Life In The City

We house sat and dog sat for a couple of nights. I was a resident of Key West for forty eight hours, and it wasn't all bad. I mean the house was nice, check out the breakfast nook.

I have this attraction repulsion to the idea of living in Key West itself thatbi have gone over previously. It was pleasant to be able to walk off the property and have my dog happily immerse herself in her favorite kind of walk, the urban kind. No putting her in the car and driving to some suburb to find her favorite walks. Here she hit the street running, nose down, tail wagging.

In the same way that migrants to Key West always cite the weather as one of their reasons for moving, the notion of the car as optional is another big draw for residents of this small town. For me of course the idea of not riding is a pain in the patootie because if I'm not commuting my riding time is limited. On the other hand while we lived in Old Town my commute went from 40 minutes to five. Count'em: 5. I left work at ten to six in the morning and Cheyenne and I were out walking at six o'clock sharp. At home on Ramrod I arrive around 6:35 load the dog and arrive at a good walking spot around 6:45. Hmm.

The dog sitting part of the equation I left to my wife who carefully measured the terriers' precise nutritional requirements and she took them for a walk while Cheyenne and I got some alone time. I have to admit the break in my routine was rather hard for me, but Cheyenne seemed to adapt just fine. My wife did okay too hosting a dinner party for a bunch of girlfriends.

I was impressed by the order of this lovely oasis of pool and hot tub, and abundant greenery which looks so much more ordered than my treehouse chaos. Turns out it takes elbow grease and some dude showed up with a bucket of soapy water and set to scrubbing the outdoors. I couldn't find the caffeine so I was gong through withdrawals and found his exertions astonishing.

We walked a lot which ended up being rather repetitive surprisingly enough. Over time I could I've stuffing Cheyenne in the car from time to time to vary the diet. She, like me, enjoys a routine but she does like to vary her walks. The other thing that was slightly odd was how exposed I felt. Minding my own beeswax Doug of This Week On The Island woke me from a reverie yelling to me across the street. That was fun, normally I just meet Lower Keys snowbirds who cross the street tugging their cheerful hounds who just want to frolic with my Labrador.

I saw the residents of Bonnie Albury's house admiring their handiwork, as well they might. The place is looking resplendent, and were Miz Albury to come back from the dead I don't supposeshe'd recognize her old pad. Perhaps it might remind her of her youth which is how it must have looked a century ago. She used to call the police department to sho away artists who thought her old pile worth painting and she thought they were intrusive louts. We always sent an officer to meet with the grand dame of Southard Street. I think of her every time I pass her home even though I never actually met her. I used to think about walking up to the door but she liked her privacy as much as I do and my job is to stay out of sight.

Not enough that Doug Bennett hailed me not once but twice in two days(!) I heard another voice asking ef I was Cheyenne's dad. Rob stopped and talked and had some interesing ideas about Key West as we stood in te street all neighborly in a way that seems hard to conceive on my street of grouchy old white men.

Here's another weird thing both my wife and I had no trouble at all parking close to the house. You'd think parking would be unobtainable in Old Town the way some people moan about it but we had no trouble coming back to the same spots day after day. And there were plenty of open spaces nearby. It helps that we have Monroe County tags so we can park in residential spots but it was not crowded.

We talk about wat it would be like we're we to move back to Key West itself. I missed the unrise and sunset on my commutes which I agree are an indulgence. The time I saved not riding I put to good enough use but I am lucky that working at night I get lots of time to myself anyway. I like the peace and quiet of my stuffy suburban neighborhood and the privacy of my tree house and if that means an expedition to get downtown to a movie or a play or a concert. It was fun though, being a city resident for a couple of days. Maybe I should have bitched more about chickens neighbors and all those other things that city dwellers moan about. I enjoyed myself too much.

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Outward Bound With Andrew

I have no idea why I stopped to pick up the wiry young man on the side of the road. Even as I slowed the car on the stretch of US One approaching Big Pine from the south I was looking in my mirror wondering how many slow pokes would nudge past me while I played the Good Samaritan with some junior league alcoholic hitching a free ride. For some reason I stopped and let him hop in and the gods were on my side for he was an interesting companion for the ninety minute ride to his destination, outside the Key Largo Publix at Mile Marker 101. 25 year old Andrew is spending the winter in the Upper Keys teaching youngsters the joys of open boat sailing from the Pennekamp State Park base of Outward Bound.

