Saturday, May 28, 2011

"Ja, habe ich ein Biturbo auf sie und changen den Bars. Es geht 50 mit leicht."
Hast du upjet?"
"Habe ich was?
Nichts, mein F├╝hrer. Es ist ein cooles Bike."

Girls are pretty rad.

Now, I'm not usually one for objectifying women (unless the woman in question is into that sort of thing and has given me her informed consent), but I'm going to belie the first half of this sentence by posting this link to pictures of pretty girls on mopeds.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Oh yeah, also

Don't forget When Skunks Attack IV is happening Saturday, May 28, so probably like now. Go to it!

So the slow ride went well.

We had six mopeds, three custom Ruckuses (Ruckii?) and a bike that was a Trail 90 in the same way that The Thing is Ben Grimm. We rode around looking cool, and then Matt's Snark broke, and then we fixed it, and then we rode around some more. Those Ruckus guys are pretty cool.

There were some Dachshunds at the bar that were pretty rad, too.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Moped repair tip!

Caution: if the visor snap shown comes loose on your helmet, it can cause your moped to start backfiring. For details, consult Lauren Spears. She can also be reached pertaining to all questions regarding falling down.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Just a reminder

Friday, 6pm @ Tower Bar

A scooter dude I met (Lauren and Alexander know him) organized a "slow ride" (aka: 50cc friendly) and extended an invitation to the Skunks. If your shit isn't broken, be there.

WTF is going on Saturday? It's the end of the world, apparently. Let's go break our bikes.

Impromptu ride,16 May 2011

Crossposted from: Mai MoJo, written by Lauren Spears

We got to Gilberto's garage in Hillcrest around 4pm. Adam had assured us his bike would be ready to rip by the time we arrived but no dice. He managed to break his moped again because he rides hard, fast, and dirty. We were eager to go ride but as I've been told, half the fun of being moped enthusiasts is tinkering with the little buggers. I'll leave that to the guys.

Gilberto showed up and wanted to ride with us but he had errands to run. Lucky for him it took us about 4 hours to get going – during which we found the need to drink booze. Alex went to the store to get us Gordon's vodka and orange Sunkist: a hobo's screwdriver. We mixed the ingredients in a bucket. It really wasn't horrible. In fact, not even bad. We chugged on while Adam continued working on his bike.

Gilberto was getting antsy to ride. I think smelling the exhaust and hearing the revving of a two stroke engine enough times manages to give you the itch to ride. He offered his fancy pants horse Puch (a Magnum LTD – ed.) for Adam to ride and encouraged him to leave his own project for another day. After a lot of lollygagging we were ready to go. Right as we were about to helmet up and take off a cop pulled up and told us someone made a noise complaint. Some crotchety old bag has nothing better to do than to watch her stories all day and doesn't like it when Adam causes a ruckus by opening up full throttle with no pipe on his Tomos. I guess I can kind of understand. Kind of. So this cop was the smiliest and sweetest storm trooper I've ever met. I think he actually took an interest in what we were doing with our moped mania. It's probably nice for cops to come across good clean kids (except for the grease on our hands – ed.) like us who are geeking out on old crummy bikes in a back alley rather than slamming smack while getting/giving BJs.

Broke my nail too far down to explain cause it's gross, wrapped it in electrical tape, and we were off to the ruby room. All those hours of Adam's hard work while we stood around and watched amounted to riding a few blocks down University. It was $1 well drinks though. We ordered two doubles each. More bang for our buck.

After rattling off the few phrases in German we know to a Deutsche tourist, we headed to the taco shop, La Posta, on Washington. See pictures os Alexander's Neanderthal method of eating. After fueling up on cheap greasy food, we mounted up to head to the Ken Club. After pedaling my bike a few strokes I heard the dull repetitive thud of a flat tire. I thought the evening was over. It was all too good to be true. The fates has been against us all day. Why should they stop now? I thought we were about to call it a night when Gilberto offered Alexander his Puch (a kitted Maxi – ed.) while he would ride Captain America (a Motomarina Sebring with a Red-White-and-Blue stock paint job – ed.) and I would ride Alexander's Motobecane. It was like musical mopeds. The key was to get the Garelli back to Gilberto's. I didn't want to hold the gang up so I thought I'd be courteous and kinda bad ass if I just ran it back. Luckily he only lives a few blocks away from the Mexican joint. Luckily I didn't have a heart attack. Some homeless guys were making fun of me for running out of gas.

