Wandering… lonely as a cloud

To be accepted into the scooter club first of all you had to own one, but not all models were readily accepted into the fold!

Our scooter club had been going for about a year, the meeting place was the garage from hell (edition 380) and among the members were Hacksaw Harry and Carlo… two of the finest scooter bodgers you could wish to meet, armed with a hammer and chisel ready to destroy any scooter in seconds. They were the leaders of the club and strict on how it should be run. As part of the criteria, you must own a scooter, both Vespa and Lambretta being acceptable choices. To be honest, anything was… as long as it had two wheels and ran, which wasn't always the case. There were the usual hangers-on, those who constantly repeated: “I'm getting a scooter soon so I can become a member?” and were allowed to stand at the kerbside, but banned from entering the garage. One such person was James, a likeable but confused lad with Dr. Martens boots, bleached jeans, a polka dot shirt, all enclosed in a US army parka. Finished with a razor edge flat top he was a mix between Mod and Scooterboy, a sort of scooter mongrel. The inevitable day came when he purchased his first scooter and for him, getting inducted into the club was a priority. He turned up on the Saturday afternoon to a full garage, but as he drove up the cul-de-sac something was not quite right… the sound coming from his engine triggering everyone to come running out. As James pulled up beaming with a huge wide grin Carlo shouted: “You ain't bringing that thing in here!” “Why not?” replied an unhappy James. “Because it's not a scooter, it's a… PK!” James got off it and started looking at it rather bemused: “Well it looks like a scooter to me.” For now, it was parked a couple of doors down while the members held an emergency meeting to see what the (non-existent) ‘rule book' said. After a lengthy debate it was agreed that ‘it' would be allowed as long as ‘it' was parked up separately to us on a rideout, something Carlo insisted on. Okay, the PK wasn't the most admired Vespa out there but it was a scooter, and there was no reason to ban it. James knew that in order to win over the members (and Carlo in particular) he might have to make a few changes to the machine. Having just turned 16 and with zero mechanical knowledge, he quickly realised it was going to be a big task. The first thing was to give the engine a better sound, by way of drilling umpteen holes in the exhaust. It certainly made a difference all right, sounding like a chainsaw… but moving at 30mph, the ringing in your ears seemed to last for an eternity. Then it was the turn of the crash bars and racks, but the PK didn't have anything specifically made for it then. The result looked like someone had dumped a pile of scaffolding on to it with bits sticking out too long or wide. Getting on the seat was awkward– a bit like a child on a climbing frame and to be honest it was a death trap. The police were in full agreement when they pulled him over, initially for the loud exhaust then insisting that the ton of steel be removed. This left James in a bit of a quandary of how to impress fellow clubmates and get the PK accepted. The scooter scene was going through rapid change at the time when it came to customising and soon the influence rubbed off on him, manifested by him extending the forks. But instead of the usual 20cm-odd, he went overboard and settled for a 2ft section added in the middle. The new-look PK made its debut at night-time, pulling up at the garage with what can only be described as a searchlight in the sky. The forks were so long the headset was pointing almost upwards and trying to get off the thing impossible. The stand in the open position was at least a foot from the floor, meaning James had to slow to a halt near a wall and lean into it, dismounting just as dangerously as you had to jump off, it being so high up… “Tomorrow I'm going to start painting it, so I'll see you all in a couple of days,” he mumbled, to which there were plenty of laughs, even Carlo happy to accept the new version of the PK as he now found it a great source of entertainment. Several days went by but I don't think anyone was expecting the new decor. Gone was the factory red colour, replaced by a brush-painted sky blue vision, everything including the wheels. Random white blobs of paint were daubed all over it, James saying it was his interpretation of the sky. There was nothing like it in the entire UK scooter scene: the most oddball-looking Vespa PK you could ever imagine. When out on the road and once up to speed, the superextended forks would start to flex, creating a sort of spring effect. This played havoc with the handling causing it to weave from side to side – the sky-muralled paintwork now quite appropriate, as it wandered as lonely as a cloud as it went by.

One such person was James, a likeable but confused lad with Dr. Martens boots, bleached jeans, a polka dot shirt, all enclosed in a US army parka. Finished with a razor edge flat top he was a mix between Mod and Scooterboy, a sort of scooter mongrel.