I am about to begin the slow processes of grieving for my soon-to-be sold scooter. I will truly miss the feeling of the open road; the brisk, cool snap of the mind in your face. Can you imagine anything more exhilarating than throwing open the throttle and rocketing of at an insane 35 mph? Or how about the feeling you get deep in your gut as you begin the 30-second acceleration to reach these break-neck speeds?
Nothing is better for a man's ego than to pull up on this beauty next to a 300-pound, tattoo covered biker. Sure his Harley may be tough, or macho, but my ride is cute. And not cute like a meadow full of puppies, but cute like a meadow full of babies (maybe even babies and puppies, if you can handle it)!
Or how about the often-asked question: is that thing fast? Without fail, this inquiry is posed nearly daily. My answer is always the same. I rev the engine, just a little, and look the questioner square in the eyes. Mustering up my strongest, yet most humble voice, I utter that one word that they are waiting for: NO! Then I tear off (at about 10 mph), throwing my head back and laughing.
But alas, these days are quickly drawing to a close. If you recall, I will be starting work in Anaheim. Now, at 35 mph on surface streets (this hog isn't exactly freeway-legal), I figure it would take me about an hour and a half to make the commute. What's more, the open road would wreak havoc on my suits. Did I forget to mention that, I will be wearing a suit to work everyday. Babies all growns up!
Well, it's time to pour one out for the scooter and thank her for all the sweet rides. If you would like to send flower or a casserole, we'll gladly accept them on her behalf.
R.I.P. Scooter
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