Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Trouble Is My Middle Name

So on the weekend the electrical system took a dump on the Bonneville, a fault whose full import has yet to be understood. Nothing too serious no doubt but enough to stall my commute. I was pretty sanguine about the problem as I got a ride and arrived at work on time, barely and Jiri will sort out if it is the new battery or or the old charging system. No problem, still I like to ride rather than drive and my 27 mile commute is my pleasure as well as my burden. My wife knew what was coming when I sidled up and asked if I could borrow her Vespa. "Sure" she said which was easy for her because her classroom this year is new digs and she hasn't figured out where on the campus might be a safe place to leave the ET4. Usually she commutes with gym gear and files and papers littering her car (my Asperger's causes me to shudder each time I ride in her car) and then she rides around town as needed on her 150cc scooter.


I like riding the Vespa and I sneak a trip on it as often as I can but I don't like to impose on my wife. However there are days when the prospect of being shoe horned into a car just burns me up. I get bored in my zombie box, just like the other dawdling commuters trapped in their cages. Better to ride the pretty little 2004 cream colored scooter, which does 65mph and shocks the hell out of complacent dawdling motorists when they see me zipping past them and treading on their SUV penises as I go. Ha!
Meep! Meep! I was having the usual ball perplexing an early bird tourist leaving Key West before dawn in a convertible showing off the Keys to his hot date and wondering why the moped was passing him like he wasn't there. Further along a car pulled out of a side road and paused in the travel lane while the driver gathered his/her bearings instead of adjusting to the road in the on ramp that was thoughtfully provided for the purpose. The devil was in me and I slowed barely perceptibly, took the speed up ramp and passed the dazed driver adjusting her/his crotch in the travel lane. That was decidedly a trampled penis because my temerity was rewarded with high beams aimed at my mirrors as I floated off toward the horizon. Better the high beams than the car windshield fluid aimed my way by zombies annoyed that they can't shake off the moped. I follow the two second rule religiously so fluid arcing over the car doesn't usually get me.


It ended badly. The engine ran perfectly but suddenly we lost way and I knew instantly the drive belt had split. I coasted onto the ample shoulder, parked the Vespa and in the beam of my flashlight saw wisps of yellow insulating like material poking out of the transmission. It happens that modern scooters break their belts usually without warning and when they do they disintegrate into their component woolly parts. I set off in the muggy airless morning to walk the four miles home. 23 out of 27 miles wasn't bad and the belt broke in a safe spot. All was well. I ended up catching the Lower Keys shuttle for the last two miles of the journey home. I arrived barely half an hour later than usual around 7:15 am. My wife slept through the whole drama and only awoke when I returned from walking Cheyenne and picking up the Vespa with the trailer.


Sooo, my Fusion needed new tires and had a failing battery, fixed by Sears Automotive, my Bonneville needs diagnosis and the Vespa needs a new belt and rollers. My wife says this is the series of three issues and my forthcoming ride home from Iowa on the new-to-me 1979 P200E Vespa will be flawless. Perhaps she's right. The old Vespa needs no battery and uses no belt and is said to have tires with lots of tread. I hope my streak of bad luck is over now. Please. But I do have to launch the boat for the first time since the little outboard was serviced this summer...When we used it last summer it wasn't working well and now I hope my new mechanic did actually find the problem as he promised he did. Just now though my luck with engines is terrible. If I didn't have bad luck I'd have no luck at all as the saying goes...

14 comments:

bobskoot said...

Mr Conchscooter:

WOW is all I can say, and now is the time to buy that LOTTO ticket

good luck

bob
Riding the Wet Coast
My Flickr // My YouTube

Anonymous said...

Dear Sir:

My husband used to use old Vespa belts to tie me to an iron bedstead in the decaying pile that was our home in the Keys. He'd go out and get shit-faced on Creme de Mint and come back hours later, reeking of that disgusting green liquor. Then he would put on a peacock suit, claiming he was the "King of Ramrod Key!"He'd strut around for an hour or so, demanding I "pluck" the peacock.

So if anyone approaches you on the street and offers to take an old Vespa belt off your hands, please think twice. I'm all plucked out.