I didn't know much about the modern Outward Bound but after I got home I looked them up and these days they have 40 bases around the world to teach wilderness survival and teamwork and leadership to adults and kids. Andrew works with another instructor and takes a load of kids out on an open thirty foot sailboat for a matter of days or weeks putting up a tent over the boat each night! They live off one car battery for minimal electrical use, no cell phones and no boat motor. I remarked that the experience was probably going to leave its mark on those youngsters for life. Andrew does similar work in Maine in the summer at another Outward Bound school. He also has plans to go home to Long Beach, California where he crews on a square rigger taking students sailing in California's Channel Islands.

Andrew lives in Key Largo in employee housing, has no car and admits there isn't much to do on his few days off. He got a ride with a colleague to Key West the day before and was hitchinging, successfully, back home. Had he failed to make the ride he was planning on sleeping rough using his "bivvy" contained in his rather diminutive pack, which along with a bright red ukulele was his only sign of luggage. It made me realize how old I am when I shuddered at the thought of sleeping in bushes alongside Highway One with no wheels at my side. I enjoy roughing it when riding my motorcycle but I feel like I am master of my fate with my machine at my side. On foot, in an urban agglomeration it seems a whole different thing.

It's funny but I have always treasured having wheels even before I came to the States where a pedestrian outside Key West is the lowest form of life. I never hitch hiked when I was a youngster as I would rather ride my motorcycle through a rain storm than ride a train, when I had a choice. I remember taking a course in south London when I was in my twenties and the ride from my father's house where I lived for free for the duration was about thirty minutes, which was pretty hairy when snow was on the ground and I rode feet down sliding like a sleigh. Better that than on foot!

He said it can get cold and wet on the boat but the idea is to toughen up the students and let them make their own mistakes which helps them grow. And Andrew himself is growing, taking his time, enjoying life, working outside a career path with the full backing of his family. We had an interesting time talking about sailing, discussing anchorages and generally being nerdy about boats and life. Like any sport or activity if you know what you are talking about your listener knows, and with sailing its easy to spot a fake such is the peculiar language of boating. Ours wasn't a conversation about bragging rights as I told him about my experiences traveling and he told me about his much less selfish experiences passing on the love of sail to a new generation. I was sorry to see him go, which he did faster than I could take a picture, which I knew was going to happen which is why I snagged a picture in the car as we rode down the highway together exchanging ideas.

It actually was better than listening to the radio, and for me that's saying a lot.

Outward Bound - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

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1979 Vespa P200E

So why spend $2500 to buy a thirty three year old 200cc anachronism? I take that as a reasonable question, one that I have been forced to answer myself to myself several times since this mad search began last Fall. First, it's pretty in a purposeful way.

Second, it has a certain heritage. The first two stroke Vespa was built in 1946 after a design by a man who wanted to create affordable transportation that wasn't a motorcycle. Corradino D'Ascanio was an aircraft engineer who hated the exposed looks and accompanying dirt dust and oil of motorcycle riding. The first 98cc Vespa was capable of thirty miles an hour with a three speed gearbox and was easy enough to ride that a woman in skirts could manage to get aboard it with its step through frame. In 1946 women didn't routinely show off their underwear.

I saw this example in a privately owned museum in Pollenza in Italy a couple of years ago. It is numbered 2711 and is perfectly preserved. The outward resemblance to my Vespa built 33 years later is obvious in many details even though these scooters have evolved massively over the years. Even my wife's 2004 shares similar lines even though it has evolved to a four stroke engine with electric start.

If you accept the lineage and certain features, pressed metal bodywork, small wheels and a totally hidden engine, you will accept that owning a Vespa, especially in the US where scooters are objects of curiosity, is to some extent a passion, not a necessity.

Third it is eminently practical. A few people have traveled absurd distances on a Vespa. Italian philosopher and adventurer Giorgio Bettinelli practically lived an a P150 until he met and married a Chinese woman, got a virus and died suddenly in China as he tried to settle down after a life of wandering. Ironic but true. He said the Vespa humanized him and made him approachable anywhere in the world, not least because Vespas have been built and sold from factories all over the world. Even the Soviets ripped off the design and sold shoddy replicas in the USSR. These days India sells a replica called a Stella in the US and I had a dreadful relationship with a new Stella for 2800 miles before it blew up. To make an older Vespa practical it needs to be well restored and kept stock, in my opinion. Young enthusiasts like to use kits to boost these engines and squeeze performance with inevitable consequences.

