The tide is out and an amazing beach full of tidal pools awaits.

We warm up on the long walk down and soon find ourselves clambering over black stone jutting into the ocean. The sea life is prodigious, with massive strings of clams, crabs and a million other things crawling on the rocks. The smell of salt and sharp, clean air is magical. We’re the only people we can see.

Jurassic Park has nothing on
Juan de Fuca!

We spend two hours wandering around the rocks, but I’ve only got the bike for the day and the sun is way past noon. A quick uphill hike back to the bike has us both sweating. I figure we should eat and the Coastal Kitchen on the way in looked like a good choice, but my son has a thing for chain restaurants and says he isn’t hungry (though he was). I don’t get to the Coastal Kitchen, one of my few regrets on this trip.

I’m looking at my watch and wondering how I can possibly get back to Victoria since it’s getting on for 2pm and we’re not even halfway around our loop yet. Lake Cowichan is halfway across the island. It’s only 63 kilometres away but this road is something else, you don’t make time on it. Around every corner (and there is always a corner) you find idyllic waterfalls, tumbling mountain rivers and absurdly beautiful alpine vistas.

Almost two thousand metres in elevation
changes, it’s as uppy-downy as it’s lefty-righty

The BMW is bending left and right over the patchwork surface of the road, the soft suspension soaking up the bumps. I get into a rhythm and lose myself for a while chasing this road.

Unlike the Ninja, I can barely feel Max back there until he uncharacteristically thumps into me as a I brake for a switchback. He mumbles that he’s ok, but we’ve been on the road since 9am, he’s had no lunch and he’s dopey, not a good combination. I push on to Lake Cowichan, now more worried about him than enjoying the ride. I really wish we’d eaten at the Coastal Kitchen before leaving Port Renfrew, we’re not putting that to a vote next time.

We stop in Cowichan and eat lousy fast food at an A&W. He perks right back up and we get back on the road quickly because it’s getting on to 4pm and I’ve got less than two hours to return the F800. But Cowichan marks the return to the populated side of the island and the highway out of it is the first 100 km/hr zone we’ve seen since leaving Victoria. In a flash we’re back to the Trans Canada in Duncan and, after a day spent virtually alone on twisting roads, we find ourselves in a traffic jam surrounded by box stores. We wait our way through the worst timed traffic lights ever in Duncan and finally get moving south towards Victoria.

Even a commuter road like this makes most roads in Ontario look sad. It’s smooth (it barely snows here and frost heaves are all but nonexistent), and the asphalt constantly snakes over and around mountains. Though very different from the west side wilderness, the highway ride back to Victoria was nice too.

At speed the BMW is surprisingly comfortable. The tiny screen on the front had me doubting its high speed comfort, but now I understand how wind to the chest can keep your weight off your wrists. At highway speeds you seem to lay on the wind, it’s remarkably comfortable. The minimalist aerodynamics on the F800ST do a surprisingly good job.

Once clear of Duncan we don’t see another slowdown until entering Victoria, and it isn’t a big slowdown. By five o’clock we’re pulling back into CycleBC’s downtown shop, tired but elated. The bike did the whole trip, over three hundred kilometres all told, on a single tank. It also cast some perspective on my Ninja.

The BMW’s suspension makes me want to look into the Kawi’s, but a 650R is a very different kind of bike than an F800. Given a choice though I’d take the BMW’s buttery, compliant suspension over the teeth rattling shocks on my Kawi. I thought the lack of a windshield would hurt the BMW but it was surprisingly good, and makes me question the turbulence I get off the aftermarket windshield on the Ninja. The weird switch gear on the BMW wasn’t convenient, but all of the controls were light and responsive, making the bike a joy to take down twisty roads. It all sounds like a slam dunk for the BMW, but there is one place where the my older Kawasaki leaves the BMW behind.

