Adventures in Geezerland

Last year an elderly friend emailed to inform me he’d decided to finally stop riding. A few months later he emailed me again about how he was missing it more than he’d anticipated and now was looking for one of those little (and somewhat hard to find) retro 250cc Suzuki’s, the TU250X. Those good machines have a small following in moto-geezer land but I’ve never especially been a fan. Should I be fortunate enough to make it to this elderly friends age, I’d probably go for something less conventional. Maybe a fat-tired 125cc Suzuki VanVan, or as a second option the similarly fat-tired Yamaha TW200. VanVans are slightly more high tech, being fuel injected, and both machines feature electric starting, low saddles and a fairly light weight. These things are unconventional enough so if one parked mid-trip at a rural roadhouse and the machine was piled with camping and travel gear, and was wearing an out of state plate, you’d surely get occasional questions like: “You rode that here? From Minnesota? Really?” This sort of attention makes any long trip more amusing, and a VanVan’s fattie tires might turn out to be both softer riding and safer for navigating into the nooks and crannies where you usually find interesting hidden places to stealth and poach camp and escape. My TU 250-seeking friend no longer camps. 

Some of the coolest rides I’ve learned about involved bikes which were wildly inappropriate for the planned journey. Examples include those Australian postal-delivery bikes (Honda Cubs?) being ridden from Melbourne to Manchester, and Honda Rukus’s being ridden from Washington DC to Fairbanks, and then on to Los Angeles. This slow-boat-to-China touring method makes a lot of sense for young riders with more free time than money, as well as for elderly geezers living on Social Security with age-diminished skills and abilities. 

John G. is now a few years past eighty and each summer he still rides all over the country aboard a small machine modified for long trips with a top box (for his little dog ‘Moose’) and windshield. Last year he was on his second TU250X and for this year he’s looking at further downsizing to Honda’s new 125cc version of the Cub. All his gear is carried inside one enormous waterproof duffel resting sideways across the passenger area of the saddle. He doesn’t camp and I’m sure it’s a challenge for him to lug it from the motel parking lot into a room. Which is another reason to favor old-fashioned tourist courts consisting of a strip of small rooms where you park directly in front of each room door. These ma-and-pa places are inexpensive, the room’s windows usually open, and though standards vary greatly, each is dependably unique. I love staying at those places too. During a typical 300 mile day John frequently pulls over to the side of any road at random times to shamelessly pee even as traffic whizzes past, and also to give Moose the same opportunity. It’s fun riding behind them as there’s a softball sized hole in the lid of the dog’s blanket-lined top box and every minute or two Moose pops his head up for a look and a sniff, then just as quickly disappears, unintentionally doing a hilariously perfect Whack-a-Mole impression.

The best example of this kind of elder-logic touring was a guy I met at Milwaukee’s ‘Rockerbox’ motorcycle festival about ten years ago. Every summer a neighborhood there blocked off this shady side street for about half a mile and thousands of riders would come from Chicago to Madison and everywhere in between. They’d show up to ogle each other’s machines, make friends and enjoy themselves. It’s the same spontaneous vibe as the Twin Cities ‘Blind Lizard’ gathering of riders on Nicollet Island every summer on Father’s Day, and the annual ‘Bearded Lady Motorcycle Freak Show’ street event later in the summer in the Uptown neighborhood. Such slow-motion motorcyclist flash mobs started happening decades before cell phones existed, so if you’ve never been to one, find out where and when, and go.

Back at the Rockerbox I’d become tired after so much walking and sat down on a bench in front of a friendly-looking neighborhood corner bar, to rest and soak in more of the warm summer afternoon and sweet atmosphere of passing people and motorcycles. A few minutes passed and an older man with an elfish smile sat down next to me. He was a wiry sort, and clearly enjoying himself as much as I was, so I started our conversation:

“Did you ride here?”

“Yes, I did, Yes!”

“What do you ride?”

