Review by Phil Waters, photos by Ryan Bastianelli

(January 12-14, 2001 Chapel Hill, NC; 21-or-so bikes and some people)

Thursday

I arrive at SuperSonic Scooters in Cleveland, and remove two Vespa ET3's and two motors from the back of my Honda Civic Wagon.

Right: Chris Davis, waiting for Ryan to fix the plane.

Friday

Noon I load all the cold weather gear I own, and a Vespa P200, complete with front and rear crashbars and luggage rack, into the Honda Civic wagon and depart for Chapel Hill. You all know of the Big Red Rocket of Love, well this is the Lil' White Pocket of Cramps

8-ish I arrive in Chapel Hill where it is about 45°F (in Cleveland it was 23°!) Sean Stevens helps me unload the P200 and we do the usual catching up, then we walk up to the house where the party is already rolling nicely. Whilst enjoying some fine 100% organic beer (isn't it all s'posed to be?) I spy both Curley and Mike Z. (Ponch) arriving, and neither recognizes me—since the last time I saw them I have grown a 'stache and goatee that makes me look more like a criminal than an ex-copper. We continue to get our drink-on… John Stafford, Wellesley and Renae arrive. John brings his latest prize: an Aprilia SR50 that someone tried to kill weeks after buying it from Motostrada. John got it for a song as the bike was totalled. He spent hours putting a new (non-twisted) frame in and getting everything hooked back up. The bike is mildly kitted and manages to keep up during the ride, despite its pathetic performance off-the-line. Several rally participants who are allergic to bees have to stay away from John, the sound of that thing makes them break out in hives. By the end of the weekend, he makes a lot of friends by letting everyone who asked take a spin.

10-ish I hear there's a few Mods about… The English Beat are playing at a club about 400 yards from rally HQ, So a pile of us make the ride out to escort those who paid $17.50 each to hear "Mirror in the Bathroom" in person. We make a great showing in front of the club and those of us who aren't hip or rich enough to go in, hang around outside for a while to give the local scenesters something to gawk at. The usual questions are handled with aplomb and the newly educated walk away trying to figure out how to scrape together the $5K to buy one of these 100 mph 250 mpg wonders.

Sean rides the Ham Sandwich to Hell.

11-ish We go back to the house for more refreshments, then we go straight to Hell. Ironically, Hell is a members only bar (to skirt the local liquor laws). Each member can vouch for a few visitors. Thanks to Curley's unlimited guest status we are all able to get in with no troubles. The words "I am a scooterist" have never wielded such power. No cover, no worries. Someone hands me a pitcher of a local ale and I do my best to spread it around. The energy is great as more and more arrive… Dawn and Ahn are there from Savannah, Adryel and Kelly show up from Atlanta, and the rally keeps getting bigger… Soon the group from the English Beat show arrives and we do our best to drink Hell dry.

3-ish We head back to Rally HQ and somehow I lose track of time until it's 5am and Ryan and I are headed back to Sean and Brookes apartment; Sean on the Ham Sandwich Racer and Ryan and I on the P2. What a sight, I'm sure, but fortunately— unlike our club—these guys live relatively close to each other and I'm not even cold by the time we got to Sean's.

Curley's House… What do the neighbors think?

Saturday

Noon-ish We head off to Curley's for Brunch. What a spread! What a house! Big-ass garage and a full-on halfpipe in the backyard! Curley, Sean and Adryel entertain us on the halfpipe (ouch!) and we stand around—unskilled, envious, drinkin' coffee and smokin'. Then it hits me… It’s MID-JANUARY!!!! Curley's got his shirt off, and he's not loaded! It’s like 55°F!

2-ish We head off on a nice little ride into Hillsboro… or is it Greensboro… Hell, I don't know, they all look alike to me… let's just call it Mayberry. The ride is going great until I see a P2 slow to the shoulder with a terminally flat tire. We stop to offer help and as luck would have it, our chase truck driver actually has an air compressor in his Ranger. Well, the tire holds nothing, so let's get that spare on there… Oops… no spare, That's OK, Uncle Phil will loan you his… Just take your flat off while I get it… what? No wrenches? Bad, Bad Mod! If you don't have a spare or a patch kit or wrenches or something in your toolbox other than mousse and Binaca, please have the common courtesy to ride at the back of the pack so when you break down I won't see you.

