Author: Michael

For the past two weeks, I’ve been trying to replicate my commute experience at Oracle. In San Francisco, I was one of dozens to put my bike on Caltrain at 22nd Street, and, when I wanted some exercise, I would get off at Burlingame or San Mateo and bike the eight+ miles to Oracle. It was a beautiful way to start the day: all but 1 mile of the ride was on a bike path hugging the shoreline of the San Francisco Bay. No car traffic, completely level, and a peaceful 30-minute ride. I averaged 19 mph, sometimes higher, and got a wonderful work out.

In Seattle, I strap my bike onto the front of the 545 express bus to Redmond. There’s only space for three bikes (as opposed to 36 on CalTrain) but I’ve only been bumped once, and that was going home. I get off at Evergreen Point just across the 520 bridge, and take off. I have a choice for the first mile or two: ride along an extremely narrow and bumpy jogging trail through the woods along the north side of 520, or take a residential street with wide shoulders on the south side of 520. Recently, I’ve been taking the side street: not only is it smoother, but the hills are less… hilly. Then I cross back to the north side of 520, go up another residential street, which turns into an incredibly long, steep downhill. Fastest I’ve gone is 38 mph. Then another couple of miles on secondary (non-residential streets) with barely a shoulder to speak of. And all uphill.

Finally, I’m on the bike trail that runs along 520 all the way into Redmond. Of course, Microsoft is just barely in Redmond so I’m only on that trail for a couple of miles. It’s almost all uphill, of course, and my average speed for the whole ride is 10 to 12 mph.

It’s a good workout, and I do like starting the day with a ride. But
it’s not as picturesque as riding along San Francisco Bay, and I get
caught at a lot of really long stoplights.

What’s humiliating about the morning rides are the hills. Well, the
hills aren’t really humiliating. It’s the old guys with gray hair who
are blowing past me on the uphills. I had three in one morning. Nobody
passed me on the trail along the Bay.

"Why don’t you take the ride after work, when it’s all downhill?" I hear you cry.

I do, actually. When I bike in the morning, I almost always bike back in the evening. That’s mainly because there is so much demand at the Microsoft bus stop, one bike is almost always bumped. And even if you’re not bumped, by the time your bike is on the rack on the front of the bus, every spare seat is taken. Standing in the aisle as the bus lurches in the agonizingly slow, stop-and-go traffic at the 405 interchange is murder on my knees. Plus, at Evergreen Point, I can take buses other than the 545 to Stewart and Denny.

But the evening ride isn’t quite enough of a workout. It’s only 6.75 miles, so with all the down hills, it only takes 22 minutes–just barely an aerobic workout.

This weekend was Festering Oktoberscoot. When I first heard of the rally–a scooter-based tour of Seattle breweries–I thought this would be a singularly bad idea. A half a glass of alcohol on a two-wheeled vehicle feels like two to three full glasses when driving a car. There is just so much more that you need to pay attention to.

But this isn’t a young and irresponsible scooter crowd (I’m probably the youngest person in the crowd other than Hottie Ms. Headlights). At every brewery, it was just about a taste. A dash of beer in a shot glass.

That’s not to say that the ride went perfectly smoothly. Kelly went down after the first brewery this morning. She was slowing down and pulling to the right to block a car that was edging into the pack (it boggles the mind, but some car drivers will utterly ignore motorcycles and just pull in like we aren’t there). But the move was sudden enough that Marty, right behind her, had to slam on the brakes. He didn’t have quite enough space, and he didn’t turn out of the way (maybe there was another bike directly to his left, don’t know). A perfect accident: no single person was at fault, but everyone contributed just a little bit.

Kelly had a little road rash on her legs (like someone else I know, Kelly chooses fashion over protection) and went into mild shock. I got a little worried when she laid back down on the sidewalk a second time after refusing to go to the hospital–I didn’t see the accident, but I was worried she banged her head. So I called our family ER doc, Trish. It only took a few minutes for everyone else to convince Kelly to stop by the emergency room, and by the time I reached Trish, Kelly was in a cab with Sugar Bear following behind on his scoot. (Kelly, a fellow Softie, claimed she wouldn’t have gone if it hadn’t been for our employer’s fantastic health benefits).

Kelly joined us about six hours later at the barbecue at the end of the ride, bruised but in good spirits.

All said and done, I do like this scooter crowd. They’re all laid-back and easy-going and low drama–just like the handful of people in the San Francisco crowd that I enjoyed spending time with.

I bought a replacement for my Vespa yesterday.

Same model: ET4.
Same year: 2002.
Same color: platinum.

Of course, it has 7,700 fewer miles, it doesn’t have this little rattle when I start it up, and it doesn’t ride quite as rough. Those are all to the good, but I had grown fond of the rattle and the grind and the squeaky brakes. And of grumping about them.

