The Fifty Gang

Getting your first scooter on the road at the age of 16 meant one thing. If you wanted to do it legally, it had to be a Vespa 50…

Having graduated through the ranks of becoming a mod during our school days, they would continue in the same form once we had left. The early 1980s was a good time to be involved and there was quite a big group of us by this time. Once into the real world of getting a job and having to work for a living, the reward of money was very welcome. Most of it would go on rent to still live at home, with the rest pissed up the wall at the local pub. If anything was left over it went on extravagant clothing suited to the culture we were all so engrossed with. The whole mod ethic was about looking cool, which most of the time was easily achievable, apart from when it came to getting around.

The thought of using public transport was highly unfashionable; the idea of hopping on a bus to get around seemingly unthinkable. The reality was, if you did want to get anywhere this was the only real option. The other, getting a lift off your parents, was simply never going to happen if you wanted to keep your credibility. The answer, it seemed, was a scooter, which we all dreamed of one day anyway. There were certain obstacles in the way though, such as having enough money to buy one in the first place. Most dealers were happy to sell one with a finance agreement, as they would be making money out of it that way as well. They weren’t interested in whether you had passed your test, just so long as you could sign on the dotted line so they could chalk up another sale.

The big stumbling block was the law, in that you needed to be 16 years of age before being legally on the road. Even then it meant a 50cc machine was as big as you could get. Fair enough if you owned a fizzy, they were capable of almost 60mph when de-restricted. The problem for us mods where only a scooter would do meant the only option

available was a Vespa 50. At best they could achieve 35mph downhill, even slower on the flat. When it came to going uphill, even the local milkman with his float fully laden could out-accelerate you. There were a few willing to risk owning something bigger like a 125cc, which wasn’t legal until the age of 17. The Old Bill was beginning to clamp down and becoming wise to what was happening. If caught, impounding your pride and joy was not something you wanted to happen.

The sheer snail’s pace of the Vespa 50 confined most to wait that extra year until something was available with a bit of power and speed. For a few though, they simply couldn’t wait and soon took the plunge. Within a few weeks there

The problem for us mods where only a scooter would do meant the only option available was a Vespa 50. At best they could achieve 35mph downhill, even slower on the flat.

were four local mods, now owners of one of the slowest two-wheeled machines mankind had ever produced. The local bikers found it highly amusing and they laughed so much they could not be bothered to doing anything about it. No wonder though, pulling away from a set of lights, even a cyclist was faster.

Soon they were known locally as the Fifty Gang, a name thought up by the local pub landlord. As they pulled up outside and he heard the popping of the exhausts he would often announce, “Here they are”, already pulling them their first pint before they got through the door. Despite all the joking and laughing, there was an admiration for what they were doing, even perhaps a bit of envy from the rest of us who still hadn’t acquired a scooter. They were looked at as local pioneers who dared to venture out on the road before anyone else. All of them had become frustrated at the lack of speed, but were determined to see out their 12-month apprenticeship before they could own something more powerful.

For one just owning a scooter wasn’t enough and drowning it in a deluge of mirrors, lights and just about anything else he could bolt to it eventually happened. This had the frightening effect of extra weight and more air resistance. The already strained and puny piston struggled to cope even more as a huge chunk of his top speed was knocked off. The other members of the Fifty Gang could leave him trailing in the distance, even on a short journey. Each weekend after receiving his pay packet he would venture to the local scooter shop, the dealer eagerly rubbing his hands, knowing he was about to sell some more tat to his best customer, the crowning glory finally coming with the addition of a fly screen.

With the latter bolted on, this was the straw that would finally break the camel’s back; not only extra weight, but a ginormous air brake sitting bolt upright at the front of the scooter. Its affect was instantaneous, while at the same time devastating… 25mph flat out was worryingly slow, and uphill there was a chance that it may run out of steam altogether. Even he was becoming more frustrated at the lack of movement. One night, walking up the road for our regular drinking session, his scooter could be seen tipped on its side in a hedge by a farmer’s field. Thinking the worst, we rushed into the pub, only to be greeted by him downing a pint.

There had been no accident. The scooter had been dumped there out of total frustration. Whereupon he publicly announced that he couldn’t stand going that slow any more and had officially left the Fifty Gang.