Back in 1984, there was a cover story in Rider magazine featuring the then-new generation of Japanese scooters led by Honda and closely followed by Yamaha. Some of you may recall the famous Honda scooter commercials featuring Adam Ant, Grace Jones, Jim McMahon, Lou Reed and, saving the best for last, Devo. It was a great mix of 80s MTV sass and cool, but they had nothing to do with why I fell in love with scooters.
Fact is, I have no idea why I feel in love with them - I just did.
Planning to save that issue of Rider forever, I unfortunately hid it so well that I can't find it anymore. But I do recall a sidebar article in the issue called "Scooter Love" or something like that (memories are so deceptive, but more on that in the future), in which a 200+ pound former Harley rider discussed how he had come to embrace his love of Vespas and wear his marques' jacket with pride.
I, too, am proud of my inner scooterist, but I dread the inevitable belittling of scooters that is part and parcel of riding one. Even though my Yamaha Majesty goes over 90 mph and has more storage space than a Pontiac Solstice, car drivers often look at me like I am on little more than a 30 mph moped.
I also have to justify that I am on a real "motorcycle" among my many motorcyclist friends, and I am not sure if I feel that way because of my own insecurities as much as from their refusal to view these bikes as legit. When away from my bike, I usually just tell people I ride a motorcycle; when they ask what kind, I say it is a Yamaha 400 and leave it at that. I almost never use the word scooter as I know the reaction I'll get.
The question, of course, is why am I having so much trouble embracing my inner scooterist? Why does it matter if others dismiss what I know to be the most fun I've ever had on two or four wheels (and, in most instances, the most fun I've had ever)? Why do I let ego and pride get in the way of me shouting, "I'm a scooterist, world! Get over it!"
Well, in a way I guess I do "say" something like that every time I mount my Majesty. I may feel a little cycle-envy, but it sure doesn't keep me off the road. It also doesn't keep me from parking it in the employee lot as I chalk up the thousands of commuter miles I have put on the thing since getting it last May. I may feel a little embarrassed now and then. but never enough to take the car; I let the weather determine that, although I'm fine riding in cold temps and heavy rains.
So why do I love it? Well, having ridden and enjoyed all types of motorcycles since I got my first Honda CB125 back in 1982, part of it has to do with being on two-wheels. I have a little theory that motorcycling is a much more natural process than car driving, in that the former requires the human act of balance. At an age where brain cells are leaving my head as rapidly as my hair, I need all the good mental exercise I can get, and I think balancing counts for that (not to mention the constant need to assess the road conditions in front, back, and beside me).
More important is that wonderful motorcycle "thing" known as leaning. If there is anything that is truly free about motorcycling, it is that ability to make the machine bend to you, and for you to bend to it. Getting a bike to lean is so subtle, it is as much cerebral as it is physical. And on a scooter, those smaller wheels and lower center of gravity only enhance the feeling.
Another reason specific to scooters is the twist-and-go scooter transmission popularized by those 80s Honda scooters. Unlike most motorcycles, which require clutching and shifting, the scooterist need only be concerned with throttle, brake and steering. Freed from the demands of a manual transmission, more attention is placed on the road and the ride (although one cannot discount the great feeling of control manual shifting affords).
Then there is the look. That classic step-through design which means easy on and easy off. The sharp body panels and sculptured seat. The large windshield and protective floorboards that keep you dry from road splash even in the midst of a downpour. You either love it or you don't. But like the ads said, "they're everything but ordinary" (although none of the major scooters of today have the unique style of those older Devo-mobiles).
I have owned many traditional motorcycles and still have a running, kick-start only '78 GS in my garage (the photo above is of my first scooter, a Honda CH250 Elite that I unfortunately sold last year). I always have and always will love everything motorcycle, and will most likely buy a more contemporary manual transmission bike sometime in the future (my current desire is a Kawasaki KLR 650, which is also a rather unique bike). But no matter how many bikes I may eventually own, I cannot imagine a time that my Majesty is not my vehicle of choice. And while that choice will always leave me carrying the "shame" of not riding a real motorcycle, I'll keep trying to "forgive" myself for being who I am.
