No Age Limit - Piaggio MP3

Arriving in South Bend from the west

Before highlighting the ride today, I’d like to respond to a frequently asked question, "Do you guys have headsets in your helmets so you can communicate with each other?" Answer: "No."

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I love my Bobby, but not enough to talk to him all day as well as at night. We’ve probably spent more one-on-one time together than with any other person, with the exception of our wives. However, on the bikes neither of us wants someone else’s voice transmitted into his helmet to break the spell of the ride. If we rode the so called "slab" (Interstates), preferred by some riders, it might be a different story. Our preference on all tours has been the "blue highways" — backroads that penetrate the region we travel. Part of the allure of exploration by bike is the alone time; time to fully experience your heightened senses and the ever-changing scenery. At the end of a day, we can discuss every inch of the road: the odd tree by the wheat field, the 1940 Oldsparked by the blue house, the grey-haired lady that waved to us from her porch. We see things that would otherwise pass and never register. While at home I may have trouble remembering to take out the garbage, the days of a tour are indelibly ingrained in memory. Since verbal interruptions would detract from, rather than enhance the experience, how do we communicate on the road? Hand signals are the answer. 

• Opening and closing a fist: You forgot to turn off your turn signal. At certain life stages this is not an infrequent occurrence. One of my friends makes a left turn out of his Brooklyn driveway and the directional finally shuts off when he pulls into his garage in Ft. Lauderdale. FL.

• Pointing to the mouth: Let’s stop for a drink.

• Slamming your hand against your helmet: Damn, I missed the turn.

• Waiving your hand in circles: U-turn necessary because, damn, I missed the turn.

• Tilting your head to the side: An involuntary signal suggesting you need a nap.
There are many others, including, "I have to get to a ASAP." That’s a special signal that I leave to your imagination. The radio announcer who interviewed us in DeKalb said something about 70 being the new 50. Tell that to my bladder.

Speaking of age, a source of compatibility between Bob and me is our rare reference to our aches and pains, kid problems and state of the stock market. We subscribe to a carpe diem modus operandi with only occasional reference to issues that often dominate the conversation of our contemporaries.

Today’s ride: The Lincoln Highway in Indiana, at least the original route that runs north from Valpariaso to South Bend and Fort Wayne, is unmarked — and for the most part — uninteresting. With the exception of a few towns, it’s a corridor of urban blight (the University of Notre Dame is an oasis within the depressing squalor of South Bend), crowded roads, and town after town in tough economic shape. On top of that, non-smoking laws have yet to find their way to Indiana. In La Porte, Louie’s Restaurant was jam-packed with a breakfast crowd of the elderly, the middle-aged and young parents with children all smoking — some of the five-year-olds may have been sneaking in a drag or two. Louie saw our discomfort (Bob had a coughing fit and my eyes were flowing) and ushered us out and around the corner to his "smoke free" restaurant where all of the tables were available. What’s going on in Indiana?

We went on to Mishawaka, home of the Vogue Beauty College, where Marchello would qualify as a full professor and Sophia could be Dean of Students. Our desperate search for an "L" sign was futile as we passed through town. When stopped at a traffic light, positive-thinking, even-keeled Bob said, in a muffled voice through the faceshield of his helmet, "This had better get better because I’m depressed." If Bob utters it, attention must be paid.

We rolled into Goshen, a complete contrast to our first 90 miles. It’s a vital town with civic pride as evidenced by its beautifully-restored late-1800s buildings. Some folks I spoke to at The Electric Brew (our #1 all-time coffeehouse) attributed the difference to the presence of Goshen College — a Mennonite school — and its resident professors and former students who often decide to settle in town.

The Electric Brew Coffee Shop was a perfect venue for administering a half-hour of cognitive behavioral therapy and it worked like magic. By the time we left, Bob was mentally refreshed and eager to get back to Sophia and the pursuit of the Lincoln Highway. Of course he said something about the terrific coffee, the comfortable, welcoming atmosphere of the shop and Goshen in general. I didn’t have to press the issue, since I know if I ever need something Teflon-coated (his family business) he’ll be there for me.

We’re now settled in on the outskirts of Fort Wayne and would strongly recommend that future Lincoln Highway travelers skip the 1915 route and do the later alternative route that avoids the South Bend loop. There’s word out that Indiana is striving to establish a Lincoln Highway State Byway which would help to preserve what’s left of our historic road and its landmarks.

A final word about the bikes. Today we realized why we may be getting more respect from oncoming traffic, especially oncoming cars making a left hand turn, than we’re accustomed to when motorcycling. The MP3 500 has two large, extra-bright, side-by-side driving lights that create the illusion of a bigger road presence than would be the case with a normal motorcycle or scooter. The same is true of the twin side-by-side taillights. Being conspicuous makes for added safety and we’re grateful for it.

As always — we’re not done yet!

Buddy out

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