My favorite feature is the spare wheel, just like a car's spare, carried unobtrusively and interchangeable with front and rear wheels. If the scooter had a battery it would be carried inside the wheel on a special tray which mine doesn't have. The rim can be split by unbolting the halves so tire and tube can be replaced without struggling with tire irons. Vespas have always had this feature throughout their evolution carrying the spare wheel behind the leg shield, on the rear carrier rack or under a side cowl.

Traveling by Vespa was enshrined for me by a racing motorcyclist who undertook crazy publicity journeys for the Italian manufacturers he represented in the 60s and 70s. Roberto Patrignani rode a Vespa from Milan to Tokyo to see the 1964 Olympics. He said the Vespa was easy to ride, comfortable and could carry luggage front and back which allowed the weight to be spread evenly across the machine. He called it the best motorcycle ever designed for travel. A tall claim that intrigued me.

Even today Vespas with their steel bodies can carry luggage racks front and back, my second favorite feature and one that is carried over to modern four stroke Vespas which have lost the spare wheel which has been replaced with tubeless tires. Easier to plug, hard to remove on the bigger four strokes.

My own connection to this scooter goes back to 1981 shortly after I met the adventurer Patrignani. I had planned a cross country trip on a Harley, Hollywood style. Instead luckily I decided to use my $1500 to buy a brand new Vespa P200 in Brooklyn and ride to San Francisco via Mexico where the picture below was taken.

After years of commuting on it in California I sold it when I took off on my sailboat, to my eternal regret. My purchase of the Indian Stella in 2004 was an attempt at recreating the connection. After that failure I was reluctant to get involved with another two stroke Vespa but I have had a lingering desire to try again. So here we are. And I did try the modern 250 GTS in 2007. It was fast and comfortable 85mph and 70 mpg with fuel injection and water cooling. But it proved unreliable blowing electrical relays that the dealer could not fix permanently under warranty. I was riding it "too much." That was another Vespa failure!

Five years later I figured I had tried the feeble imitation and the expensive replacement. What if I just went with the original? The recession has killed used Vespa prices, what would have sold for $4000 before 2008 is now going for a lot less. Vespas are toys in the US luckily for me. I found this one in Iowa advertised on the Modern Vespa forum and I planned to ride it home from Mason City. That was not to be as the Vespa burned a piston on my first test ride and I left it behind to be repaired by Greentree scooters, well known restorers of two stroke scooters. So why a vintage Vespa instead of the lovely powerful comfortable modern Vespa?

Vespa has had to modernize its line because scooters have become useful tools on an overcrowded planet. They are inexpensive personal transportation well adapted to crowded streets with no parking. And D'Ascanio's original conceit, that a scooter not be a motorcycle has been taken to heart by Asian manufacturers who build tubular frames around small motorcycle engines and gearless transmissions. They encase the twist-n'-go scooters in plastic bodywork and call it good. They have cavernous storage under their seats and in the photo above you can see my Vespa has a fuel tank under the seat- no storage. Unlike this Genuine Buddy made in Tawian happily ridden by Rob in Key West:

He has underseat storage and baskets from and back, no gears and endless miles to the gallon from his 50cc motor with electric start which will get him anywhere in Key West in ten minutes. My old scooter has turn signals but no kill switch, parking lights but no battery, and an on/off switch for the headlight a feature outlawed decades ago when the whole world decided motorcycles should run only with headlights on, for safety.