It’s pretty and capable,
but it has the heart of a tractor

After lugging that BMW engine around for a day I was happy to put it down. At best it chugged down the road, but most of the time it sounded agricultural. One of the reasons I fell for the Ninja was the sound of its engine, I’ve seldom heard anything happier. Whereas the BMW goes about its business with conservative, grim faced determination, the Kawasaki is an eager accomplice, with a soprano’s voice. While the BMW is grumbling to its redline something magical is happening in the Kawasaki. Happy up to 8000rpm, it dives to the 11,000 rpm redline with a euphoric banshee wail; the last half of the Ninja’s rev range is something wonderful. That it also manages to feel stronger than the BMW even though it’s a much smaller lump is also telling.

I enjoyed riding the BMW, but it didn’t move me. The good news is I now have much higher standards for control feel, brakes and suspension, but without that all-singing engine I’m just not smitten.

As for the trip, it was unforgettable. From sea to sky and back again, it was challenging, exhausting and completely worth it. Were I to do it again, I think I’d get the bike for 24 hours instead of 8 and stay over in Cowichan before coming back the other way down the empty coast. That road deserves two way attention, and I’d happily avoid the traffic in Duncan and the stress of trying to rush the bike back at the end of the day. It also eat lunch at the Coastal Kitchen, damn it. The days are long on Vancouver Island in the summer. If you left at noon on one day, you could meander up to Cowichan enjoy a 10pm sunset and be on the road well after sunrise at 6am the next day looking forward to retracing those mad roads back to Victoria – you’d also miss rush hour on both sides.

CycleBC is located in downtown Victoria right under the conference centre attached to the Empress Hotel. The staff are quick to get you on the road, know the area inside and out and offer up some great insider tips (why we ended up making a point of seeing Botanical Beach). They offer a wide range of bikes from the F800ST I was on to a BMW GS, Suzuki Vstrom, Kawaski KLR, Triumph Bonneville and various cruiser options. Everything looked to be in top form (they have an onsite technician), and the F800 was flawless for us.

If you get a chance to ride southern Vancouver Island, you won’t be disappointed. Next time I’m out there, I’m looking at a longer ride around more of the island.

Perfect Moments on 2 Wheels

Lexus has this ad about being in the perfect moment:

Other than the narrative (I find that I’m lost in moments like this, not narrating them in my head), I like the idea. I was editing footage from riding last week and had trouble finding a frame where I didn’t have a perfect moment look on my face:

Even pausing during the high speed sections of that video shows a series of very content micro-expressions. You might find a perfect moment once in every blue moon in your Lexus, but I find them almost constantly when out on the bike. I’m starting to get the idea behind the ‘you never see a bike in a therapist’s parking lot‘ saying.

The real question is: what is it about riding a motorcycle that causes this kind of continuous immersion in the perfect moment? (redundant perhaps, every moment is perfect isn’t it?)

When I ride well I find myself immersed in what I’m doing I lose myself in it. It’s only when conscious thought arises that my corners aren’t carved perfectly and my gears are wrong. Some of this has to do with the fact that I’m still relatively new to motorbiking and very conscious of improving my process, but the majority has to do with the immersive nature of riding a motorcycle.

I even look happy parking the bike at work!

Being in the wind means you are enveloped by the world you’re passing through. Your senses are alive to sounds, smells and the panorama around you. You aren’t seeing the world through a letterbox wind shield and smelling recirculated A/C. The sensual nature of riding, the wind tugging at your clothes, the sun on your back, goes a long way to making you the ride rather than you doing a ride.

If the sensual side of it isn’t enough (and it’s often overwhelming, ask any biker who has felt the temperature drop and smelt the ozone as they’ve ridden into a thunderstorm), there is always the mechanical intimacy of riding a motorcycle to make you forget concious thought and become one with the moment.

Unlike the hand on the wheel, one foot on the gas approach to driving, the motorcyclist is changing gears with their left toe, rear braking with their right, operating the clutch and indicators (and sometimes horn, lights and choke) with their left hand and twisting the throttle and applying the front brakes with the right. On top of that they are using both arms to counter-steer into corners and their whole bodies to manage those turns. Motorcycling is a viable and complex form of exercise for both the mind and body.

