The second important bike in my life was a motor scooter. A Vespa 160 GS. It belonged to a friend of by brother who was under orders to sell it because he had broken the rules once, or very many, too many times.
This was a disaster waiting to happen. Too much power, too little brakes, and absolutely no suspension to cope with the streets of San Francisco. Those little tires were never meant to deal with the craters euphemistically called pot holes.
The tiny tires also meant that cornering was always a challenge because leaning it too far over meant that it would scrape the bodywork. This would lever the back wheel off the pavement if one were not careful. Centrifugal force would immediately take over and fling the scooter and rider off the street and into the nearest stationary object. Ouch!
I didn't care. It was fun to blast through traffic, cutting in and out and in between the bigger cars and trucks. It was the '60s, the Haight-Ashbury generation, and all young people in San Francisco were supposed to act crazy!
The little wheels also meant that it was prone to doing wheelies whenever going up one of those famous hills. I once had a girl on the back and let out the clutch too fast. The Vespa wheelied, she fell off the back, hurled many bad words at me, and walked home. Alas, I never saw her again.
I did ride it to Yosemite one time. Remember, this is a 160cc machine, not the 50cc of my little Honda so I was not quite as crazy. Until the ride home …
There was a Corvette coming down the Altamont Pass at the same time I was. Now a Corvette and a Vespa are not usually in the same competition class but where he had the power, I had the maneuverability. I was cutting in and out, lane splitting before it was legal, doing anything I could to get ahead. Maybe he saw me or maybe he was just in a hurry but I was having the time of my life!
Until …
The engine seized!
Remember those little wheels? Let me tell you that they do not offer much stability when they are not turning. I managed to grab the clutch and keep it upright while I coasted to the side of the road. 50 miles to home in North Beach and I was wondering what I was going to do. Having nothing to lose I started kicking it over and over until it miraculously started. It must have overheated and seized but was able to restart once it cooled off. It didn't run very well but it got me home.
The following weekend I took it over to my friend Dan's place because he had a garage I could work in. I took out the engine and carefully cleaned it off so I could disassemble it. Then left it out on the sunny sidewalk to dry off while I went into his apartment to make a sandwich. He came in and said, “Wow, you've got it back together already?”
“No, I'm waiting for it to dry off so I can work on it.”
“Well it's not out there now.”
I ran out and, sure enough, it was gone. Vanished!
I called around but a replacement engine was more than I could afford so I sold the body for a little money and became a regular patron of the MUNI, San Francisco's bus and trolley system.
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