Scooter Trash.

RobertaX wanted to scooter down to Hogshead's BBQ for dinner. I'm all about the barbecue, so I went and got my riding gear.

This meant that there I was, in my Joe Rocket armored leather jacket and gloves and matching helmet, astride 49cc's of fury. Not just 49cc's of fury, but 49cc's of fury that refuses to idle, so I have to keep blipping the throttle at stop lights in downtown Broad Ripple so that everyone can look over and see what a complete twink I look, all togged up for MotoGP in racy red, white, and black leathers and sitting on a hyperthyroidal weed whacker.

Having not ridden a step-through scooter since... oh, 1989 or so, my feet kept trying to find the footpegs under my butt. Disappointed, they would then wander to the floorboards, only to begin a complicated tapdance of looking for shifters and rear brake pedals that weren't there every time I had to turn or stop. It was interesting, in an amusing way. Thankfully, it's hard to get too out of control on a vehicle that requires a long, slightly downhill, straightaway, a heavy throttle hand, and a brisk tailwind to overtop 30 mph by any significant amount.

It was my first time with my knees in the breeze in almost two years. I'll say this, though: It's really hard not to get a big, stupid grin on your face riding the thing. Thank gawd my very serious full-face helmet covered it up.