So what we have here is a mode of transport that is physically taxing, mentally demanding and sensual. On top of all that, if you do it badly it can very quickly become fatal. You very quickly want to be able to fall into the zone when riding. Peak performance and awareness it fosters isn’t nice to have but a necessity when operating a motorbike. Fortunately, getting to that state is fantastically rewarding. There are a lot of ways to get there but seat time seems to be the magic ingredient.

In a cruel twist, this morning I got the bike out for the short commute to work. The rain had stopped and the smell of water soaked plants filled the humid air, but my up-until-now bullet proof old Concours wouldn’t start, it had a dead battery! Maybe I left the ignition on? Maybe some water got into things? Maybe something broke? Suddenly that string of contented moments I was looking forward to became a morose push back into the garage after changing out of my gear. My commute turned from fifteen minutes of bliss to the tedium of driving. The bike is a wonderful form of therapy, except for when it doesn’t work.

A State of Constant Surprise

On the bike I tend to pay very close attention to people piloting the boxes around me, mainly because they can quite easily hurt me. That close attention has shown me that a surprising number of drivers (anecdotally more than half) are in a constant state of surprise. They jump when they notice someone walking down the sidewalk, they start when a light changes in front of them; they are permanently startled by everything around them.

These jumpy people must be exhausted when they get out of the car. I wonder if they are equally surprised by everything when they go for a walk. Perhaps their subconscious is just continually reminding them that this driving thing is a bit more than they can manage. Next time you’re riding or driving try to consciously register how often you’re surprised by events around you. It’ll say something about how well you’re doing it.

When I started driving I found that my mind wandered and I wasn’t always paying attention to what I was doing. After an accident (not entirely my fault, but I could have avoided it had I been paying better attention) I made a promise to myself to make driving the priority in my mind when I’m at the wheel. I developed a relaxed, alert driving style that allowed me to take in what was around me while also being able to respond to it quickly and smoothly. When I did something wrong or found myself in a bad situation, I’d consciously review it and ask myself how it got like that and try think of alternatives for the next time. It took me a long time, some advanced driving courses and some track time to get me where I wanted to be in terms of driving, but I don’t look surprised or start at everything I see like a rabbit in a field. I suspect most people are lost in thought when driving matters interrupt them, and if something bad happens embarrassment forces them to ignore it rather than critically review it.

Most drivers behind the wheel. Being freaked out is not the
same thing as being alert or responsive.

If you don’t make a conscious effort to develop a skill it atrophies. Practice by itself isn’t improvement. In many cases it’s just reinforcing bad habits, which is what I see every day when I’m closely watching the habitual people around me with years behind the wheel driving in a constant state of shock and awe.

When you consider that the last time most drivers made an effort to learn how to drive was when they needed to get a license, many of them are not only trapped in bad habits but have also forgotten what little they did pick up years ago. Bafflingly, insurance companies award these ‘expert’ drivers with lower rates. There is nothing expert about them.

People often say that riding a motorcycle on the street is a dangerous business and they aren’t wrong. Getting hit by a startled rabbit in a three ton metal box is gonna hurt no matter how startled they are. The trick is to see the rabbits and give them enough space to drive badly, it’s all they know how to do.

Plugs, Calipers and Frozen Feet

The spark plug (bottom right) is easy to get to once
you remove the distributor caps mounted to the frame.

Yesterday began with a spark plug change on the Concours. There are two (for lack of a better term) distributor caps (CoG got me sorted, they’re coils!) in the shape of cylinders attached to the frame under the fuel tank. Removing these makes for a fairly straightforward spark plug swap. Someone had been in here before as one of the distributors wasn’t properly attached to the frame (the rear bolt was seized). With the unit removed it was relatively easy to free everything up in the vice.

I used to be pretty good at gapping plugs by eye, but I hadn’t done it in a while. I got better as I worked through the plugs and the last one only needed a minor adjustment. The plugs all came out without issue and the new ones went in by hand and then got torqued to spec (14Nm).

The two middle plugs are tucked in behind the radiator and don’t collect much road cruft. The two on the outside have a tougher life. Other than being filthy, the plugs didn’t show any internal issues.