Sincerely,
Emma DeBris
The Last Surviving DeBris Sister
13 Ram-It-Jam-It-Home Street
Ram Rod Key, Florida

Anonymous said...

Dear Editor:

Please be advised that my wife of 87-years sniffs Airwick Solid for the kind of buzz she used to get from smoking dried iguanas, when Ram Rod Key was the kind of place where women smoked iguanas with their McGuffies out and pointing toward heaven.

You could walk from one end of the Key to other, honking McGuffies like they were geese at a carnival. And the best thing was that bastard in the Whitehouse, Coolidge, couldn't do shit about it.

I understand you have a used Vespa belt that you might be getting rid of. I'll give you a buck for it.

Yours very truly,
Tolsen V. Mellerd
Caretaker And Orchid Oiler/The Debris Estate

Anonymous said...

Dear Occupant:

Please be advised that the sale of rolling iguanas to minors, for the express purpose of smoking palm tree leaves or turnip greens, is no longer legal throughout the Florida Keys, for the exception of Ram Rod Key. However, it is illegal to bait iguanas (with pepper plants or other lanai-raised vegetables) for the sole purpose of rolling them when dry.

Either way, you're fucked out of a possibly lucrative sideline.

Sincerely,
Larry Turdo
Chairman
Ram Rod Key Behavioral Committee
126 Pepper Butthole Road
Ram Rod Key, Fl.

Conchscooter said...

Psst! You need a dead iguana with my wife's prized mint leaves dangling out of his dead choppers? Great price..

Anonymous said...

Hello Dearest Friend:

This is my hope of hopes this letter finds you well and prosperous in The United States of Ram Rod Key. My name is Haille Mombassey and my brother was the former Secretary of the Treasury of Mucha Guano, the island paradise and tax shelter only 60 offshore from Somalia.

My brother died of lead poisoning when a bullet of the same material got stuck in the back of his head. So he left me his business, which is a factory that makes iguana drying and rolling machinery. Because you are so happy looking in all of the pictures with your fat dog, I will give you half of my business in exchange for a few numbers.

The first of these is a bank account where I can send you the $37,453,876,974.00 Mucha Guano shillings ($26 USD), which is your share of our current stock of dried, rolled iguanas. You will not be regretful of my business. Our motto is, "Save The Whales... There may not be anything else to eat that week."

Sincerely
Haille Mombassey
IguanaiLike Schemes
Mucha Guano

Anonymous said...

Save your old Vespa belts - sounds like someone has a use for them.

Conchscooter said...

My Vespa belts are a humble thing but mine own. There is nothing like a little worn belt flagellation to keep the soul pure, as they say on the island of Mucha Guano. Dried iguanas fail to serve the same purpose.

Anonymous said...

Sounds like a possible side business venture for you. I've heard some folks go for that sort of soul purification.

Anonymous said...

Dear Conch:

It would appear your blog is becoming popular within a certain age group... Folks who remember the good old days when forbidden smoke and exposed McGuffies were the norm for a certain part of the Keys.

May we assume an iguana theme or a McGuffies theme will follow soon. Are the "McGuffies" a woman's tonsils?

Fondest regards,
Jack/reep
Twisted Roads

Len said...

Where does he get this stuff?

I've thought that I would like to spend an hour in Jack's mind but I'm not sure I'd come out the other side.

RichardM said...

You need to publish a book with nothing but anonymous blog comments...

Anonymous said...

Dear Editor:

I live in a major resort city, on a string of islands, named for a household item, though they will never turn any locks.

As you are aware, budget cuts have forced us to switch off the air conditioning in our community's public toilet. (We have just the one, so the line is generally long.)

This has turned the bright green port-o-potty into quite the sauna. I was sitting on the butter churn in there the other day, reading section 56, paragraph three, subsection D45, of the Ram Rod Key Building Code, when an iguana crawled up my ass.

I immediately got a job at "Freaks Bar And Grill," just of Duval Street. I am the star of the early stage show. I drop my draws and my ass eats palmetto bugs off the wall.

Would you vote for me if I ran for office?

Waldo "Fantod" Sympkins
PO Box 123527
Ram Rod Key, Fl

Conchscooter said...

I have no idea where he gets this stuff, but there is a book and its called conversation s with a motorcycle. i can only imagine how bizarre those talks must be.