Laugh while you can, monkey-boys.

When I began riding a scooter three years ago, I got a lot of reaction – positive and otherwise. I remember laughter being involved on occasion. Actually a lot. Most of the reaction was aired before folks even saw the bike. A lot of thinking was based on the notion that scooters are what Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels rode in the movie “Dumb and Dumber”. Motorcycling buddies virtually slapped me upside my head asking, “Why not a real bike?” Bicycling buddies virtually slapped me upside my head asking, “Why not a real bike?” My wifed warned me, “You’ll put an eye out with that thing.”

They laughed when I sat on the saddle, but when I began to play…
What my detractors finally saw was not a tiny, mini-bike powered by a model airplane engine but a full-sized, street bike in a rare class of motorized two-wheelers known as “maxi-scooters” over seven and a half foot long and weighing over 450 pounds when filled with gas and ready to ride – bigger and more massive than many real sport motorcycles. Inside a 400 cubic centimeter engine has enough power to propel me and the bike to highway speed and beyond. At least a few observers dismissed the “Dumber” part of the thought if not the “Dumb” part. Still, though, a scooter.

For many it was a silly mode of conveyance that missed the mark of real motor-biking thrills but with all the risk. It exposed me to the slings and arrows of the “caged” world but provided no street “cred.” Neither car nor motorcycle operator would accept this new creature on the roadways. I was different. Oh yeah. And mostly loving it.

Today I had to find a part for the scooter so I went to the motorcycle shop. I thought I’d look over the scooter offerings. The sales guy (they’re always guys) told me he had none in stock, couldn’t keep any in stock despite increased production, and the next few shipments were already spoken for. This goes a way in explaining the sudden interest in my bike and offers to buy it at a price far more than I paid in 2005.

In the world of near five-dollar gasoline, it seems a fair number of folks have been enlightened. And as they have explored alternate forms of transportation and finding motorcycles a significant commitment, the idea of a maxi-scooter and all its advantages and amenities suddenly become apparent. It mostly has to do with the distinction between a scooter and a typical motorcycle.

While a motorcycle requires manual shifting involving coordinated movements of a hand-lever and a foot-operated lever, a scooter’s transmission gearing is handled automatically. The scooter rider simply twists the hand throttle to control speed. Another distinction of the scooter is a long footboard with an infinite number of places for the rider to position feet. On the other hand (under the other foot?) at best, a motorcycle has a short floorboard, most have only pegs on each side on which the rider’s feet rest. Mounting a scooter mean stepping through the frame. Mounting a motorcycle requires throwing a leg over the frame. A scooter typically has built-in storage for as many as two, full-face helmets. Without adding optional boxes or bags, a motorcycle has little to no storage area. A scooter’s brakes are controlled with hand-levers very similar to bicycles. A motocycle’s brakes are controlled by a hand lever and a foot lever. The scooter is a great pick for someone looking for practical transportation. A motorcycle will get you there. And with its efficient engine and transmission, a scooter will get you there at a gas sipping rate of about 55 to 80 miles per gallon depending on the model and, at least for my scoot, at speeds that may or may not exceed the highway speed limit – in Germany. My little ride is a Suzuki Burgman – the name means “City Man” playing off the Japanese marketing impetus to name personal items with some sort of personification suffix. Remember the Walk Man and Game Boy?

In places around the world where scooters are the norm, people have already figured out you don’t need 290 horsepower and two-and-a-half tons of steel, rubber, and glass to move 150 pounds of payload comfortably, quickly and with style.

Yes, I said style, my boxed-in, large carbon-footed friends. The classic scooter, typical of what folks call generically, a “Vespa”, continues to have a clean, retro, even art deco look that never has gone out of fashion. However, more than ten years ago, Suzuki and then a number of other manufacturers, began offering larger, more contemporarily styled scooters that appealed to European, Japanese and, quickly, American urban professionals who saw an appealing commuting alternative. With more muscle, more storage space, sport-bike like styling, saddles for two-riders, and near zero learning curve, savvy commuters realized the maxi-scooter advantage. This class of bike was not intended for those who believed a motor-powered two-wheeler had to look and sound “just so.” No V-twin, ground-pounding, ear-splitting hawg rider or multi-hued dressed, rice rocket aficionado would look twice at a maxi-scooter nor were they supposed to. The maxi-scooter was aimed at those who wanted a practical, economical, fast and unique way of getting around. And without the attendant lifestyle commitment expected of riders of other types of power bikes. No tattoos, leather fringe, $1100 body suits or knee pucks required, thank you.

