VBB: To rat, or not rat, that is the question
Italian stallion Christian meets an old soul on the road, and finds they share a passion for scooters...
Italian Stallion Christian meets an old soul on the road, and finds they share a passion for scooters...
During the past few years, my scooter and I have had plenty of adventures. Most recently, I stumbled upon a whole series of characters well worthy of respect and a good mention in these pages. Never before this moment though, have I encountered such a singular and eccentric-minded person as this one I’m about to describe...
Squeezed between two of the most touristic Italian regions (Lazio and Toscana) is a village near the mountain in which Nicolai works as a humble vehicle bodywork specialist. I met him during one of my last explorations in the deep South, since passing through his village is a sensorial experience. Travel tip: If want an authentic taste of Italian passion and
gesticulation, visit the ‘osteria’ or ‘frasca’, not ‘bar’ or ‘trattoria’. The former are establishments for local villagers and are usually equipped with a long wooden counter and small wineglasses. The key to success is a branch exposed up to the main door. If you see it, halt your scooter wheels and enter the premises, but beware... nobody will understand your English tongue. Dark and deep tasting red wine will be your only chatting companion, but you will spend the most interesting time of the day just by looking at the toothless, heavy breath, snorting elders. It was in such a place I met Nicolai.
Exhausted and annoyed, due to a double road-related mistake, I was ready for a drink. After a disgusted look at myself and my ‘Negra Vespa’ I noticed Nicolai in the corner, as he started to stare at me constantly. I did not want any trouble ending up with a lad vs grandpa riot, so I offered him a glass of wine. Two hours and three bottles later I was sat in his shed. We had enough grumblings between us to fill a pile of books to the top! Poverty, youth, Vespas, death, gals, concrete vs forests, pollution, two-strokes, best oil and so on. I was just getting ready to depart when Nicolai grabbed my camera strap and pulled me inside his laboratory. Since he was a bodywork specialist, you would expect to find old tools, paints and plaster. Nothing of that matter. A VBB 150 on a recovered ‘Osteria’ wooden counter, rags, a pair of solvent-proof black gloves, three spatulas, a series of plastic bottles filled with
See, all this madness of Vespa and Lambretta restorations will soon reach an end, just like the FIAT 500 fashion one decade ago. For very few men are moved by real meaning, most of them just follow the current of life's river.
transparent liquids and steel wool were the only objects inside a 3m x 4m hovel. “Ok, now you are playing with me, you are no bodyworker,” I cried. A fire rose inside his eyes, cursing in dialect as if a demon was trying to escape from hell. He had a strong temper, I liked it very much. He slammed a door and returned back with few photos supporting his theory. “We are trying to hide ourselves, from pain, shame, or death constantly. So I wanted to change my very essence.” Nicolai answered me then got a grip again. He was indeed a body maker in his time, the only one in a range of 90km. Before retirement he sold all previous equipment and started a mid-70s life. Since single by choice, wine and ‘frasca’ became very soon an addiction, but his long-ago job was able to clean him from.
“See, all this madness of Vespa and Lambretta restorations will soon reach an end, just like the FIAT 500 fashion one decade ago. For very few men are moved by real meaning; most of them just follow the current of life's river.” Maybe the wine was kicking in strong, but all the following verbal levelling was sharp and strong, as if sermonised through a guru. We approached the VBB. “I have been told that a good body maker have to touch the machine constantly. It is because of the ability to model the original shape again, nothing more. But why? Are you able to grow a new arm if you smash it? Are you able to grow a new eye maybe?” I stared at him, thinking about new modern plastic surgery, but I got the point. A firm will to accept our life as it develops. “Look at this Vespa for example, my only machine. During the time as a body worker I would have painted it to look better, but now my job is reveal what it is. An old scooter marked by a lot of troubles and close to death.” This was remarkable enough considering the age of the man, but the best was still to come. I asked how he wanted to proceed, since all the body shop tools were sold.
“Lad, you don’t understand a thing I am talking about. You must leave the ballast totally behind. The more weight you carry, the less will you have to explore.” He went on: “The Vespa’s soul will be free eventually, free like me. Then a new engine and off it will go. My personal farewell. My last will.” I unshackled a punch on the wooden counter (remember the wine dosage please) and challenged the contradiction of this ‘new engine’ idea. Don’t bother preaching soul, and profess to release ballast... and then fit the machine with a new engine. Another battery of curse words ranted out from Nicolai’s guts. “You don’t understand, I want you as a traveller in this Vespa, otherwise there is no sense in this encounter: the old and the new aligned for the last trip.” And just like that he lost me. A stranger met in a ‘frasca’ wanted to give me the only Vespa he possessed for a Grand Tour ride?? “Let me show you how I work on this old mule.”
My curiosity was the only reason to hold position in his shed. “Pressure and age make diamonds I heard. My job is all about touch, time and perseverance. Since the paint is quite old I used this sharp metal sheet to scratch the external surface. Here is the big point: I sense the pressure carefully, because the stronger you go, the higher the risk of removing the original paint.” After that, steel wools entered the picture, in a biblically slow fashion, gently removing the layer beneath the last coat. Every 20 seconds of scrub a spray of water was deployed. A quick dry using a clean rag was the final step before the cycle started again. Again and again till the last polishing step. An eternal ‘wax on-wax off’ process repeated, advancing by the cm daily. Old rumours whispered my ears concerning how weak old paints
were, when diluted especially. Nicolai was using under my eyes a home-made mixed product containing 60% nail-removal liquid, 5% nitro diluent, 25% pure water, 5% salt and 5% of madness. Advancing so slow I asked about his travel project since at that speed I was ready to grow old like him before anything could be ready.
No reply was given and I thought the situation’s irony and illogic had reached its peak. Silence endured for 30 minutes, and while the last remanence of wine vanished, Nicolai finished a stamp-like portion on the VBB front. The surface was shiny and the original paint showed itself. Eccentric or not, useful or hopeless, time-consuming indeed, but the procedure was working. A bare hand, layer by layer paint removal, which I never witnessed in my life before. Despite the old man craziness, the strong wine and remote existence... I realised how passionately Nicolai believed in his project. “Prepare the engine for this bloody carbon-rich piece of metal, I count on it, understand?”
Nicolai made me promise, while 3000 grit paper was polishing portions of exposed metal. As a half-Sicilian I am very serious about commitments. I thought that my 225 Polini-bullet-traveller-donkey engine would fit very nicely under the VBB’s old scars the old man was bringing to light. Do you?
The harsh truth about this story is a consideration about loneliness and old age. It is hard to fight alcoholism’s deep precipice when you live alone in the middle of nowhere. Nicolai doesn’t know a thing about psychology nor addictions. He knows best what he did all life: hard work, insidious vapours and spray guns. In his body shop he was a king. When I recognise such an old soul’s fibre I cannot help but think about the greatness of little things and the drive of a heartfelt passion. By giving a new timetable, growing hope into a project, and most of all, kicking him out of the ‘frasca’, a VBB Vespa was permitted dignity to shine upon an old man again.