Left: Mr. Ryan and Miss Kim.
Second to Last Scooter Club sends an elite crew of scooterists to every rally.

3-ish After the repair, we arrive at the Coffeshop/Ice Cream Parlor where everyone else is busily enjoying their dairy delights. We stay there for a bit and when we go outside to leave we find that same scooter that is wearing my spare… but now it's surrounded by some folks watching Sean Stevens save this same guy, fixing his busted or slipped throttle cable, Geez, may I recommend a Honda Elite? I'll trade you one for your P2, we'll both be happier. Credit to Sean for spending a whole lot of time helping this guy out, but the situation was grim and the group wanted to get moving again so the scoot is tossed in the chase truck and the riders mount up. As we pull away I hear Ryan shouting "Look Look Look!" and I follow the motion of his hand to see that cute little 16-year-old girl from the coffee counter flashing us her tits as we ride off!!! Aunt Bea would be shocked! But it warms our cockles and we proceed to Goober's for gas. While everyone else tops off, Ryan suggests going back to the ice cream parlor and seeing if lil' Mary Sue wants to come to our dance tonight and bring a few of her friends. Although I am married, many of my friends are not, and in the interest of morale I point the trusty P200 back towards town and we are off like a shot. Ryan makes it inside just as they are locking the door and chats those girlies up with the grace and style that can only come from a man twice their age, with no hair, who's just gotten off the back of a moped with another man. What confidence!

4-ish On the ever-so-twisty ride back to town Ryan and I are maintaining an indicated 65 mph on my newly-acquired P200, complete with Leo Vinci exhaust and economical (lean) 20 mm Carb. We have moved up through most of the pack—only Sean's Ham Sandwich and a couple others are ahead. Just about the time I finish my risk assessment (I weigh 195, Ryan weighs 185, twisties etc..), I hear the woeful groan of a too-hot motor. I grab the clutch and open the throttle full, hoping to quench that heat with a nice splash of 93 octane and Bel-Ray. The motor rewards me by not seizing, and stumbles for only a moment as I prod it back into gear… the rest of the pack rolls on by again as I slow to 40-or-so to allow things to shrink back to their intended sizes. The motor has completely recovered as we roll into Chapel Hill en-masse, taking a tour of the main street and the campus. We're getting loads of attention, as it seemed everyone was on the street enjoying the balmy weather. Just like soldiers parading through newly-liberated towns, our spirits are high even if our equipment is weary.

Stafford's Aprilia is now stalling at every stop. Right in the middle of Campus we lose another P200, and an Lambretta SX200 clatters and backfires its way to the sidewalk, never to recover.

After a complete review of the town, we muster up at the Vespa Cafe. Kind of a neat place, like a cross between a Starbucks (evil) and a chain-style Tuscano restaurant. Italian movie posters on the wall, a Vespa 150 Super out front, and a cute little bar with the worlds slowest service. Local skater kids grind everything with an edge and are instantly drawn to the scooters. It didn't take too much trouble to find one who was willing to Ollie over a scooter… quite a show.

When exactly did 2SB become Thrasher?
The Ham-Sandwich-nollie-to-grind is worth 2200 points in Tony Hawk Pro Skater 2.

5-ish We all ride a few blocks away to a little family-style restaurant the Incriminators arranged for us. They've even blocked off a special scooter parking area.

That's John Stafford's Aprilia“Twist ‘n‘ No” on the right.

While lining the scooters up single file, Ryan gets off the back, and I instinctively pop it into neutral and take my hands off the bars… or so I thought. My left hand releases the clutch, I feel the bike lurch forward, I try to re-grip the clutch, but the lever is out of my reach, the idle is too high, the bike doesn't stall, and as it lurches, my right hand, trying to hold the bike back, twists the throttle open wide!

The force of the motor and the pull of my arm take the nose of the scooter skyward and hard to the right. Having only one hand on the bar, it was going to come down, and it was going to come down hard. Instinctively, I slide off the right side of the seat and pull that scooter right down out of the sky onto my right leg. My leg does a wonderful job cushioning the blow. The scooter is not harmed, not even scratched. My friends are kind enough to lift the scooter off me, and loyal enough to not laugh until they saw I wasn't hurt… badly. It's not often that I slip up and hurt myself, unfortunately it always seems to be where I can cause the most joy for others in the process.

It's OK to park in the Handicapped Zone… if you injure yourself in the process.