Today’s ride to work embodies everything positive about maxi-scoots. I pulled the bike out of its parking space on the side of the house which is nothing more than a two and a half foot wide sidewalk. No taking up space or blocking the driveway. In the under saddle storage space I placed my full-sized brief case, lunch, and some gym gear. I skipped up to the head of the line at every light – lane splitting is OK in California. I passed all the cars waiting for the on-ramp metering lights on the HOV lane and zipped unto the freeway unimpeded and made my way to the carpool lane where I cranked it up a notch so that I “matched” traffic speed. Honest officer. Motorcyclists hate it when I pass them so every one of them invariably has to pass me farther down the highway. You go guy! Don’t let my step-through block your testosterone. I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a loaf of bread, some milk and a jar of jam. Which all got stored under the seat. I cruised into the work parking lot, opened the door and cruised INSIDE our warehouse styled building without even bothering to look if there was an available parking space in the lot. Total time of transit: 21 minutes. Normal time had I been driving a car: 43 minutes. And did I mention my 3 gallon gas tank takes regular which I fill up about once a week?

But, really, the best part of riding a maxi-scooter is that it’s, and I mean really, fun. There’s enough oomph in the engine, enough spirit in the handling, and enough wind in your face to give you a sense of power and control without feeling guilty about sucking the life out of the planet in fuel depletion and in warming the globe. Even when you push it from 0 to 60 MPH in under six seconds, it’s a steady and settled rush. Yet, it seems, all fun has its price.

The Burgman’s single cylinder thumps just enough to remind you you’re no longer on a bicycle but not enough to raise the attention of the bozo on the cell phone in the Chevy Subdivision next to you. So you dart about nearly silently with the mindset that everyone on the road is trying to kill you. That mindset keeps you safe and alive. And a few motorists notice and may even think that not all two-wheelers are nuts – especially after listening to the traffic news reporting a motorcyclist down. And, yes, it IS that clown wearing nothing but shorts and a grimmace doing wheelies up Highway 880 who gets clobbered and not the responsible rider with both hands on the bar and both wheels on the ground. It’s funny how perceptions take their course. A buddy makes it clear to me that I’m crazy to ride a scooter in traffic. And he’s letting me know as he’s honing a lawn mower blade with the power grinder’s shield removed and he’s not wearing eye protection. A neighbor tells me “I would never ride a motorcycle. They’re too dangerous.” Yet, he rides a bicycle without wearing a helmet. A Harley rider challenges my riding gear, “It’s a scooter. Why the boots, leather jacket and full-face helmet?” I mention the obvious, “It doesn’t matter if you’re riding a Harley, a Honda or a Huffy. When you hit the asphalt at 60 MPH, it will try to eat you up just the same.” I’ve sky-dived, ski raced, and played hockey. Yet I don’t do anything “un-safe.” Measured consequences, measured risks. Is riding risky? Certainly it’s riskier than driving a car but not because riding a scooter itself is dangerous. It’s the stooge in the car who creates the danger. Know that and you can manage.

A couple of cars sit in my garage. One, the wife drives just enough to keep the battery charged. The other one is far more economical but doesn’t get driven much. The trips to the grocery store are atop the scooter or a tandem bicycle. Sometime we walk. Remember that? There’s something about NOT driving solo in a car that’s both liberating and refreshing. I call shenanigans on folks who insist they “need” a car for all their trips. In my case I’m glad I’m kinda against the car culture. It gets me on the two-wheeled vehicles more.

More evidence of fairies

It's said that fairies, indeed, exist but only infants younger than a year old can see them. Any older and humans lose their ability to discern these denizens of dark and unvisited shadows. While fairies may be invisible, the results of the mischievous presence are not. I know this because I have a few corded phones.

Have you ever noticed that at any given time, the helix wire that twists between handset and the phone itself lays orderly in its slnky imitation? Then the next time you look at it, the wire is a tangled mess of knots and reversed twists. At first I suspected that a friend or spouse may be playing tricks on me or perhaps they enjoy doing cartwheels when talking on the phone. I spend countless minutes spinning the handset to make things right or disconnect the wire to allow it to "relax" to its orderly state. Howerver, I know that sometimes no one can possibly have access to the phone and yet, there it is, a hopelessly tangly ganglia of wire. What can be the cause?

Got to be fairies. Working for the "wireless" companies, no doubt.

Until I hear of a better theory, I'm sticking to my theory.

Accidentally Green

I have a 12-year-old SUV. I also have a Super-Ultra Low Emission Vehicle. I get some hazing from my left leaning buddies about the SUV but when I tell them I have a SULEV complying with the latest green standards, they want to see it. I show them my 12-year-old SUV. I have but one vehicle.

Turns out I learned that my 1995 Nissan Pathfinder, one that has played a poster-boy that is leading us into Global Warming Hell, is actually in the same emissions class as the Prius. And I got the emissions test to prove it.

