Two Wheel Madness

Last week, Courtney and I had what I can only categorize as a two-wheeled weekend.

While watching an Eddie Izzard special several months ago, Courtney mentioned, during one of his more memorable bits, that she thought Vespas (or more properly, Vespe) are cool. Now, my wife is wonderful, but being coordinated and accident-free are not two things one could easily associate with her. Therefore, the more wheels on any vehicle she is operating the better. Still, it stuck in my head that she digs Vespas.

Flash forward to two weeks ago. We got our tax return and had all kinds of money available. I asked Courtney what she thought about getting a Vespa. She jumped at the idea and thought it was the coolest thing ever. Apparently, she’s loved Vespas since forever and coveted one more than I suspected.

Long story short (and believe me, it is a VERY long story), we went to the dealer on July 4th, our nation’s berfday, to make the purchase. On the way down, I noticed a lot of folks riding Harleys. I soon discovered why. We got to the dealer, made the deal, and while they were getting the paperwork done, Courtney brought a poster to my attention. Apparently, the very dealer we were buying the Vespa from was having a run to celebrate the opening of their new location not 200 yards down the street. By the time we were ready to leave, it was 8:45 am. The run started at 9.

Courtney did not have her motorcycle permit at the time, so I was tasked with driving the scooter the 15 miles home. Straight through the seething masses of Harley riders gathering for the party.

I hopped on the Vespa and started home. Due to its wee wheels, the thing handles MUCH different than, say, a 1982 Ironhead Sporty, so in addition to looking like a poof on a motorscooter, I looked like an uncoordinated novice who could barely make a turn without falling off his queermobile.

Oh, my brothers, believe me when I say I hit every stoplight on Nimitz Highway. At each stoplight I was confronted with dozens upon dozens of Harley owners revving their engines, smoking cigarettes, and looking at me like I had a dayglo spiked dildo hanging out of my pocket. That was not the worst part.

The worst part came three miles later, when two guys riding Honda mopeds on the opposite side of the rode beeped and threw shakas at me as though I was one of them. I felt like vomiting.

Anyway, once we got home, Courtney and I hopped on the ugliest motorcycle on Oahu and headed down to the Harley party. There, we met Great Biker Buildoff vets Indian Larry and Billy Lane. On the trip down, my 8-year old biker boots fell apart, so I had to buy some Choppers, Inc. shoes. When I met Billy Lane, I told him I bought his shoes and they were mad comfy. He sorta hugged me, which was weird/cool. Still, awesome.

In the week since that day, I have taught Courtney all the basics of how to operate her Vespa. She has taken to it like the proverbial fish to water. After the first lesson, she was doing figure eights with a miniscule turning radius and slaloming through our makeshift practice course like a champ.

Why a Vespa? Go big, go hard, or go home. If you want a scooter, get a real scooter. Besides, this thing is gorgeous. It is a classic beauty and fun as hell. Like a fat chick, it’s fun to ride, but you don’t want your buddies to see you on one.

~ by kinshay on 2004-07-12.

No Responses Yet to “Two Wheel Madness”

  1. Ease off the testosterone, boy-o. Vespas are the flat out bomb.

    You just gotta get into it. Ya gotta be the schmaltzy Italian smiling at everyone and saying “Ciao!

    I know I would.

  2. Don’t get me wrong. The thing is cool as hell and a moving work of art. For girls.

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