We tore out the anti pollution canister, and replaced it with a simple piece of tubing. That's a fix that is supposed to solve stuttering and hesitation problems- but I got nothing good out of the surgery.
An appendectomy that solved a misdiagnosis of appendicitis! Bummer. Victor called for help and apparently my Vespa, still under warranty will go under the diagnostic computer at the main, Fort Lauderdale store.
That's my sad story of woe, and I am bummed as I lose confidence in the Vespa's daily rider reliability. I am scooter cursed I think.So, my thoughts turn to a return to a full-blown motorcycle, a machine of traditional proportions, scant weather protection and a hodgepodge solution to carry luggage. I am fed to the teeth with all these fruitless trips to Miami, this long distance problem solving sucks, so I took a trip by the new Scoot Boots motorcycle shop in Key West. The idea was to see if this seemed like it might be the kind of place that I could rely on to look after a new and different motorcycle, without having to run up to the mainland every time something breaks...It was good idea, I think.
.
I am no great fan of motorcycle shops, they are filled with broken, sad motorcycles, and the people who repair them who all too often prefer the machines by far, to their poky, annoying, incompetent riders. Relations between expert and supplicant are generally not of the best.
My introduction to the new store was through a 27-year-old lanky native of Wisconsin, lamenting the heat (In Florida! In summer! What did he expect?) so I knew he wasn't too bright. As though to confirm my initial impression of him he proudly pointed out his Hardly Davidson, a machine with 1960's ape hanger handlebars and scissor suspension front forks, a 1930's technology designed to guarantee a rough ride; I made appreciative noises and retired behind a motorcycle magazine to wait for Kenny, the "oddball brand" specialist to come back from lunch. Mr Wisconsin, in his all knowing Harley Davidson-ness, classified any other motorcycle brand as "oddball," a marketing technique not popular in most stores, but in the world of motorcycling elitism its a surefire way to run a business into the ground. Scoots Boots future is not assured.
'
While I waited for the mythical, "oddball brand" Kenny to show up I listened to Wisconsin and a customer discuss life. The customer was on a long distance ride from Seattle, on a Harley, and he and Wisconsin fell into an arcane discussion about their idiosyncratic machines.
'
It appeared that Mr Tourer had broken down in Paradise and Peterson's Harley Davidson of Miami were falling down on the job of sending parts. Mr Tourer was red faced, sweaty and not in a good mood. He and Wisconsin were discussing traveling as the young man had, to his credit, ridden his uncomfortable machine down from his home town up north. Mr Tourer in his middle aged myopia was insisting Wisconsin would do better with a windshield and the young man was adamantly (to a customer!) insisting he didn't want a windshield, nor a helmet for that matter. I turned to Mr Tourer and said something to the effect that he's young, and Mr Tourer looked at me like I was stupid and said "The wind's still just as strong when you're young!" I bowed out of his incomprehension.
.
Then they turned to discussing the missing parts.Mr Tourer had been waiting two days and he was pissed. Wisconsin assured him Peterson had the parts and it was just the parts clerks screwing everything up, which was little consolation to Mr Tourer. I, silly me, intervened and suggested renting a car- Peterson's is just three hours away and highly visible from the Turnpike. Mr Tourer, red and sweaty turned his blazing piggy eyes on me and hissed coldly: "I am not driving up to Miami in a rental to save their asses!" he nodded at Wisconsin as he muttered the words. I shrugged.
.
Travel is supposed to broaden the mind, but one has to have a mind to broaden to start with. Lots of people, thousands, perhaps millions, would give an arm for an unexpected vacation in Key West, but all Mr Tourer knew what to do, was sit in the stuffy, weakly air conditioned room, and fume. The traveling thing was not, I think, going so well for him. The notion that not all problems are of the same severity was not a lesson he was prepared to learn or understand. I keep having to remind myself of the same thing as I wonder why my Vespa continues to be broken and I am driving not riding. And I'm not even on vacation.
No comments:
Post a Comment