So, here it is, MY dragon red Vespa, on Ocean Boulevard in Santa Monica, overlooking the Pacific Ocean (which you can’t see in the picture, but trust me, it’s below those cars and trees in the background and it’s beautiful).
Today is Labor Day and my labor of choice was driving my Vespa down to the beach and back, thus breaking my three-week Vespa hiatus. I have to admit, I was a little nervous, feeling as though everything I learned in my long months of Vespa practice would have been forgotten in the intervening downtime and this would be like that first ride all over again. In fact, I was downright cranky at the notion of even having to leave my house today. I suffer from what we call “the Sunday Night Blues” in the Ess family—you know, that sad feeling you get on Sunday night when the pressures of the coming workweek begin to take mental shape. This Sunday night was blissfully blues-free due to the three-day weekend, but for some reason I’ve spent all Monday with a Sunday Night Blues-type feeling rather than cavorting about and enjoying the holiday as I should.
The Roommate saw me stomping out the door this afternoon and predicted that once I actually got on the Vespa, I would remember how fun it was. I hate to say it, but…
She was right.
This ride was just what I needed to lift my spirits—a phenomenon that supports this blog’s underlying theme of Vespatherapy. First, not only had I not forgotten how to drive it, but it seemed like I had almost gotten better. I think I’ve finally learned to relax a little when I’m riding the Vespa—today I drove about four miles before I realized that I hadn’t thought about my feet even once. By “my feet,” I mean the timing of when to pick up my right foot when taking off after a stop and, similarly, when to set it down once I’ve come to a stop. It’s not the biggest deal in my Vespacades, but it’s something that heretofore I’ve been really aware of. The fact that I made several stops today without even thinking about it means everything is coming a little more naturally, no?
Second, I got this awesome Vespa Wave and honk from a fellow rider today. Those of you who ride motorcycles are doubtlessly familiar with the Biker Wave that you are required to give to all passing bikers under threat of death by the Hell’s Angels, or whoever the biker gang du jour is (clearly I haven’t paid attention in decades). As everyone knows, motorcyclists do not consider scooters real “bikes,” and so I’ve only been the recipient of a few courtesy biker waves to date (picture a helmeted guy rolling his eyes while half-heartedly raising a few fingers of one hand as he passes in the opposite direction). This is fine by me as I am still loathe to raise either of my hands while driving for fear of spinning wildly out of control. In fact, when I do get a wave, all I can muster is a nod of my head and a smile that says “I would wave back, but I’m probably going to crash at any minute as it is. And yes, I could drive this thing with my legs crossed if I wanted to. Deal with it.”
For the record, I have never gotten a wave from a non-Vespa scooterist (and on that topic, I seriously question the name Kymco Peoples, as those who drive them don’t seem like “people” people to me). But the Vespa-Vespa passing rules are carved in fine Italian marble: you MUST wave and cheering or whistling, while optional, is encouraged. As you might have guessed, the Vespa Wave is somewhat more eager than the Biker Wave: the elbow is fully raised and the hand is whisked briskly from side to side. While the casual Biker Wave seems to state “Hey,” the Vespa Wave says “Oh my gosh! Hi! Hi There!! We both like Vespas—isn’t that cool?!!”
Again, due to my poor motoring confidence, the most I have been able offer in response to a Vespa Wave is a raised shaking of a couple of fingers with a nod of the head. Until today. Today I approached a particular intersection and, as I did so, I could see a guy on a Vespa stopped in the cross traffic. He didn’t see me, and I realized that it was my duty to instigate the Vespa Wave. I was really apprehensive as I am semi-allergic to public displays of enthusiasm and I generally don’t like to instigate anything. Still, I took a deep breath and, as I drove through the intersection and passed him, I full-on took my right hand off the throttle and waved vigorously for 1.5 seconds. My efforts paid off when he waved just as vigorously back at me and followed it with a few cheerful honks. I don’t know why, but it just made my day.
Today is Labor Day and my labor of choice was driving my Vespa down to the beach and back, thus breaking my three-week Vespa hiatus. I have to admit, I was a little nervous, feeling as though everything I learned in my long months of Vespa practice would have been forgotten in the intervening downtime and this would be like that first ride all over again. In fact, I was downright cranky at the notion of even having to leave my house today. I suffer from what we call “the Sunday Night Blues” in the Ess family—you know, that sad feeling you get on Sunday night when the pressures of the coming workweek begin to take mental shape. This Sunday night was blissfully blues-free due to the three-day weekend, but for some reason I’ve spent all Monday with a Sunday Night Blues-type feeling rather than cavorting about and enjoying the holiday as I should.
The Roommate saw me stomping out the door this afternoon and predicted that once I actually got on the Vespa, I would remember how fun it was. I hate to say it, but…
She was right.
This ride was just what I needed to lift my spirits—a phenomenon that supports this blog’s underlying theme of Vespatherapy. First, not only had I not forgotten how to drive it, but it seemed like I had almost gotten better. I think I’ve finally learned to relax a little when I’m riding the Vespa—today I drove about four miles before I realized that I hadn’t thought about my feet even once. By “my feet,” I mean the timing of when to pick up my right foot when taking off after a stop and, similarly, when to set it down once I’ve come to a stop. It’s not the biggest deal in my Vespacades, but it’s something that heretofore I’ve been really aware of. The fact that I made several stops today without even thinking about it means everything is coming a little more naturally, no?