Fact is, I have no idea why I feel in love with them - I just did.
Planning to save that issue of Rider forever, I unfortunately hid it so well that I can't find it anymore. But I do recall a sidebar article in the issue called "Scooter Love" or something like that (memories are so deceptive, but more on that in the future), in which a 200+ pound former Harley rider discussed how he had come to embrace his love of Vespas and wear his marques' jacket with pride.
I, too, am proud of my inner scooterist, but I dread the inevitable belittling of scooters that is part and parcel of riding one. Even though my Yamaha Majesty goes over 90 mph and has more storage space than a Pontiac Solstice, car drivers often look at me like I am on little more than a 30 mph moped.
I also have to justify that I am on a real "motorcycle" among my many motorcyclist friends, and I am not sure if I feel that way because of my own insecurities as much as from their refusal to view these bikes as legit. When away from my bike, I usually just tell people I ride a motorcycle; when they ask what kind, I say it is a Yamaha 400 and leave it at that. I almost never use the word scooter as I know the reaction I'll get.
The question, of course, is why am I having so much trouble embracing my inner scooterist? Why does it matter if others dismiss what I know to be the most fun I've ever had on two or four wheels (and, in most instances, the most fun I've had ever)? Why do I let ego and pride get in the way of me shouting, "I'm a scooterist, world! Get over it!"
Well, in a way I guess I do "say" something like that every time I mount my Majesty. I may feel a little cycle-envy, but it sure doesn't keep me off the road. It also doesn't keep me from parking it in the employee lot as I chalk up the thousands of commuter miles I have put on the thing since getting it last May. I may feel a little embarrassed now and then. but never enough to take the car; I let the weather determine that, although I'm fine riding in cold temps and heavy rains.
So why do I love it? Well, having ridden and enjoyed all types of motorcycles since I got my first Honda CB125 back in 1982, part of it has to do with being on two-wheels. I have a little theory that motorcycling is a much more natural process than car driving, in that the former requires the human act of balance. At an age where brain cells are leaving my head as rapidly as my hair, I need all the good mental exercise I can get, and I think balancing counts for that (not to mention the constant need to assess the road conditions in front, back, and beside me).
More important is that wonderful motorcycle "thing" known as leaning. If there is anything that is truly free about motorcycling, it is that ability to make the machine bend to you, and for you to bend to it. Getting a bike to lean is so subtle, it is as much cerebral as it is physical. And on a scooter, those smaller wheels and lower center of gravity only enhance the feeling.
Another reason specific to scooters is the twist-and-go scooter transmission popularized by those 80s Honda scooters. Unlike most motorcycles, which require clutching and shifting, the scooterist need only be concerned with throttle, brake and steering. Freed from the demands of a manual transmission, more attention is placed on the road and the ride (although one cannot discount the great feeling of control manual shifting affords).
Then there is the look. That classic step-through design which means easy on and easy off. The sharp body panels and sculptured seat. The large windshield and protective floorboards that keep you dry from road splash even in the midst of a downpour. You either love it or you don't. But like the ads said, "they're everything but ordinary" (although none of the major scooters of today have the unique style of those older Devo-mobiles).
I have owned many traditional motorcycles and still have a running, kick-start only '78 GS in my garage (the photo above is of my first scooter, a Honda CH250 Elite that I unfortunately sold last year). I always have and always will love everything motorcycle, and will most likely buy a more contemporary manual transmission bike sometime in the future (my current desire is a Kawasaki KLR 650, which is also a rather unique bike). But no matter how many bikes I may eventually own, I cannot imagine a time that my Majesty is not my vehicle of choice. And while that choice will always leave me carrying the "shame" of not riding a real motorcycle, I'll keep trying to "forgive" myself for being who I am.
The videos you mention are on Youtube. Ride whatever, I don't care and only a select few really are a-holes. that I think is why we remember them. Nice blog.
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