With the plugs sorted and the under tank electrics cleaned and seated properly, I turned my attention to the rear brake caliper. I’ve got a replacement metal brake line, so the old rusty rubber one is going in the spares bin. The caliper came apart quite easily. The rear brake on the Concours has always been excellent, but was starting to whine as the pads got thin. With nothing seized and the main bits just needing a good cleaning, I think this will go back together nicely with new pads and brake lines. I’d meant to order a caliper rebuild kit from Canada’s Motorcycle, but my order got mixed up with a bearing puller I didn’t need. At least now I can tell you how good their return process is.

follow-up: I requested a return on January 24th and got a shipping label in a reply email a day latter (which I thought was good). I sent it off that day. I just got a confirmation email today (Feb 3 – 10 days later) saying it will be another 3-6 days before I see a refund… and I’m charged seven bucks for returning it. Compared to motorcycle-superstore.com’s over the top customer service (immediate, free returns, what can we do to prevent this happening in the future?), I’m left thinking twice about shopping on canadasmotorcycle.ca.

While I’m waiting on the rear caliper rebuild kit I can do the fronts, which is what I’m aiming to get done today. It’s officially frickin cold outside (-20°C overnight, -12°C now), and even with the thick rubber mats I’ve got down in the garage and the heater going, I still ended up with foot cramps from the cold at the end of three hours in there yesterday. Winter in Canada can get pretty tedious. This is one of those days. If someone called and said they could fly me somewhere warm to ride a bike next weekend, I’d be in heaven.

The two cylindrical distributor caps (COILS! bottom middle &
top right with the spark plug wires coming out of them)
are held down by two bolts. Once removed from the
frame spark plug access is straight forward.

A longer view of the spark plug.

Timing

After enjoying The Perfect Vehicle so much I started on The Man Who Would Stop at Nothing. I sent the author a quick email saying how much I enjoyed The Perfect Vehicle and hoped she’d keep at writing so well about the craft of biking.

After ripping through the first couple of chapters I did what anyone in the information age would do and looked up what John Ryan is doing at the moment. The assumption was that he was making time somewhere and putting miles behind him.

I have a unique talent for lousy timing, and my starry eyed thanks to Melissa Holbrook Pierson for writing The Perfect Vehicle contained no idea of what was happening with her and motorbikes right now. She was very kind to right back so positively. More people should drop a line to the writers they enjoy and say thanks (says the English teacher).

John Ryan, the main focus of my current read, is a record breaking Iron Butt rider. He covered huge distances in record breaking time. I stumbled across the Iron Butt Association when I was planning my Lake Superior circumnavigation earlier this year, so Melissa’s latest book on this hidden subculture wasn’t completely new to me. As I was researching circling Superior I saw a blog post where the rider casually mentioned that he did it in less than 24 hours. I was astonished! And intrigued!

I’ve been greatly enjoying The Man Who Would Stop At Nothing so far, so much so that I wanted to link John’s blog to this one. That was when I discovered that he’d recently died in a seemingly benign road accident. I’m frustrated that he was rear ended by a cager in a Mustang, and that no other details of the accident are forthcoming.

So here I am, a week later, mulling over John’s fate (yes, I’m a muller). There is no doubt that motorbiking is a dangerous pass-time, one that demands the utmost attention, and I now suspect a degree of fatalism. If John Ryan can be taken out by some idiot texting in his Mustang, so can we all.

I’ve been osculating between despair and bravado in responding to this. A small part of me wants to question what the point of it all is, and the other (larger) part is thinking, ‘fuckin’ ay! He died doing what he loved.” We should all be so lucky. I’ve lately had the fear that I’ll go shovelling the driveway, or be at work… how horrible!

In the book Melissa has a great quote: “Give your best years, your now, so that at some distant point, which may never in fact arrive, you can get all the pills you’ll need to extend your shuffle to the grave.” The fearful response to two wheeling is, I think, based on this truth that so many people live by.

Melissa also talks in great detail about the calculus of risk in riding. Knowing John as well as she did, I suspect she’d appreciate the fact that he left the world on two wheels, even while wishing he were still here.

