The Eternal Scooter Dilemma
LEANINGS
PETER EGAN
A COUPLE OF WEEKS AGO, ONE OF Barb’s favorite relatives (and mine), Aunt Betty, died at the age of 93, so on a Saturday morning we got dressed up to go to the funeral in Middleton, Wisconsin. After rushing around to make sure we wouldn’t be late, we somehow managed to arrive in Middleton nearly an hour early, before the church even opened.
“Well, how do we kill an hour in Middleton on a Saturday morning?” Barb asked as we drove aimlessly around.
I frowned in concentration, trying to remember if the town had any guitar shops or motorcycle dealerships, which it did not. Going to a bar wasn’t really a good idea before a non-Irish funeral...
“I’ve got it!” I said. “There’s a Vespa dealership here, and I’ve always wanted to see what kind of place it is.” So, off we went.
I should explain here that I’ve never owned a scooter, except for the 50cc Honda Spree I rescued from a scrapmetal dumpster a few years ago. I got it running and illegally rode it around a lot but couldn’t pry a title out of our inscrutable state bureaucracy, so I donated the Spree to my friend Pat Donnelly to use as a pit bike.
Before that, however, I’d had a couple of pleasant encounters with scooterdom. I worked one summer on a railroad section crew, and my buddy Roger Riedel had a two-stroke Lambretta—a 150, I think—and we two tall galloots used to pile on that thing after work and ride from Columbus, Wisconsin, into the big city of Madison to see if there was any action at swinging bars. Which there never was—at least for two guys on a Lambretta. Go-go girls who looked like Nancy Sinatra were not impressed.
But I remember being impressed myself with the speed and comfort of that scooter. It cruised easily at highway speed and seemed at least as quick as the Honda CB160 I bought later—or maybe quicker. Such is the magic of a well-developed two-stroke.
After Barb and I were married and I got out of college, we celebrated my immediate unemployment and fistful of delayed G.I. Bill checks by touring Europe for three months in a clapped-out $450 Simca we bought in Amsterdam from a shyster in a shiny suit and wraparound sunglasses. The kind of guy who grips a cigarette between his thumb and all four fingers and always looks around nervously, as if expecting police.
When we got to Rome, we naturally had to rent a Vespa to explore the city. After all, we’d seen Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn do just that in “Roman Holiday,” and we were also Fellini buffs who’d seen “8V2” and “La Dolce Vita” one too many times. When in Rome, you must ride a scooter. We rode out to Tivoli and to Cinecittà, the movie city, as well as down the Appian Way, around the Colosseum and you name it. We had a great, stylish, carefree time, though I remember being initially unnerved by the reduced gyro stability with the small scooter wheels.
Anyway, I have largely fond memories of classic Italian scooters and have always admired their design and architecture. The old Lambrettas and Vespas belong—and are found—in most catalogs of Great Design, along with the Nikon F camera, the Olivetti portable typewriter, etc. They’re timeless. The Lambrettas are gone now, but the new four-stroke Vespas have managed to hang on to that great classic look.
So, with that soft spot in mind, Barb and I pulled into the parking lot of Vespa of Madison on University Avenue, right next to a foreign-car repair shop called Dunn’s Import. We walked into the Vespa shop and found a very cool vibe, with lots of scooters and the walls filled with framed vintage Vespa posters and huge pictures of, yes, Gregory Peck and Audrey Hepburn on their Vespa, as well as classic photos of Italian street life.
And who should the owner of the place turn out to be but Jeff Dunn, an acquaintance I hadn’t seen in many years. Jeff and I were both foreign-car mechanics in the Seventies, working at different shops that were about six blocks apart. We were also both novice motorcycle roadracers in WERA’s 400 Box Stock class. Jeff and I were among a handful of riders who showed up the very first day Blackhawk Farms Raceway in Illinois opened its gates to motorcycles. They did it on a practice-day trial basis, I suppose to see if we would kill ourselves or steal the bathroom fixtures. It was a great nonlethal, crime-free success, and bikes have been racing there ever since.
So, here was Jeff, 30-some years later, running Dunn’s Import and a Vespa shop. We caught up on old times briefly, then Barb and I had to leave for the ftmeral. But I came back two days later, and Jeff fired up a couple of Vespas for me to ride, a leftover 2009 250 GTS and a new 300 GTS.
What can you say? They were both quick, electrically smooth, beautifully crafted and effortlessly fun to ride. And they still have those 12-inch wheels, so they’re never going to be quite as naturally stable as a motorcycle. But the Vespas still give you a great sense of mobility and freedom in town, sort of like your first small-bore motorcycle— except the larger models go 65-80 mph on the highway now and can cruise serenely with freeway traffic. You could easily tour on them.
I suppose I’m eventually going to have to get one of these things, just to put in my vote for a great design I’ve always admired. Also, I think I’m just about the only member of the Slimey Crud Motorcycle Gang right now without some kind of scooter in his small collection of bikes.
I’ve come very close to buying one several times in the past but have always balked when I realized I could buy yet another leaky, worn-out (but possibly restorable) Norton or Triumph for the same price.
Well, I’ve got an old Norton now— and that obligatory pool of oil on the garage floor—so maybe it’s time to rent “La Dolce Vita” from Netflix again and consider my options. □