8-ish After dinner and cleaning up back at Sean's place, we are off to the dance. Most people opt to carpool, to preserve their licenses and stay out of the hands of John Law. It seems the night before one of our fold was having a little too much to drink and rode past an officer in the wee hours. This officer detained the scooterist to challenge his sobriety. It turned out to be not much of a challenge at all, and the young rider was cuffed and stuffed in the back of a patrol car. After a good deal of waiting for the tow truck, the officer became frustrated and released the scoundrel with merely a ticket for operating a m/c w/o the proper credentials. Just after the DUI tickets were torn up, the tow truck arrived and returned the tipsy scooterist to his home. Upon arrival the scooterist forked over a handful of green to the "happy hooker." He was returned his scooter and wisely went straight to bed.

9-ish Dandylion wine made by Sean Stevens' grandfather is a beautiful thing… but so were the boobs on the 16-year-old girl from the coffee shop (Remember her? Sure you do), and she actually showed up. We barely recognize her, she brought with her a boy she claims is her boyfriend and another girl. I believe she brought the boy as some sort of security (if this was the plan, she won't do it again). Together, the three of them look like mannequins in the window of the Salvation Army Thrift Store; basic, scrawny, and ill-fitted… Like what you'd get if you put a couple hippies and a couple goths in a martini shaker and went at it 'til your arms were tired. At some point in the night she flashes her boobs again, and a short while later the boy gets the girls together in the parking lot and I overhear him trying to convince the girls to leave with him. "We should get out of here, I'm not having any fun, and they don't even have any hard liquor… I know of somewhere else we can go" etc. He should have just admitted he smelled trouble when the teenage girls started playing with the Hula Hoops. At that moment the Wolves in Steel-Toes circled and began salivating as the odor of musk came over the room. Eventually the youngsters left… but not without a flourish—as their little Cavalier spat gravel, she brought 'em out again for the boys, hanging her top half out the car window, shouting and smiling the whole way.

I think we'll be seeing her again.

Early AM-ish When I hear a rumor of a naked ride that is about to commence, I immediately gather my team and within short order I see Kim and Jenny barreling around the dancehall, Kim as God had intended, and Jenny in a Black Corset to add a bit of a Russ Meyer vibe… er, jiggle, anyway. Moments later, Renae and I are in the buff as I kick the beast to life. Renae is no dummy, she lays her sweater over the frigid, dewy seat and we are off. Now, I am no stranger to the naked ride, in fact, most people like to remind me that I have made my point, and I can stop any time now. There are few things in this life I haven't done… but riding nude on a scooter in January was one of them.

Generally, we will do a couple of laps around the masses, and then head off for a brisk ride of about a mile or so… not on this night. When the sun went down so did the temperature. It”s now maybe 40°F, and I learned a long time ago that all men truly are created equal, especially if it's cold enough. We cut the touring portion of our ride short. Then it's back in the dance hall for more tunes from the Rally Ridin' DJ, he keeps things going well even when the Incriminators break out in a rash of the Turkey Stomp.

Sunday

Morning Phone calls are made and we congregate for worship at Bob Evans. It must be worship; everyone's heads are in their hands, and all you can hear is "Oh God… Oh Jesus…" Yet, after not-too-much of a wait, the doorman secures us several tables all near each other so we can offend only the minimum number of regular Sunday customers. Bob Evans in the south is different than Bob Evans in the North, the menu is different, it isn't all set up for octagenarians with a taste for the bland. After a fine meal served by the perfect waitress we're back to Rally HQ to load up scooters and say our goodbyes.

Phil, Chris Supergome (Atlanta), Sara (Incriminators), Brooke (Sean's future wife), and Jenny.

Sean helps me squeeze the full size P200 into the little Honda, and a whole lot of people start taking pictures of the act. Well, it is a spectacle, but I couldn't help thinking of those "foreign objects" sites on the Internet. I say goodbye to all my friends and head North for 8 hours of catatonic hammer-down Honda-abuse.

Much thanks to ALL of the Incriminators. You should be proud. This review is way too long to end up in Scoot Quarterly, but cutting it down wouldn't do justice to all the work those fine folks from North Carolina did to make all of us smile and want to come back real soon.

Phil
POC

Sean holding the Ham Sandwich gearbox actuating arm. Ryan: “So, I had to ride the sandwich. During the ride the arm breaks. End of story. Embellish as you like.”