The Ride or the Scene

So you bought a Vespa. All the media cameos of this ubiquitous two-wheeled conveyance finally got to you. It's not the first time that someone bought into the scene.

Face it. It wasn't the Vespa's quirky engineering nor its paradoxical reviews that went either way nor its suitability (non?) to local riding regulations and conditions that won you over. It was the look. You identified yourself with the Vespa's look and as a consequence, you thought that this identification would extend to a lively involvement with the local riding scene. Or so you thought.

5,000 kilometers or so later, you stop and ask yourself why you're still not a card-carrying member of any local Vespa riding group. Whatever happened to the mass scooter rallies and beer-guzzling all-nighters in the local dive bar that you eagerly saw in Quadrophenia and heard so much about? And what about the fashion and lifestyle that you once found hugely appealing on print and film, but is actually loathed by onlookers everywhere to say the least? Speak nothing about the rapport and camaraderie that you expected from the local online Vespa discussion group.

Myths, apparently.

And now you're thinking about selling the Vespa that you once fell head over heels for and snapping up a souped-up Raider so you can drag-race your way into Macapagal Avenue lore. Go ahead.

Such is the part played all too often by poor players in this dark comedy who thought that they could buy fellowship for the price of a scooter. Alas, "the fault, dear Brutus, is not in the stars but in ourselves that we are underlings." Shakespeare may well have been writing about the local Vespa scene.

The Vespa gives you a ride, and a fulfilling one at that. It doesn't win you friends. It just takes you home every time.

Buy into the ride. Not the scene.