After a seven year interlude without one, I finally broke down and bought a motorcycle in the fall of 2002. Not long after, I was having coffee with my friend Yves Gauthier, who expressed his delight and immediately extended an invitation to his annual Vancouver-Winthrop ride. Each year Yves invites a select few of his motorcycling friends to ride from Vancouver, BC to Winthrop, Washington, a 370 km ride that starts with beautiful twisty back roads south of the Canadian border, climaxes with a crossing of the Cascade mountains then ends at the character town of Winthrop at the beginning of eastern Washington’s semi-arid region. Yves could not hold his tongue for the remainder of our coffee, and let me in on his secret plans for this year’s trip.

Yves has been a passionate motorcyclist for over 30 years. He has, over the years, owned many different and rare models, but has usually kept his stable to approximately 5-8 assorted vintage BMWs and Ducatis. He and his cronies from the Italian Motorcycle club meet once a month at Café Calabria on Commercial Drive in Vancouver’s Little Italy. This year many of the boys upgraded to new Ducati ST4s. Many of Yves other friends put down the cash for new BMW models. 

Yves spent his money on a new “fridge”. He bought a 1984 BMW R100RS, resplendent in pearl white, then added a monstrous long range tank, in an effort to improve the ride times for his Iron Butt association submissions. His friends felt that this huge white machine resembled a fridge more than a motorcycle and the name has stuck. As Yves explained, his friends have been pestering him to upgrade. “Yves, you need something newer, more powerful.” “Yves, the “fridge” just doesn’t have what it takes, fuel injection is a must.”

In his heart Yves knew that a love of motorcycling was not dependant on enough money for a $ 20,000 motorcycle. In the summer of 2002, Yves’ friend at work had pulled him aside and whispered, “You know I have a motorcycle that I want to get rid of. If you come and get it you can have it for free.”

Now most of us with previous “free” motorcycles experience would flee in panic at such an offer. However, Yves could not stem his curiosity and a week later found himself in his workmates back yard staring at this fine Italian machine. There, leaned up against a fence was a 1982 Piaggio Vespa P200e... scooter. It had been propped up there fourteen years previously and left to rot. The fourteen-year-old gas was still in the tank. The tires were flat and crumbling while the body was well on it’s way to rusting completely off. What paint there was left had faded to a pale, flat blue.

Yves pondered this mess and then realized an opportunity. Over the winter months he stripped the Vespa to its engine then rebuilt all of the mechanicals on the twostroke until they were in running order. He then reassembled the scooter but without doing any cosmetic repairs. Lastly, he searched for new tires, and when he ran across a set of Dunlops that looked like sport bike tires. He had to have them. The end result was a semi-reliable Vespa that looked like hell. As Yves second coffee was nearing its bottom he explained his plan for Winthrop and as he laid it out, I could only laugh out loud.

On the morning of June 28th, 2003 I rolled into the historic town of Fort Langley, our meeting point for the start of the Winthrop ride. As I pulled up on my new Katana 600 and viewed the 20 odd bikes there I suddenly felt somewhat inadequate. There was a display of some of motorcycling’s finest: Ducatis 748, 996, ST4, ST4s; BMW R1150 RS, K1150 RS and even a Honda RC51.As the riders went through various stages of preparation Yves, stood erect on the sidewalk, hands on his hips, resplendent in a new set of black Tekniks leathers. “The Fridge” was parked prominently on the sidewalk nearby. As the departure time neared Yves handed out maps and souvenir cards with each participants name inscribed. It was quite apparent that he had done a lot of planning.

What the group didn’t know was how much “extra” planning he had done. Yves split the ride into two groups of ten, dispatching the Hooligans (RC51 included) first, then sending myself along with the Gentlemen. At the last minute, Yves informed the Gentlemen that he had forgot his wallet and had to return home to get it. As Yves only lived minutes away he would catch up with us along the way.

We crossed the border at Aldergrove with minimal problems, the U.S. Customs service being friendly and efficient. From there we wound our way towards Sedro Wooley along beautiful Washington country roads, passing through numerous small towns. At Sedro Wooley, the restaurant where we stopped for lunch had two Harley-Davidsons in its parking lot. One of the Harleys was a brand new V Rod. Its owner came out to chat with us as we gathered around, explaining that he had just picked it up that day and that he and his friend were having a celebratory lunch. It was only near the end of the lunch stop that a few people started to ask about where Yves could be.

Our ride continued on towards the looming Cascade Mountains. At the base of the mountains we pulled onto Hwy 20 and were now on our own, with only Winthrop ahead. It was a sunny, hot day and the climb to the blue sky was breathtaking. The casual winding road up to the pass reinforced the reasons for buying another motorcycle. The pay off came at the top, with incredible vistas of eastern Washington. By the time I breached the crest, the Hooligans were already pulling into Winthrop, congratulating themselves on another fast run from Vancouver. But as they approached the the Duck Brand Inn meeting point, their glee turned to dismay. 

There, parked in front of the patio, sat the Piaggio Vespa P 200e. The front fender was fully half rusted away. The flat blue paint reflected none of the brilliant sun. At the back, on the formerly chrome but now rust-coloured luggage rack, was a black plastic box held together with a black bungee cord, which we later found out held two containers of premixed twostroke fuel. The seat was covered with a sheep skin and atop the handle bars rested a radar detector. And when they looked up from the scooter, the Hooligans were greeted by the sight of Yves, wearing jeans and a white polo shirt with a cold beer in hand and others on the table waiting for them. “What took so long?” he asked.

Yves had headed home and quickly changed into his retro gear. On his back he slung a hydration bladder full of cool water. With nutrition bars and bananas, this allowed him to keep him going without stopping. He had mounted the Vespa, descended his driveway, dropped it into 2nd and jump stared the engine, leaving only a puff of blue smoke behind. His route skipped all of the scenic touring and headed straight for Hwy 20. Flat out, the Vespa maintained 90 kmh. 

Just south of the border crossing, Yves had passed a Ducati 996 on the inside of a corner, much to the chagrin of the fully decked out rider. Three hours later, having endured a solid hour of climbing at 50 kmh, Yves crested the Cascades. Refueling at the top from his onboard fuel supply, he then went into an aerodynamic tuck on the descent and pegged the speedo at 120 kmh. Yves total time to Winthrop was just under 4 hours.

Later at dinner, the talk was of Yves’ stunt. Some refused to believe he had ridden it, arguing that he must have trailered it there. After dinner, as was the custom, we moved our bikes into the local garage for safekeeping. Along the way, Yves could not resist pulling hard on the bars until the Vespa went into a wheelie down main street. We then hit a couple of Winthrop’s quirky bars. Next morning at 6 am, while the Hooligans and the Gentlemen slept off the escapades of the previous night, Yves and I slipped out of town and headed back to Vancouver. In the cool morning air I witnessed the decrepit Vespa at full roar climbing back up over the Cascades.

A week later over coffee again, Yves explained the motive behind his stunt. “You know, all of my friends keep pressuring me to buy a newer more powerful bike. I just wanted to show them that you don’t need a new and powerful bike to enjoy motorcycling. You know, that’s the slowest I’ve ever done that ride. I’ve been doing it for eleven years now and for the first time I really enjoyed the scenery.” --Bill Whalen