Second, I got this awesome Vespa Wave and honk from a fellow rider today. Those of you who ride motorcycles are doubtlessly familiar with the Biker Wave that you are required to give to all passing bikers under threat of death by the Hell’s Angels, or whoever the biker gang du jour is (clearly I haven’t paid attention in decades). As everyone knows, motorcyclists do not consider scooters real “bikes,” and so I’ve only been the recipient of a few courtesy biker waves to date (picture a helmeted guy rolling his eyes while half-heartedly raising a few fingers of one hand as he passes in the opposite direction). This is fine by me as I am still loathe to raise either of my hands while driving for fear of spinning wildly out of control. In fact, when I do get a wave, all I can muster is a nod of my head and a smile that says “I would wave back, but I’m probably going to crash at any minute as it is. And yes, I could drive this thing with my legs crossed if I wanted to. Deal with it.”
For the record, I have never gotten a wave from a non-Vespa scooterist (and on that topic, I seriously question the name Kymco Peoples, as those who drive them don’t seem like “people” people to me). But the Vespa-Vespa passing rules are carved in fine Italian marble: you MUST wave and cheering or whistling, while optional, is encouraged. As you might have guessed, the Vespa Wave is somewhat more eager than the Biker Wave: the elbow is fully raised and the hand is whisked briskly from side to side. While the casual Biker Wave seems to state “Hey,” the Vespa Wave says “Oh my gosh! Hi! Hi There!! We both like Vespas—isn’t that cool?!!”
Again, due to my poor motoring confidence, the most I have been able offer in response to a Vespa Wave is a raised shaking of a couple of fingers with a nod of the head. Until today. Today I approached a particular intersection and, as I did so, I could see a guy on a Vespa stopped in the cross traffic. He didn’t see me, and I realized that it was my duty to instigate the Vespa Wave. I was really apprehensive as I am semi-allergic to public displays of enthusiasm and I generally don’t like to instigate anything. Still, I took a deep breath and, as I drove through the intersection and passed him, I full-on took my right hand off the throttle and waved vigorously for 1.5 seconds. My efforts paid off when he waved just as vigorously back at me and followed it with a few cheerful honks. I don’t know why, but it just made my day.
9 comments:
In the old West, when a cowboy had been thrown by his mount or unable to ride for a time due to a festering snake bite or bullet wound or an absence from the range (like to pick up a mail order bride in Wichita), the experienced trail hands would tell him he needed to get back on the Vespa. Over time, it was realized that most mounts were of Arabian or indigenous American origin and even those who knew a little Italian thought it made no sense to "get back on the wasp", so the adage came to be "get back on the horse." So I guess your return to your mount, really is a bit of a Spaghetti Western. Now if you can just get a wave down that is between the biker wave and an Italian obscene gesture, with a bit of Eastwood cool and indifference but a little Italian exuberance, all will be well in the world.
The same goes for classic cars, as I learned when I still owned my Mustang, and the wave is way easier when you don't use handlebars to steer. Either way, it's a great feeling getting that wave; it just screams "you belong here". It's like Norm walking into Cheers...
And as always, we're probably as happy as you and the Vespa are for blog-worthy adventures. I call it "post-Post placation".
Wow! From a person who refused to give her sister a goodbye hug while headed off to college (because I was "too warm") ... I'm very proud of your public display of admiration. You'll be hanging up in biker bars in no time!
Is this like the . . . uh . . . Miss America wave? 'Cause I can do the Miss America wave. I practice it all the time.
once, i was in bermuda (where you can't rent cars, only scooters), and my brother let me try to move the scooter from the parking lot to the road, and i took one hand off the handlebars, and then i fell off the scooter. and the scooter fell down. and my brother almost peed his pants.
you sound way better at scooter driving than i ever was (for that one day).
so here's to you and your wicked scooter skillz and all your new vespa friends.
Sometime do we get to see the new helmet? Pretty please??
hooray!!! for foto's and more fodder for the future book of vespa lore (to be published by taschen, i just know it). as for PDE's (hee), perhaps this is meant to be one of the recurring theme's of your life: ownership of transportation modes that come with an innate "wave to your brother" clause in the contract. such is the practice of drivers of the people's car, and now, the vespa, and clearly you are meant to belong to these populations so beholden to their vehicles that they have created an unspoken, spontaneous method of PDE-ing each other to say "you too? fabulous!" and it IS fabulous. also, as usual, the Ess family is a veritable font of band names, so that i am really thinking of starting a side solo project, after "one night in kanab" goes platinum, entitled "back on the wasp" or perhaps "spaghetti western."
more! more!
and a second nomination for shots of the helmet (with promises to make no spaceballs jokes. . .aloud).
Love being able to see your ride. You ever think about undertaking an across country Vespa journey and writing about it? Your own little"On the Road." Drug use optional of course...
-ryan-
I like the Lindgren's idea--road trip novel. Of course the Kerouac scroll might not fit in the tiny storage compartment, and we'd want blog installments anyway, so you'd have to make truck stop internet posts. I'm not sure crossing the desert at night on a Dragon red Vespa trailing a Prada bag would be quite the equivalent of a traveler's bureau car and a canvas radiator bag, but I'm sure you can write better straight than Jack could wired.
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