I crossed the line a year ago when I decided to go take the course and get on two wheels. It’s approaching mid-winter here in Canada and that feeling of immersive freedom is as far away from me as it can get. I’m sorry that John is gone, and reading the rest of Melissa’s book is going to be tinged with that regret.

Does any of this stop me from getting back on two wheels as soon as I can? Not remotely.

Foggy Ride In

T’was a foggy morning out in the wilds of Southern Ontario, Canada. I took some photos with the big camera before leaving, then grabbed the Theta360 for some foggy road photos…

from Blogger http://ift.tt/2sxWwbO
via IFTTT

Bikes v. Cars, the one we lose

$33,800

Since I started riding last year I’m smitten with motorbikes. I like old bikes, new bikes, sport bikes, adventure bikes, bikes with sidecars, hyperbikes, scamblers, cafe racers, touring bikes, low cc bikes, big cc bikes… I dig ’em all. The motorbike offers a unique approach to efficiency and size in personal transportation that most other vehicles can’t touch. I’m not a big fan of choppers or Harley type cruisers, but I get the appeal. One I don’t get though is the CanAm Spyder.

$28,250

A thirty-four thousand dollar tricycle? I’d be sorely tempted to pocket five grand and buy a Mazda Miata. The Mazda is cheaper, gets better gas mileage, corners better and goes significantly faster all while keeping you dry and carrying way more stuff. It’s not like the Miata is a slouch on the road either, it’ll put a smile on your face in the curves. The Mazda not only gets the wind in your face but in your hair too (you don’t need a helmet).

One of the reasons I’m so fixated on bikes is that they outperform the most engaging experiences I’ve had driving cars. As a sensory experience and a source of efficiency and power bikes take some beating, except in this case. I don’t mind trading some safety for that kind immersive, complex experience. When it comes to Miatas and Spyders though the calculus clearly points to the four wheeler.

Winding River Road on an Easter Monday Morning

Riding River Road on Easter Monday morning. The day promised to warm up, but it was cool in the valley. With little traffic and miles of winding road, the Tiger was frisky and I was ready to explore some corners.

With the ThetaV 4k video camera wrapped around the rear view mirror, I proceeded down the hill on Prince of Wales Road to River Road before heading east. The Theta seems to kick off when it hits two gigs of video. 4k video is heavy and you reach two gigs after only five minutes, so here is five minutes of riding down into the valley before it chokes on itself.

I couldn’t stop at the Terra Nova Public House (closed for the holiday), but on the way back I went back to my happier medium of still photography and set the ThetaV at its one photo every four seconds rate to catch some corners, which I then chased down on my way back through the valley to Horning’s Mills. Later in the year it’ll be quite busy, but on this early spring holiday, there were only a smattering of other vehicles and the corners were open and empty…

Riding through the desolation of winter before spring green is back.

Neutral throttle in, winding it on through the apex and out the other side. The Tiger is a settled, athletic thing for such a big bike.

Some Photoshopping to give it a painted look. That scalloped sky followed me all the way home.

I ride an hour out of my way just to find that magical sign.

Terra Nova might have been closed, but Brewed Awakenings in Grand Valley was open with hot coffee and a date square ready to go.

from Blogger http://bit.ly/2UEA8dx
via IFTTT

Idiots In Cages Day

It was sunny this morning, so Max and I thought we’d try and squeeze in a ride over to The Fork of the Credit and back. Once we got going it was cloudy and 5°C instead of the 7-8 partially sunny degrees we were promised.

So, with a windchill of -3 we got there shivering only to discover it was idiot-in-a-car day on The Forks. They’ve removed the speed bumps so every bosozoku dingdong from the GTA rushed up in his Fast & Furious car to make a traffic jam.

Many of them seemed particularly confused by the hairpin, especially the mouth breathing fuckwit in the Ford Focus who came around the corner half in our lane. Once again my assumption that anyone in a hopped up turd-mobile is next to useless saved us. I wasn’t riding the hairpin so much as sticking to the outside of my lane – as far from the Eminem clones who can’t drive in their own lane as I could get. Even on this cold day, driving a car still feels like a poor alternative to riding a motorcycle.