Even better, I paid less for this bike than Geico paid out for my old one.

Heather asked me if I rode around all weekend on my new ET4. It had been a month since I’d scooted around, and I really wanted to get back on my bike.

But on Thursday evening, Chanel called me to suggest she and Finn and Ellie drive up from Portland for the weekend. How could I say no? And you can’t really put a three-year-old on any kind of motorcycle.

Geico has stepped up to the plate now that the G****s have accepted responsibility for the accident.

I had a rental car for a few days, which helped with the move and made my commute easier (I’d rather be stuck in the 520 parking lot on a 1.25 hour commute, than be stuck at 5th & Virginia waiting for the bus to Queen Anne on 2 hour commute). I could have kept the car for longer, but now that I’m in Capitol Hill, finding parking is more trouble than it’s worth, so I returned it Monday morning after almost a week with four wheels.

Geice valued my scoot at $2,950, which is about right for a pristine ET4 bought from a dealer. I’ll get the check this week.

Interesting side note: the Seattle Times recently reported that new Washington state laws have made a big dent in accidents caused by new teenage drivers. Not that it helped me, but… Technically, the kid who totaled my scoot should lose his license until he’s 18. It takes two mistakes for this, and he made them both at the same time: causing a collision, and driving with non-relatives his own age in the car.

More important, I found the exact same Vespa model, year and color selling for $2,800, and with 1/3rd the miles.  I would have bought it on Saturday morning, but without a local bank branch, I’m sorta stuck. I’ll be withdrawing the max from ATM machines all week to get the cash together.

This Saturday morning, I’ll be back on two wheels.

My old Oracle buddy Brian found this article on the rising popularity of scooters in the US. I must say, I’m a little shocked at the age skew, but then again, I’m a little shocked that I’m only a couple of years away from being in that age skew.

As to fuel economy, yeah baby, $6 for a tank that lasts all month! You can run almost any errand–including grocery shopping at any non-big-box store–and park just feet from your destination.

I have actually had the fuel economy conversation with several colleagues here: one was thinking of buying a pair of scoots for both himself and his wife to make their commutes easier. Of course, she wants a Harley, which costs a mere $15,000 more than a Vespa. Others are merely in the state of saying "I can’t believe I burned $15 of gas racing from Redmond to Seattle. There has to be a better way."

I miss my scooter.

The BBC reported a rather disturbing study on safety and bicycle helmets. Drivers in the UK apparently will give far less space to cyclists wearing protective gear and reflective clothing than they do to cyclists wearing street clothes.

The offered explanation is that drivers may think the properly attired cyclist may be more experienced riding in traffic and thus ride more predictably, meaning they don’t need to give that cyclist a wide berth. Which amounts to zilch when you need to swerve to avoid debris or glass or a pothole.

That’s why cyclists have a right to the full lane in California and other states.

My friends Heather and Patrick are now on Day Three of the Scooter Cannon Ball Run. Yes, that’s right, a bunch of scooterists are riding across country, from the Oregon coast to New Jersey. An odd contest–so odd, the Washington Post covered it.

It is technically a race, but endurance and technical ingenuity is more what’s being tested. If your scoot breaks down and you can’t fix it right there on the shoulder of some backcountry road, it goes in the support truck. Then you have 24 hours to fix it, before you lose your support truck privileges, and are left in Idaho or Nebraska or Indiana to make your own way home. "Italian engineering" and "reliable" generally don’t fall in the same sentence, and six bikes of the 30-40 registered had already broken down by the end of Day Two.

Heather–who is driving Patrick’s personal support vehicle and serving as the race’s unofficial certified massage therapist–told me last night that one fellow who had temporarily repaired a broken pipe on his scoot with, well, not duct tape, but a similar and slightly more durable quick fix, randomnly stumbled onto a welding shop in Idaho later that day. The shop guys had never worked on a scooter, but with a little guidance from the scooterist/mechanic, the shop guys welded it up like new.

To give you an idea of what this race is about, Patrick built a bike completely from scratch with help and support from First Kick Scooters in SF. It’s a small frame–just 125cc and one of the smallest in the race. But Patrick welded an extra three-gallon gas tank onto the frame, giving him a total of five gallons. See, speed only gets you so far. It’s the number of stops that sucks up your time. Stops to refuel every two gallons (or 150 miles). Stops to replace parts so the scoot still operates in high altitude. Stops for repairs. Patrick’s blog, OopsClunkThud (which I stole the pictures below from), gives you an idea how much work and knowledge this takes.

And Patrick is doing well, so far. He’s come in first and second for his scooter class, and Heather claims he would have come in first overall on day one if he hadn’t run out of gas.