Yesterday I decided that I’m not going anywhere on San Fernando on the Vespa again till they get the darn road fixed.
Today I absent-mindedly headed off to the post office… down San Fernando. DUH!! I think maybe it’s because my poor feeble brain got sidetracked by the fact that I almost rode off without my PO box key again. I don’t think I’ll forget and take that route again. I almost got hit by a woman pulling out of a side street in an SUV. I went over enough bumps and potholes that I’m amazed something didn’t shake loose. They’re digging up the street and have the lanes all switched around in two places. Yuck. What a mess. It’s just too scary to scoot.
On the bright side, though, I got to the PO much earlier than I usually do and the place was darn near deserted. I took the scenic route (Sixth/Glenwood) home, and just about the time I was getting to our old neighborhood a Hispanic guy on a chopper with big apehanger handlebars roared by going the other way and gave me a friendly nod and wave. Bikers do tend to be friendly like that, even to us scooter riders.
When I was a kid, I passionately wanted a motor scooter ever since the first day I saw one. I don’t remember whether I saw it in the Sears catalog or the Sears store first, but that Allstate Vespa was the vehicle of my dreams. I used to pedal my bike as fast as I could and then coast, pretending I was riding a Vespa. Every time we got a new Sears catalog, I’d look it up. “Our finest motor scooter,” it said. (The Cushman model was definitely second best.) When one of my classmates in high school actually got a Vespa, I was more jealous about that than about anything else that ever happened.
I never told anybody how much I wanted that scooter, though. My parents would have laughed and my father undoubtedly would have teased me about it. Even when my oldest and middle brothers got a motorcycle and a Rupp minibike when they were in high school, I kept quiet. I knew I’d have to buy the Vespa myself if I wanted it, and my parents firmly discouraged me from getting a job during my high school and college years so I could “concentrate on my studies.” (I noticed with interest that they insisted that my brothers get jobs at the same age. Boy-centric thinking again.)
When I actually bought the Vespa, I even surprised myself. F’zer and I went to the Vespa dealership just to look around, and when the salesman mentioned that they only had one of the cobalt-blue models left because it was their most popular color I found myself saying I’d take it before I realized what I was doing. I rationalized it as a reward to myself for getting through the previous year, when my dad had died, F’zer had been between jobs for months and the campaign to get rid of anyone who dared stick up for themselves at work had long since begun. But it was more than just that. We had the money. The time had finally come.
Every time I go out riding, it literally feels like a dream come true.
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