Just in case the twisty road wasn’t difficult enough, there was also a car parked at the top of the switchback with a drone hovering right over the road. As a qualified drone operator, it’s this kind of stupidity that gives the hobby a bad reputation. He could have easily set up and flown so he wasn’t a potential hazard, but he didn’t. It’s a shame. Getting some aerial media of the road is a great idea, just do it with some sense.

We got back to Belfountain and ended up turning around and going the long way around back to Erin and Holtom’s Bakery. The big row of traffic blocking up the only road through the tiny village is yet another win for the the four wheeled crowd. Between being unable to drive in their lanes, blocking up villages and otherwise being pests, our cold trip out to The Forks underlined car culture in all its glory.

Escaping up the back way on Mississauga Road away from Belfountain.

That might have been our last ride of 2018. Since then winter has descended:

from Blogger https://ift.tt/2S0ZYHM
via IFTTT

Scootin’

A week before we headed out to Victoria my wife suddenly suggested that we get scooters for our first day. I was flabbergasted, she isn’t a fan of motorbikes. I quickly arranged the scooters with CycleBC and waited to see what would happen.

Thursday morning we woke early after the longest day ever (up since 6am, a day of work, four and a half hour flight to Calgary thanks to tornadoes in Saskatchewan, an hour layover and another hour on to Victoria before the cab ride in – we got in at 1am West Coast time, that’d be 4am our time). After a big breakfast we walked over to the rental place and got ourselves two scooters.

Alanna got herself a little, red Honda Jazz and Max and I got the industrial looking Yamaha BWs. After a quick practice in front of the shop we pulled on to the street. We’d been told about a park a block away so we headed over there and rode around on empty streets for a few minutes, then discovered the petting zoo there and ended up not leaving for half an hour. We then puttered over to the sea and started circumnavigating Victoria’s coastline. We ended up covering over 64 kilometres that day. The scooters made it easy to pull in and hop off anytime we saw something interesting.

After the park we followed the coast stopping at scenic lookouts and eventually at the Oak Bay Marina where we had a nice cup of coffee, fed some harbour seals and looked at the lifestyles of the rich and famous docked in the harbour. Oak Bay is a nice place to stop and take a break.

We pushed on up the coast and through the very green Mount Doug Park before finally cutting inland for the run out to Boutchart Gardens. Waiting at a light an older fellow on a Triumph T-bird stopped behind us and struck up a conversation with Alanna after she told him it was her first time ever on one. He told us about how he and his wife used to rent scooters together before the light changed and we all burbled off down the road. You just don’t get moments like that in a rented cage.

We arrived at the Gardens and were directed to special 2-wheel parking close to the entrance and enjoyed a long walk and lunch in one of the loveliest spots in a lovely city.

Later in the afternoon we saddled up for the long ride back. By now Alanna is riding like an old pro, but the rush hour traffic we ran into on our way out was heavy, and with Max and I on the little Yamaha, we had trouble getting to 40km/hr on flats, on hills I just started pulling over into the bike lane to let traffic past. Apparently that wasn’t enough for a couple of fuck-wits in a pickup who thought that throwing a full beer can at us would be funny. Seeing red I suggested they slow down so I could haul them out of the passenger window and beat the shit out of them, which my son found hilarious. If either of them happen to be reading this drop me a line, I’d like to meet you guys.

We pushed on into town and the traffic only got sillier, so we made a change of direction and puttered through the University of Victoria before heading back to the quiet roads on the coast. We retraced our steps before angling in to the CycleBC store downtown and dropping off the scooters.

We had bugs in our teeth and big smiles on our faces. Alanna was surprised at how much fun she had and how gentle the scooter was on her arthritis. She’s now thinking about getting a scooter, which is awesome!

A quick look around found some nice, lightly used scooters for well under $1000. Even bigger 150cc units aren’t much more expensive. Even bonkers Italian Vespa style costs less than four grand brand new, and the super dependable Japanese, Italian inspired copies are only a touch over two.

Since Ontario made a full motorcycle license a requirement to ride something as simple as a scooter, she’d have to take the course I took last year, but they do a great job of making it fun. I’m hoping she’s still willing to give it a go.