Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Narrow Escape on the Vespa

I have mentioned in the past that I can not ride Lady Luck's Vespa GTS in a reasonable and prudent manner. I really, really try to. I generally set out with the intention to ride safely, even conservatively. These intentions generally last no longer than three city blocks. The Vespa's capabilities are just too tempting.

I like to use the Vespa to go pick stuff up at the grocery store (especially since my bicycle was stolen). The ride is just long enough to get a bit of wahoo in before dinner.

The other night, I went to pick up some essentials and had managed to stay on my best behavior all the way to the grocery store.

As I left, however, I got passed by some tool on an orange chopper. Not only did he roar past me at WAY over the speed limit (I was already travelling expeditiously), but he didn't bother using turn signals when he changed into my lane.

Naturally, he had to stop at the red light ahead. Sometimes, I love stoplights. Particularly when it means I can catch up to a tool while I'm on the scooter and sit there making him uncomfortable.

I got to the light seconds later and stopped where he could see me in his mirrors, all scootery and stripping away his machismo by the second.

The light turned green and he roared ahead. Funny thing about the GTS, though, is just how fast it accelerates. Speed was important, because I wanted to get under this fellow's skin some more. I kept pace with dudemar without difficulty and could have actually passed him on the right.

I caught myself before I did something as stupid and dickish as passing this jerk in the same lane, and backed off the gas because I was not at a safe following distance. I figured I'd just move back and ride with him a ways.

I had no sooner decided to behave when Cap'n Asshat turned right, crossing my path of travel, without bothering to use his turn signals. I grabbed two big handfuls of brakes and thereby avoided giving this gentleman an impromptu physics lesson.

He looked over at me as he turned, and I realized that not only was he perfectly aware he'd cut me off, but he didn't care. Mr. Fist tried to take control of the scooter and enact some low-cc justice, but I reminded him there was chocolate in the Vespa's puppy-warmer and dessert takes precedence over almost any situation.

The moral of the story? Jerks tend to act like jerks, stay away from them.


mrs rc said...

I think guys like that desperately needed their father to whoop their ass when they were about 7 yrs old, and put them in their place. But alas, it never happened so they think the world revolves around them and their excessively oversized ego.

Mr. Motorcycle said...

I can see being a dink on a chopper if you had a reason too, just like being a dink in a car. but when un-provoked, it is what gives bikers a bad name. What a dink.

Lady Ridesalot said...

dink: duel income no kids. I'm a dink! But not on my bike! ;)

Joe said...

That was a hilarious read. I love your style!