He pointed to a generic moped parked about twenty feet from the bench, center-standed right on the sidewalk. It was not like any moped I’d ever seen, either. This one was fully outfitted for long-distance travel by a resourceful dumpster-diving type customer. Stuff was tied all over it in the classic haphazard Joad-family-Grapes-of-Wrath fashion, but there was also an undercurrent of method to the madness. On top of everything a one-gallon plastic lawn mower gas can was tied on with a single rubber bungee through its molded handle. Beneath that were plastic bags, pots and pans, canteens and a sleeping bag all tied with a mix of bailing twine, bungees and whatever else could be found. I gazed at this unlikely arrangement of Salvation-Army meets Army-Surplus store camping detritus for a long moment, taking it all in, and then said:

“Wow! What a cool rig. That’s awesome!” I meant every word. It was easily one of the most incredible machines at the event. 

“So where did you come from?” I asked, innocently.

“Minneapolis.” The old elf replied, with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye. We were about four hundred miles away from there.

“No kidding! Really! Wow…So how long did it take you to get here?”

“Three days.”

“Wow. Holy sh-t! Ho ho ho…You are incredible! You are amazing! My hat is off to you, sir! You win!”

There was a long silence and I just sort of stared at his moped for a while, thinking about this guy and his adventure, and how someday maybe if everything worked out for me I’d be able to be just like him. Then he said:

“So where are you from?”

“Duluth.” I replied.

“Really? Know someone from Duluth.”

“Who?”

“Andy Goldfine. Great guy. Runs a motorcycle gear place there.”

I smiled wide and said: “Hahaha…I know him too! And pretty well! I AM Andy Goldfine.”

“No!”

“Yes. Really! I’m Andy Goldfine. Nice to meet you again!…”

The old guy looked at me very carefully for a moment, then smiled. Our conversation continued for another five minutes, with me asking him a few more questions about his riding history and listening to him describe long past and more recent adventures. He’d ridden that moped from his home in Minneapolis to the big annual bike rally at Sturgis, South Dakota, at least twice. I think he said he’d worn out one or two engines, or entire mopeds. My head was spinning, so I don’t remember much more, but I think he told me his age was somewhere in the mid 80’s. At one point two pretty women came by and he stood up and began flirting and then dancing with them, right there on the sidewalk. Music supplied by a rockabilly band about a block farther down.

Motorcycles bring people together in such wonderful ways. What a great day that was, riding to the RockerBox in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and then meeting this amazing old guy. So if you are an old geezer, consider a Van Van or scooter. Or even a moped. (For inspiration visit www.mopedarmy.com) Just keep riding as long as you can.

• Mr. Subjective, April 2022

PS - I’m now age 69 and am not as skilled or strong a rider, or anything else, compared to ten years ago. Regardless of the loss I plan to continue riding for as long as I am able to. Hopefully many more years. Fluency comes with frequency, so the more often one rides, the better and safer they are.

All this aging-out stuff varies so greatly it’s impossible to say what is sensible. I know maybe half-a-dozen people who still ride in their eighties. One still-sharp woman in particular took up riding in her forties and goes cross country camping on a BMW 800. Her ’safety’ protocol is to ride mostly empty backroads and take her time. Another very old rider has by increments downsized the bikes. His cross-country trips just take longer and again, he sticks to little-traveled roads. Another old geezer friend from Santa Barbara stopped riding MC’s at about 73 and rides an e-bicycle nearly every day with a posse of older moto-rider friends who’ve all also switched to e-mountain bikes. They trail ride those things over three thousand miles a year. Another long-distance and daily rider in his mid-80’s was just told by his decades younger wife to stop riding, so he’s looking at a Honda Grom for neighborhood-only riding. I hesitate to ask him to define ‘neighborhood’.

Solutions are all over the place. My own plan is to see how I’m feeling day-by-day, year-by-year and follow these leads as best as I can. I’m no longer too concerned about what, where (or how) I ride. Just that I ride.

PPS - Have you seen this wonderful long-form television commercial for a Taiwanese bank?
(It became so popular a feature film was later made about the story.)

Excerpts from an email from Muriel Farrington, received Aug 5, 2021:
“On my nearly 8,000 mile trip to National in Great Falls, I ran through all kinds of weather…While I did limit my 114-degree day riding to 250 miles/day vs up to a 627-mile day, the weather was brutal…and (after visiting friends on the west coast) I was ready to make the last few miles home the next day. Olympia, WA to WRJ, VT in 7 days and 4 hours. It will be my last trip west - I am 80 in a month and probably should think about acting my age…Best, Muriel”