My very good friend Scott V. approached me with this really great scooter story a few weeks ago. This one is just much too great to keep to myself. Like all good stories, it is a little bit funny, a little bit sad, and almost all true... Enjoy!
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Nowadays, when I go around and talk to people in a social fashion, it comes up that I have a penchant for old Italian scooters. Invariably, this confession renders the same reaction in people that it would if I told them that I was really into stuffed animals.
But it wasn't always like that. The general awareness and appreciation for old scooters was far more widespread before the big decline that occurred in the early 2000's. There was a time, in the late 90's where the scooter scene was thriving in the U.S. Ride-outs in San Francisco would have several hundred vintage scooters. It was quite a sight to behold, especially at night. Imagine riding through the huge dragon gates in San Francisco's Chinatown, rolling over 200 scooters deep. On the longer stretches, the line of scooters would strech over a mile from the crest of one hill to the next.
But, for whatever reason: the internet, bike scarcity, the return of new scooters to the US market, or just scene burnout, things here kind of fell apart quickly... as I assume you, dear reader, are well aware. But, right before that, right at the apex, the final moment of glory, the scooter scene was, as they say, going off, and everybody wanted in on it.
So on a Friday morning in 2000 a guy walked into the scooter shop where I worked in San Francisco. He was from WWF, the professional wrestling organization. He wanted to buy a perfect vintage scooter for the show "RAW," which they were taping in San Jose, California that Monday night. (Ed Note: RAW was a television show that showcased "professional wrestlers") This sort of request was really common in those days because the popularity of scooters was leaking heavily into mainstream advertising. We had folks coming from everywhere looking to rent or buy a bike for an ad campaign. But this dude, well, he was a little weird. He sort of had this attitude like he was buying livestock, like he was intentionally detached from the experience... like "Yeah, gimme a good one, I'll take whatever you've got." We all just figured that if he wanted to spend the money, we didn't mind if he personally looked at the bikes like they were an abomination.
At that moment however, the owner of the shop didn't have any pristine bikes ready to sell on the floor. On the other hand, my coworker Stephen owned a perfect Rally 200 that he had been working on, that just needed assembly. It had already been painted, chromed, etc., but it was spread out all over the floor, waiting for him to have time to put it together. The shop owner negotiated a good sum for the bike - I think it was $4000 - which was a fair deal for a ground up restoration at that time. Hands were shaken and the guy said he'd be back for the bike on Monday morning. Stephen then spent the next 72 hours, day and night without sleep, finishing the bike. When the buyer came back, it was ready, and it was stunning. Stephen had done a great job. He had adjusted every cable, dialed in every electrical bit, every detail was attended to, and the bike was absolutely immaculate. You could have gotten on it right then, and ridden it to New York.
As arranged, the WWF TV show guy showed up Monday morning. He and Stephen exchanged cash for the scooter, and the dude said that the bike would be on the broadcast of "RAW" that night, and encouraged us to watch. So we all went back to our shared beach house for a victory party. Stephen was exhausted to the point of hallucination. We put in a VHS tape to record the show, all of us curious to see how they would highlight the scooter. (Note: jump to 9:30 for the good part)
In retrospect, I can't help but think that there was something foretelling about that night. Somehow, to me, "The Undertaker" was showing us our future, and we didn't even know it. As he clumsily cast the scooter into taco heaven he was telling us, "You flew too high little scooter. You got too popular, you got too shiny, and for that, and nothing more, you will be tossed, like cultural detritus into the bleak night of oblivion." And he was right, it happened.
Now, over a decade after night, I will occasionally, go on a group ride in San Francisco. There aren't a lot of bikes - maybe 40, when there used to be 300. It's mostly old dudes who haven't realized that Scooby Doo attire looks even worse when mercilessly stretched over a belly bloated with twenty years of Newcastle. The pretty girls and young dudes are all gone. But, weirdly, it feels right. We were always supposed to be strange, small, and unimportant. At least this way we're less likely to have professional wrestlers executing our bikes on national TV. But then, maybe I'm reading too far into this. It sure wouldn't be the first time.
P.S.: As a performer I have to give props to the dude who at 3:20 in the video holds up the "I Farted" sign. I don't follow wrestling so I don't know if that's a common prank for them, but either way, it's hilarious.
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Scott Vermeire is a performance artist from Oakland, California. He is capable of doing normal things but prefers to be weird. Scott currently owns two Lambrettas; a Series 1 Li and a Series 2 TV. Neither are currently running.