Masculinity On Two Wheels

I think it's pretty clear to anyone who's spent even a few minutes of time here that I'm very much a guy. And I'm not talking genetics or sexuality, but attitude. I lean towards the more masculine side of things in everything I do and say. There's nothing wrong with any other personality types mind you, but I know I pack a lot of testosterone in my small grizzled frame. And as such, things have to be a bit more raw and a bit more furious to keep me happy. Bigger knives, darker guitars, squared off, mean looking cars. And the motorcycles......oh the motorcycles. Sharp lines, low slung and stripped of amenities. Terrifying looking beasts that put fear into the hearts of children when they're parked. And when the key is turned, a deep guttural growl from the depths of the iron and oil, pushed forth though warming pipe to let the world know that you are here, and you're about to move. It's awe inspiring stuff, and can tickle the hormonal matter of overly aggressive man-sters like me. Watching something like a Triumph Speed Triple rev at the light before pushing 1050cc's of mean across the asphalt is a thing of beauty to me. Or how a word like Ducatti can cloud the mind with endorphins in a fashion similar to how the word "porterhouse" can torment a hungry man, or how the words "pure" and "uncut" screw with the junkies. Oh yeah, it's that good.

However, a thought has entered my mind recently. A thought based on the fundamentals of reason and logic, but threatens the very essence of my testosterone fueled existence. Something that shakes the very walls of manhood, ripping the fabric of time and space into shreds. This thought could cause a paradox of boundless proportions, causing the universe to collapse into itself and start this whole damned cycle anew.

And what is this thought you might ask? Well, I've been considering the purchase of a scooter.


Yes, a scooter. Not a big displacement tube steel beast that can be heard from blocks away. Not a high revving plastic clad speed machine capable of outrunning god himself. Not even a whinny sounding mud critter that can play in the dirt like a pig on caffeine, but a scooter. Small, proper, cute.

And very much the antithesis of me.

For you readers who are proud and dedicated scooter riders, please know I bear no ill will to you. Despite my younger days of mocking and torment to anyone who even stood near one of those ridiculous things, I've come to realize that there is nothing wrong with you. It's a perfectly acceptable form of transportation, and I admire it's practicality. But it isn't me. It isn't the kind of steed that I would even consider perching atop. And here's why.

For one, there's the look of the scooter. All those round curves and gentle slopes, graced in happy peaceful colors. It's very cute, and cute, isn't a word I put much stock in when considering my existence on this rock. Cute doesn't keep the masses fearful and on their guard. Cute gets people mugged.

And how about the guard for your legs? Motorcycle riders don't have guards. Their legs are out in the open, waiting to be fondled and abused by the asphalt. If the threat of losing your lower limb up to the knee isn't there, then it isn't riding hard now is it?

And how about how you sit on those things? Motorcycle riders straddle. They wrap the thighs around that high strung monster, and squeeze tight for the ride. It's almost a sexual affair being on a motorcycle. And the riders, no matter what their mount, always look like they're holding on for dear life. Fearful that all that displacement is gonna get tired of their rider's meat packed mass, and kick them off without warning. As such, the motorcycle rider always looks like they're locked into and secured on their bikes. And when you look at it, you get the impression that these crazed people are about to fly at insane speeds at any given instant. Very cool.

But the scooter? You get none of that. The scooter rider sits upright with proper posture and full use of their necks. The scooter has more of a seat than a saddle, so the legs are tucked close to each other in a proper seating position. The average scooter rider looks like a graduate from charm school. Where's the terror in that? If you turned around and saw a man slung on a Harley Davidson Softail Rocker, part of you would be concerned for your life. But if you were to turn around and seeing a man on a Vespa? Well the most you'd fear is that he would come after you with his thumb and index fingers in a pinching position while cheerfully cackling , "I'm gonna get ya, I'm gonna get ya." The intimidation factor is nil.

And then of course there's the lack of every man's favorite bragging component in a motor vehicle: displacement. Men, manly men especially, love to talk big numbers when it comes to their internally combusted masterpieces. some 50 years ago, 350 cubic inches was enough to illicit some "oohs" and "ahhs" from the other guys in the gang. And in motorcycles, that kind of forward thinking still holds true. 1000, 1300, even 2000cc's of pure displacement can catch the eye of envy of any man who's let his testosterone rule him. In some circles, you're not even getting started until you're well past 600cc's.

But in scooter land? Aside from a few overpriced exceptions, 250cc's rules the roost. 50 to 150cc's is considered normal and most of those cuddly little scooters on the road ride in this range. How in the hell are you going to brag about 150cc's? That's lawnmower turf right there. A single cylinder on one of those Japanese speed machines, is all that's pushing you along in that chipper "putt putt" sound we all know and endure.

Scooters sting the pride. Well, not the pride in general, but my pride anyways. Just standing next to the accursed things makes me feel like my man juices are being sapped away. And yet, here I am seriously considering one.

I'm not sure what happened or when. But suddenly, such a perch made sense. Gas economy is a big clincher. An extra twenty miles to the gallon over most of it's motorcycle brethren? Hard not to be impressed. And there is the matter of cargo space. For those who like to hop on their steeds and take a cheerful jaunt down neglected country roads, a motorcycle makes perfect sense. But I intend to carry shit. Shopping bags filled with meat, laptop computers, kitchen blades, all things that need a place to be stored. And unless I spend some big bucks on a heftier motorcycle and a bit extra on those nifty mountable cases, I'm shit outta luck. Yeah, I suppose I could just tie it to the back seat with a few bungies, but I just don't trust my abilities to secure things to insure my precious cargo will actually survive the trip.

And then of course, there's my dumb factor. A motorcycle, even at small engine capacities, has great abilities when it comes to speed and twisties. And while most manufacturers and safety classes recommend thresholds for throttling and taking corners with grace, I'm stupid enough to ignore them. There's nothing I like more than to take a near ninety degree corner at unsafe speeds, feeling the rear wheels lose their composure on the asphalt as I hold desperately to the wheel trying to make the corner without slipping into the brush. And that's with four wheels people. How fucking insane do you think I'll be when you take two of them away? Normally the risk taking is a fun deal for me, but people are counting on me to survive these days, and survival becomes a little more difficult without the steel frame and aluminium fort surrounding my aging flesh and bone. I'm just dumb enough to kill myself on one of those things. If I'm lucky, severe crippling will the be the order of the day. I'll have to eat meatloaf through a straw and hire people to scratch my back, but my wonderful personality will still be around.

Not an option. I need to live people. And while I'm sure it's just as easy to murder myself on a scooter, the construction and limited capacity reduces the risk. Which is a good thing for a classic like myself.

And truth be told, I'm starting to see the scooter industry grow a little hair on it's chest. Sure there are still the brightly colored fancy fun Vespa's in the world, but there's also some new runabouts that are looking kind of mean. Kymco's Xciting series is fairly damned sexy. Yeah, the rear's a bit pudgy, but all in all not a bad looking beast. And then there's the Piaggio MP3 Series. These bad boys are definitely Batman approved. Admit it Harley lovers, these things look mean. You could wage wars on them and never have anyone question it's classification as a scooter.

So, there you have it. No final decisions have been made one way or the other, but scooters are definitely on a list that would've never had them a few years ago. Call it old age, call it a bit of logic, call it pure insanity. I have no idea what to call it, but I do know that if the hammer falls, and I find myself putting down the road on my newly acquired scooter, I shall do so without apology. I would have thought long and hard about it, and made the best decision based on versatility and finance. And if that's what becomes the best option, than so be it.

And who knows? I just might make scooter riding dark and badass. I am the Boogie Man after all.