In the meantime, some research into vehicle rankings show that my SUV isn't the only one that is among the greenest. Also, some of the sedans and compacts that one would think are atmospherically benign are among the worst offenders.

Part of the equation is the small 150 HP engine in my truck compared to, say, a 303 HP engine in a compact sport sedan. One of these vehicles may be over-powered. With one engine being twice as powerful as the other, you have to consider the amount of fuel enabling that.

It's something to think about as you consider just who exactly is the bad guy when it comes to air pollution and greenhouse gases.

A message of hope for folks with prostate cancer -- my story

I'd always thought that a diagnosis of cancer would be nearly intolerable news for me to bear. Yet, when my urologist announced they found "a problem", I not only was not devastated but somehow relieved. It's kind of like knowing something is wrong with your computer. You know something isn't right but you're glad when you troubleshoot the problem and narrow it down to a particular cause. At that point, I knew my enemy was not a phantom menace but a thing with a name and a history and one that medicine, my doctor and I could fight.

It's not like the news came out of nowhere. I had already undergone three biopsies because of elevated PSA readings. With that, I had done some research at the library and on the Internet. Also, I spoke with guys who had already gone through what I was facing. Overall, my condition was not a death sentence.

Still, facing the words, "you have cancer" is a deep cut into one's psyche. It sticks like a tenacious and gooey patch of slime on everything you do and think about. Oddly, mitigating the circumstance was the fact that I was extremely busy with projects at work and home. Nothing like being overworked to dilute the spector of uncertainty that comes before cancer treatment. Working at a startup struggling to gain business and pay bills has a way of keeping one focused. The biggest comfort, however, was a supporting wife who accommodated my sometimes pissy attitude. Keeping me out of a funk was a chore she performed admirably and happily, at least happily from what I saw. Indeed, with her encouragement, I continued to work, go to the gym, do some traveling just as we planned before the diagnosis.

My doctor briefed me on the number of ways to proceed. As with most guys my age, I selected prostatectomy -- get rid of the house the bad guys live in. Two months after my diagnosis I underwent surgery. Two days later I was back home. Two weeks later I was back at work and back in the gym.

As is the norm, they undergo an inspection of the organ after the prostatectomy. The pathology on my prostate is so-so. Unfortunately, the cancer wasn't fully contained within the prostate. Some cancer was on the surface. I will continue to undergo testing. My doctor assures me that with a watchful eye on the blood tests, we'll be able to nail this thing down.

Today is the end of my "recovery" period and feel great. OK, I don't place the pin in the weight machines as highly as I did pre-op but I'm working towards it. I'm looking forward to some more traveling. I'm up to my incision in work at home and at the office so I feel "useful".

Having talked to folks who are years beyond their own surgery, I'm encouraged at the stories of total recovery. "As if I'd never had cancer at all," one said. I'm looking forward to visiting Yosemite next month and Lake Tahoe a month beyond. A bike trip in Italy next year is on the agenda as is a trip to Canada. Things are also looking up at work as the business picks up. Mabye i'll even start getting paid. Life is good.

It ain't easy being green

Although I'm a conservative and registered Republican, I'm not unsympathetic to the plight of ecological sensitivities. I always feel a tinge of guilt when eating spotted owl on the half shell and it kind of tugs at my heart when I have to dig out the dolphin bits out of my tuna salad of dubious origin. Still a guy has got to eat and being at the top of the food chain and having an opposing thumb has its privileges. But my menu habits notwithstanding, occasionally I'll keep the SUV garaged to spend some time pedaling my bicycle therefore saving gas and seeing how the other side lives. Today I rode the bike to work to show my solidarity with the wretches as part of Bike To Work Day, BTWD. Less than a mile into my ride it began raining. With every passing mile, the rain was more intense. I'm sure my experience was nothing any Seattlite would find untypical but this Californian, as used to experiencing the untypical as any Californian can be, was not pleased with this brand of untypical. Not pleased at all. The precipitation did not let up, of course, until I actually got to work and that was, of course, too late and 20 miles later.

It was the first time my bike, a very nice Klein Quantum road model with the shade-shifting "purple haze" paint finish, had ever experienced rain in earnest. That means it was the very first time its saddle, a very nice Selle Italia Flite model with titanium rails, got soaking wet. Being it has a dyed black leather cover, I experienced some personal dye transfer in my nether region. It was startling, as one might imagine, when I noticed the stain in the locker room mirror after my shower. It's a new look for me. But I've heard, "once you've had black you won't go back" so I'm curiously wondering what the future will hold.

But for now I'm wondering more if my jersey and shorts will dry out before I have to put it all back on for the ride home.