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June 18, 2005
Atomic Fireball
On my way to school work the other day, I spied in my rear-view mirror a Vespa behind me. As I pulled up to the stoplight, I moved over to the left of the lane so it could move alongside. The Vespa's operator was a handsome woman in her mid-30's to early 40's wearing a floral jacket. But oh the scooter! It was red with yellow flames on the fender, cowls, and legshield with an "Atomic Fireball" logo (just like the candies) painted on it. An art-scooter. I loved it. As it turned out, it came that way.
We exchanged props on our respective machines—she relating how the new scooter is so much easier to get and keep running than the old. I used to ask what the fun was in that, but I can make room in my heart for something that cool, even if it is a Vespa (or Stella). The fact that there are hundreds of them out there diminishes their interest to me just a little.
Thanks for the props Fireball-Lady; see you around.
Posted by Underblog at 5:55 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 11, 2005
Parade
On the way home from schoolwork Thursday, I found myself on the West River Parkway trailing a snazzy BMW 6.0 CSI with collector plates. I used to really like the CS / CSI series, though I think I preferred the 3.0 to the 6.0.
The two of us constituted a mini-parade of German classic-collector motorvehicles.
Posted by Underblog at 6:46 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 8, 2005
Shifting Hope
Thucydides said that hope was the worst thing, because when you rely on hope it means that all your other options are exhausted. You can hope for mercy when the battle is lost, but you plan a victory. So I do not want to get too hopeful that my gear shifting problems with the Letta 250 are over. But they may be. It can find neutral and it takes more than one click of the shifter to find it sometimes. Now I need to reassemble a scooter that has been disassembled for far too long.
If the 250 can be made to run once more, one of the two Letta's can go on the block. The 275 runs great, shows well and is an all-around excellent scooter. But the 250 and I have a much longer and deeper history. Plus, she is in need of a paint-job, and I can paint her any color I choose when the time comes. More rationally, selling one of the scooters will make the move to Albuquerque cheaper and liquify some inventory. Liquidity is always good and no less so now in the face of an uncertain future.
All of this makes it hard for me to avoid falling under uncertainty's curse, and hope that all goes well with the rebuild.
Posted by Underblog at 1:46 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 6, 2005
Grand Old Day
We usually do not get too excited about Grand Old Day. The day after Roomie and I made an offer on our house, we attended our first. The streets were choked with folks eating corn dogs, popcorn, and corn on a stick. By this time, beer had already been relegated to designated "beer compounds." Nothing like Grand Old Days past, where young men would tote beer kegs in shopping carts offering free beer "vom Faß," no cups allowed. We did see a good band play at the Teenage Battle of the Bands, however. We took this as a good omen for our new neighborhood. Since then, we had been back once for a bratwurst and a stroll.
Grand Old Day takes place close enough to our house that parking becomes tight. One of our neighbors once had the misfortune of having to hose down youth's excess on her driveway: Evidently someone's Grand Old Time included puking in public. Nice.
But this neighbor called yesterday and invited me to see local boy Har Mar Superstar at one of the beer compounds down Grand a bit. She also hinted that if I did want to go and I did bring the scooter, she would appreciate a ride. I had been intrigued by the local near cult status and self-promotion ability of Har Mar, and so I showed up around the corner on the Letta, which was now sporting two new Shinko tires (I had replaced the front earlier in the day). "I really needed to clean myself" she said from the top of the stairs." "Me too, but I didn't bother" I replied. We proceeded down Summit until we saw a large tent from which loud music emanated. This must be the place.
One of the things I like best about scooters is that they are so easy to park. Special events add a premium to this convenience, since even the barricaded streets have a row of motorcycles into which one can insert one's bike. I parked the Letta between two bikes and we strolled over to the tent, purchased our wristbands (making it impossible to look for our peeps on the outside), and saw most of the opening acts act. I imagine they sound better recorded than they do live. Like most parking lots, there was a distinct lack of shade. I could feel my skin burning, which might have been distracting but for the Summit Ale I managed to scrape the five dollars out of singles and coins to pay for. When an occasional cloud blocked the sun for a moment, we breathed a sigh of relief.
As Har Mar took the stage, he pointed to the clouds and told us that the Devil was going to visit. At first, I would feel a rain drop fall but it would evaporate as soon as it landed. But by the second song, evaporation would not keep up with the rain. Then the skies opened up in earnest. The weather did not appear to dampen anyone's enthusiasm, much less ours. Har Mar has made a career of being a charismatic and talented humunculus. But he knows how to the work the crowd. It is a mystery to me why that man objected to his wife / girlfriend making out with him onstage: She seemed game. Dancing in the rain was the latest of the day's series of small firsts.
Once the set ended, I was ready for the rain to stop. I had been thoroughly cooled. Two Harleys now bookended the Letta. One was an old hard tail panhead with a springer front end. Nice. The other was an 883 XR750 replica. Personally, I prefer the Storz conversions, but I applaud the Harley folks playing to the great look of the old XR's. As we were getting ready to pull away, a man crossed the street to say "Nice old bike." As we took off the rain gradually tailed away and the sun returned. A football player type walking with his wife over the Ayd Mill Road overpass gave me the thumbs up. Nice to know it met with his approval.
Posted by Underblog at 5:53 AM | Comments (1) | TrackBack
June 4, 2005
Batcave Lessons
When I first got my Lambretta back in 1984 (?) changing a tire was a daunting task. And for a while, Lambrettas were the only vehicles upon which I changed tires (the Batcave was nothing if not a specialty shop). Then I did the Heinkel, which did not have the Lambretta's split rims. I have since replaced the first Maicoletta's OEM tires with Cheng-Shin's (imported from the UK), the Trail 90, and now the Letta 275.
It's hard to mess up changing a tire, though I cannot say that I look forward to the job. I had had the Letta on the lift earlier in the day to replace one of the Letta's more quirky pieces: a hose connecting the exhaust pipe muffler with the gas tank. I guess the idea is that the exhaust gas pressurizes the tank just so: the bike will run but poorly if the hose is not connected. I suspect that the faulty hose (it had become pinched between the swing arm and the frame stop) was contributing to the stalling I was getting on the way home on Thursday.
The simple job of changing the tire (swapping out a bald Cheng-Shin for a new Shinko) made use of a varety of tools I seldom use: the air wrench to quickly loosen and tighten the wheel nuts, the 2½ ton lift, the tire levers from the Moto Morini's BMW toolkit. How grateful I am to have them all in one place. Moreover, I am grateful for the lessons Walter Alter taught me about making sure the bead was visible all the way around the rim, and pressurizing the Hell out of the tire to get it to sit straight. How he would have liked to have the lift and / or the compressor in his shop. Of course, he probably would have liked a toilet too. Recently, Walter has been occupying himself with ever larger projects.
Despite my inability to adequately sort out the gearbox in the other Letta, there are some easy jobs of which I am capable of performing. Changing tires and replacing hoses seem to be about my present limit.
Posted by Underblog at 4:14 PM | Comments (1) | TrackBack