Easy rider: Minneapolis moped lover, 80, lives life in the slow lane

Jac Kelvie was holding court in the parking lot of Dulono's Pizza amid a cloud of exhaust, cigarette smoke and machismo. Hundreds of bikers turned out for the regular "First Thursday" event in south Minneapolis to show off their Harley Sportsters and Ducati Monsters and talk shop.

While others revved their engines, Kelvie used bungee cargo nets to secure a single change of clothes, a toothbrush and a walking cane to his moped. A red plastic gas can was strapped to the front fender. Passersby in leather vests paused to gaze at the 5-foot-4 man in polyester pants with a layer of long underwear as he was outfitting his short-range vehicle for a long trip.

Kelvie was preparing his 1984 Honda Urban Express 50cc to head off on a 315-mile ride to Dubuque, Iowa. He would pass through the river bluffs of the Wisconsin-Minnesota border, sticking to roads suitable for the vehicle's top speed of 30 miles per hour.

"I can go wherever I want to on this moped," Kelvie said proudly. "It's not about how fast you go — the slower you go, the more you see."

At 80, Kelvie has spent the better part of his life on a motorcycle or, later in life, a moped. In fact, he rarely gets off two wheels.

Whether it's a bicycle trip to New Mexico or a moped trip to Sturgis, S.D., Kelvie often sleeps on picnic tables, behind truck stops or sometimes even upright hunched over the handlebars.

"You can go a long way on three hours of sleep," he said.

With each trip comes a story — like the time he went to see a lady friend in New Orleans for pie and coffee, then turned around and came right back home.

Kelvie's stories of the road sound like tall tales, and his physical stamina defies common sense. But with each mile he travels, Kelvie proves you don't have to live fast to be a true adventurer.

Jac Kelvie has always traveled at his own pace, even as a child.

With an absent father and a mother who worked long hours, Kelvie recalled the time he went from south Minneapolis to his grandmother's on the North Side — pushing a scooter. He was 4 years old.

"I've always been bullheaded and strong-willed," Kelvie said.

Since buying a 1948 Harley 125 at the age of 15, Kelvie remembers only two times in his life when he wasn't riding. One was when his real estate career took off in the 1970s.

Kelvie was uneducated, but he had a way with people. When he sold his first house, he couldn't read the purchase agreement, and the other Realtor had to read it for him. Kelvie had a wife and five children to feed, so that night he went home and memorized the document from top to bottom.

That kind of tenacity propelled Kelvie to a successful career.

"He is proud of what he did, and he did awfully well," said his son, Chad Kelvie, 52, one of the adult children Kelvie is still in contact with. "He always had the top-of-the-line everything — he drove a Buick convertible."

Kelvie also was sidelined by illness in 2004. He was diagnosed with cancer, then suffered a heart attack and a recurrence of cancer.

Two divorces compounded by those health issues ultimately drained his savings. In 2012, on a whim, Kelvie decided to take a chance and get back into real estate after having been retired for nearly three decades.

While driving through Minneapolis on his moped one afternoon, he saw a realty sign and decided to approach a man walking out of the building. It was Carson Brooks, the owner of Exit Realty.

"Not to profile people, but I'd never had an agent come up on a moped looking like Mighty Mouse in a yellow helmet," said Brooks, who nonetheless hired Kelvie on the spot.

Even though Kelvie goes to the office five days a week and still works as a home inspector, his career isn't what it used to be. He no longer owns a home, but rents a room in a south Minneapolis house.

He talks to only two of his children and has come to regret the kind of father he was. "I ruled with such a heavy hand," he said. "I hate to say it, but I was a monster to be around. I had little man's syndrome. I had to be the boss."

Sometimes he feels like his stories and his moped are all he has left.

Over the years, Kelvie has softened. Most who know him now would be surprised to hear him describe himself this way. To them, he's the little old man on the moped or the smiley guy in the corner of the coffee shop with blue eyes that sparkle.

In many ways, he's like any 80-year-old guy. He plays Free Cell on his iPhone to improve his fading memory. He tacks photographs of his great grandchildren to his cubicle walls at the realty office. He seeks out the best $2 breakfasts in town. And he always keeps a bag of Salted Nut Bars in his Dodge Caravan (which he drives in the winter and uses to transport his moped to the shop).

Kelvie also has a MacGyver kind of ingenuity.

He modified his moped's throttle with a ponytail binder for what he calls "custom cruise control." He douses himself with a water bottle to beat the heat while riding and calls it "air-conditioned long underwear." And he sits on wet sponges while riding, because "it feels like a feather bed," he said.

There have been countless trips to Duluth and back — for coffee. At a biker rally in Milwaukee, Kelvie got a trophy for having the smallest bike. To celebrate his 50th birthday, he rode a bicycle to New Mexico to visit his mother.

Kelvie's trip list includes a ride to Churchill, Manitoba, one of the few human settlements where polar bears can be observed in the wild. He crashed his bike before arriving and spent a week in the hospital. A year later, he tried again and made it.

In 2005, Kelvie embarked on one of his most daring rides: He drove his moped to Sturgis. The trip took him 47 hours to go 536 miles. Top speed: 23 mph.

"It's hard for someone to understand. I just like riding," he said. "I like the breeze and the feeling of going someplace."

When Kelvie isn't making the coffee at Exit Realty or mopeding around town, he can usually be found chatting with fellow two-wheelers at Bob's Java Hut, a biker-friendly coffee shop on Lyndale Avenue S.

"I've had hundreds of cups of coffee with him," said Clayton Manthe, 41, of Maple Grove. "Physically, he does things a 14-year-old would do. I swear, someone's gonna run him over on that moped one of these days. But worry all you want, that's just Jac."

Kelvie had been back from his trip to Dubuque for a few days when he pulled up to the coffee shop on his moped. He ordered a mocha, then reached for a maple syrup dispenser tucked behind the counter.

"I like things sweet," he said.

He found a table in the back and opened up the "Notepad" app on his iPhone.

"I kept some notes from the trip," he said, then started rattling off details from his two-day adventure.

He drove through the night to get to the shop where his moped was purchased by its original owner 30 years ago.

"Yeah, he was here. Holy crap, I can't believe he did that," said Eric Avenarius, a parts guy at the shop. "That thing is kind of like a pedal bike for how big it is. Not too many people would try that at his age."

Kelvie spent a few hours sharing stories with guys at the shop, took a nap behind the building, snapped a picture with the employees and headed for home.

He made it to Red Wing, Minn., before he was sidelined with a flat tire. Flat tires are par for the course when you're driving a moped on debris-laden highway shoulders.

"After he made that last trip, it was pretty much the end of the bike's life," said Todd Moen, the owner of C&M Cycle Services, the Minneapolis shop where Kelvie gets his bike fixed. "It has 40,000 miles on it. I've never even seen one with that many miles." Moen said he's looked online for the same bike with fewer miles, but Kelvie is insistent on keeping this one.

"I'm still using it," he said. "For now, this is all I need."

Aimee Blanchette • 612-673-1715