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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