We got to Gilberto's and he'd lost his helmet. He scoured the apartment for it and then realized he might have left it at the taco stand. Alexander jetted back over there as we stayed back still looking for the missing helmet. He had to have put it on, right? Was he already that drunk? Were we not to have noticed that he left his giant white 8-ball looking helmet on the table? Alexander came back and the woman who served us had said she saw a girl take the helmet. Alexander thought she meant me. Short? Yes. Long red hair? No. Shit. Some tweeker bitch straight lifted Gilberto's helmet. Who steals a used helmet? I guess I already answered that. Gilby was sad. Real sad. He loved that helmet and he loved the sticker on the back of it. He had another helmet but apparently it was headache city cause it squeezes his temples in a vice-like grip. He did not seem enthused about wearing it. I thought the night was surely over this time. Like a champ, he proved me wrong and donned the jaws of pain.

It's a nice ride from Hillcrest to the Ken Club. I had fun showing off just a little, or maybe a lot, on Alexander's Motobecane. In Normal Heights, in front of the taco shop (why is it always taco shops?) we saw a swarm of five cop cars. That's a lot of blue and red but luckily they're distracted. Except for the one who decided five might be overkill and pulled a u-turn to follow us down Adams. Now I'm riding next to Alexander, who is rocking plates, albeit with a tail light out, and I look barely legal. I decided to peel off from the group because apparently I've seen way too many movies of people outrunning cops. None of these movies depicted evasion on mopeds. I hoped Alexander would stay the course, but like a good loving man he followed me down the side street but lost me as I jetted down some dead-end (smooth move, exlax). I doubled back, took the side street I MEANT to take back to Adams and there, pulled over by the beat, was my fiancee. And like a good loving woman, I just kept on going. I rode hard to the Ken Club. Blew through a red light cause I'd never end up triggering it green and I didn't want to risk getting caught by the other cops who apparently thought we were a street gang. Us in our ties and horn-rimmed glasses.

Caught up with the boys at the Ken Club. We parked in the back to avoid the fuzz while we awaited some word from Alexander. Adam assured me that if anyone of us could charm our way out of a ticket or a DUI, it would be my sweetie. He was right. Alexander's mustache probably had something to do with his get out of jail free card as well. Cops embrace and understand the importance of the mustache. And for that we were lucky enough to hear the sweet low hum of the Puch growing louder as it made its way back to us.

The Ken Club was filled with the usual suspects and the DJ, an old friend and coworker of mine was playing what I refer to as “tractor punk.” The boys and I bonded over more vodka and gin, respectively, and I think we had one of those moments where we realized how much we all clicked as a group of people, as a circle of friends. Adam and I had a heart to heart in which we discovered together that I finally understood the magic of mopeds.

“You get it!” he said to me several times, his smile warm and wide.

And I did. Everything about this ride was like the time I took the wrong train while traveling in Bavaria. At first I was mortified that I would end up in some random town, barely able to speak the language, and totally lost. That's exactly what happened and because of it I had an amazing adventure that otherwise would never had happened. Mopeds are just that. Amazing adventure machines that are unreliable, loud, dirty, and we love them for it.

When skunks attack IV

Saturday, May 28. 1:00pm.
Bedouin Vintage Collective
2621 El Cajon Boulevard
San Diego, CA

Another open-invite ride hosted by The San Diego Skunks and Bedouin Vintage Collective.

Be ready to ride for the afternoon, and then some bar hopping in the evening. Bring a backpack (or fanny pack!), a jacket, some 2-stroke oil, a good helmet, a spark plug, and a solid lock/chain.

Meet in the front of Bedouin Vintage Collective, park on the cement in front of the store but keep the sidewalk clear.

We usually have 15-30 vintage mopeds show up, and a few scooters. It's not just three or four of us, so come on and join the fun! Everything non-electric and 2-wheeled is encouraged to come! We cruise city streets, so 50cc is totally cool with us. If you have a vintage moped, please bring it!

Last month's ride was a fucking blast. It carried on well into the night and there were several memorable events. Don't miss out on this. Plus, it's my birthday. Shit is guaranteed to get a little ridiculous.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Oh, hai.

what if there was like, a moped, right? except instead of having a tubular frame or pressed sheet metal, it was a girl. like, her pigtails could be the handlebars, and she'd have a ball-gag headlight, and it would be totally sweet because you wouldn't have to pedal because she'd pedal for you? or if instead of having wheels, your moped had a bunch of cats all harnessed together, and they would run, and the engine would spin them too, so the speed they were running would be added to the speed the moped would usually go?