My scooter has storage behind the leg shield where I keep two stroke oil and a measuring cup to mix oil into the fuel (2% or 2.5 ounces per gallon). My scooter was built when automatic oil pumps were an option so this is a premix scooter. I like it for added simplicity but some people find it awkward because mixing fuel and oil is a nostalgic science at best. The wood block is supposed to work as a jack to replace the rear wheel. That I will have to practice! The T-shaped tool unscrews the spark plug, unscrews the wheels and separates the rims, all in one! On my previous Vespas I just used to lay them on their sides on a rag while I changed the spare. Batteries were also optional in 1979 in countries outside the US and the scooter runs on a magneto, even though it has parking lighs and turn signals which will only operate with the engine running... Look ma - no kill switch! The left hand button on a stalk is the on/off light switch:

A modern scooter has no gears and uses a belt and pulleys to transmit power to the rear wheel. The belt's lifespan is a guesstimate though you can ride it until it breaks, which I did recently with my wife's modern Vespa. Luckily the rear wheel didn't lock up at sixty miles an hour...and if you replace the belt yourself be sure to do it right. Steve of the scooter blog Scooter In The Sticks changed his own, left out a washer and destroyed the engine on his 150cc Vespa. So I am leery of belts, hidden behind the silver cover:

My wife's Vespa has electric start as well as a rudimentary kick starter, it has a carburetor though newer models use fuel injection to meet modern emissions standard. Fuel is metered automatically and all you do to go is get on, hit the starter button and twist the accelerator. On mine you open the fuel tap, open the choke if it is a cold start, turn on the key and start kicking. Above the choke you can see the luggage hook a feature seen on all Vespas ancient and modern in one form or another.

I believe my Vespa was built for the Canadian market as it has a metric speedometer with English labels. Instrumentation is basic, a turn signal indicator and a high beam indicator:

Once broken in my 200 should be able to keep up with my wife's 150, which will be the acid test for this scooter's suitability as a daily rider on US Highway One. My wife has more instruments including a fuel gauge. On mine when the engine sputters after maybe 90 miles you switch to reserve and find gas within another 30 miles...

Just to make things more complicated my scooter has a gearbox and a clutch. Four speeds are on the handlebar, so to change gear you pull in the clutch lever and twist the grip (!) which also has the turn signal control box.

All that means the rear brake, normally found on the left lever has to be somewhere else, in this case like all classic Vespas, on the floor. The rubber floor mat is a twenty five dollar option, but I like it as it is traditional and kills some of the buzziness of the vibrations of the two stroke motor. Note the wear on the brake, this scooter has been ridden at some point in its history.

On the subject of brakes the front drum on the early P series is notorious for inefficacy and lack of feel. In modern traffic this is probably the worst feature as you need to plan ahead as much as possible and rely on stomping on the rear brake for emergency stops...The P series Vespas are still built in 125 and 150cc models though neither are imported to the US! Though parts are easily available and not expensive. My new cylinder and piston complete cost $230, factory originals shipped from a German scooter shop. The modern two strokes as well as the Indian Stella have disc brakes at the front, which is a worthwhile upgrade frankly.

From that to this:

My Vespa has removable side covers, one covers the spare wheel, the other the engine which is made with a cast iron cylinder, an old fashioned solution that wears over time but offers lubrication properties for a hard working two stroke engine. The engine gets its spark from its sole piece of electronic gadgetry, a capacitor discharge ignition instead of old fashioned points, for which I am glad. It is also cooled, just like my wife's ET4 by a big forced air fan. No water cooling here:

It's a cool scooter, it should be good to 63 miles an hour and 60mpg with an occasional gearbox oil change and easy to replace tires. I know it isn't as pretty as the earlier models with their rounded curves and 50mph top speed, if they were lucky. I saw this lovely model in Gubbio, in Italy where most people ride sensible modern scooters, Hondas built in Italy and modern Italian scooters with plastic bodies by Piaggio, who owns the Vespa brand and several motorcycle and scooter companies. The new ones are works of art but some of us like the old ones:

I need some scooter performance because I live alongside a state highway and city speeds aren't enough. But I love the old curves and rounded forms, and though I have no pictures I think of my first motorized vehicle every time I look at my own P200. When I was twelve, in 1970 I illegally rode my orange Vespa 50R all over the mountains of central Italy, in Umbria, not far from Gubbio actually. My mother loved motorcycles and she firmly planted the seed before she died three years later. I thought of her when I saw this overloaded 50 in Carrara, in Italy.

I hope this works out. I feel I have rather too much on the line for this elderly Vespa which deserves a quiet retirement.

 

 

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Vespa Calvary

It was a long time coming but finally after six weeks on the road, traveling from Mason City Iowa to California and back to South Florida I got the word my Vespa was ready to be delivered. We arranged to meet at McDonalds in Florida City. I set off at four in the afternoon and by the tI e I reached the 18mile Stretch the sun was going down. It looked good from the bridge even if snapping a picture underway meant I couldn't avoid the power poles...

I flew to Mason City last September to pick up this restored 1979 Vespa 200 but the restoration fell short and the piston burned a hole in the first twenty mile test ride I took. Luckily there's a restoration shop where the previous owner should have gone for the start had he been more interested in riding than fiddling, and they agreed to replace the piston and cylinder and the ship it on. That added $450 to the original price of $2500 and through a shipping brokerage called uShip I agreed to lay $550 for a no hurry delivery.

I was worried when I went to get my new scooter, the fates have been conspiringbtomkeep me separated from my nostalgic desire for a P200, a scooter I round around the US and Mexico in 1981. I was hinge to get a low cost ride to do the bulk of my commuting and save my prematurely aged Bonneville from adding another 70,000 miles in the next five years. My cross country trip was a great success and mechanically speaking it was remarkably trouble free. I was 23 and the Vespa was brand new, purchased in Brooklyn and ridden to San Francisco via Guadalajara. The picture was taken by me of me at the Tropic of Cancer in Mexico's central mountains.

Well, there it was, on the flatbed trailer in the parking lot while the driver Carol was getting something to eat.

I did not allow myself to get my hopes up even though everything was as I left it.

I had never heard of uShip until the Vespa shop recommended it. It's an online brokerage service that connects independent drivers with people needing to move stuff. Carol has hundreds of positive recommendations and she usually moves animals which struck a chord in Cheyenne's owner. We unloaded the Vespa without incident which should come as no surprise as she had much larger machines including a six cylinder classic Kawasaki 1300 KZ on the trailer as well as a Kawasaki 500 2 stroke which reminded me of Jack Riepe and his tales of riding its big brother the 750 triple.

Carol has been doing this for four years after quitting a career as an electrician. Based in southwest Florida she goes back and forth to California picking stuff up and hauling it. The whole arrangement seemed a bit iffy compared to the kind of less-than-load trucking I used to do it I was feeling like I had got away with something that had worked out.

With the Vespa unloaded all I had left to do was release the code from uShip that in turn released her pay and take the key and off I'd go. While Carol looked for the key in her little box I loaded the Vespa onto my trailer. That was when a worn out little old man came up asking if in as from around here. I said I was from Key West and he lit up. Of course he was scrounging and my heart sank. So much for self reliance. He needed "gas" money and I needed a prop to hold the scooter up while I strapped it down. So much for self reliance! We made a mutually agreeable pact and as I know how to strap motorcycles down it took just a few minutes.

That was when I went back to Carol with the code to release the money which I had located previously and transcribed onto the notes page of my phone. I think ahead and like to be organized. Carol not so much. My key had gone missing from her chaotic little box of keys, titles, buttons and paper clips. Fuck me!

"I think I know where it is."

"Good I'll go and get it now" I replied thinking it was ather last stop in Boca Raton.

"It's in Texas, I think." Shit! I was about to get into a high holy state of righteous anger but she wasn't worth it.

"When did you drop off a motorcycle in Texas?" I asked after a moment's cogitation and speculation about the penalty from strangling her sorry ass.

"In November," she replied. Which told me she hadn't a clue where my key was. She picked the Vespa up in December. Sod this. Sod everyone. I drove off key-less.

Cheyenne and I got home without incident, apart from the cretin in a van who dislike being passed by a Vespa in a trailer who felt a need to cut me off from time to time. I was struck by the irony thatbi had misplaced my car keys when I came to leave the house to pick up the scooter. I had checked the trailer, had the bearings greased, checked the lights and hooked everything up in advance of the call to head north. So I then proceeded to drop the keys in the darkest corner of my courier bag...I found them soon enough but I never misplace keys, thats the sort of thing that drives me mad. Now I was coming home with a scooter with a new engine but no damned key!

It turns out its easy to jury rig a key for this model of Vespa and with a little work I managed to create my own replacement much to my surprise. Getting the engine to start after six weeks essentially parked in the open was a little tougher but persistence and a little telephonic help from GreenTree scooters in Iowa got my bike unflooded and running loudly and smokily winthe familar two stroke pop-pop-pop. Now when she's run in let's see if she will break 60mph on US Highway One as she should, which would make her an ideal commuter. This story isn't yet over.

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