Hi lads,
300 miles on the clock and I'm slowly seeing what all the fuss is about.
Love that Vespa!
I loved scooting around the backhills of West Cork, taking my time and savouring the sunshine while never meeting another car on the track. Then I decided I'd make a journey to the shops in Clonakilty.
I didn't need coffee for a week after it.
Pushing over 50 miles an hour in the open road, squinting for potholes, trying to ignore an ever-increasing line of cars behind me, winds stirring up and dying off suddenly making life very unpredictable, and stopping quickly to avoid sailing into a driver pulling out. And all the while the awful thought of what would happen to a) me kneecaps b) hands if I fell off.
Well, it set me back for about a week. Then my jeep went to hospital, forcing me to ride out again, and my confidence has gradually increased to the extent that I now only think about the important thing: what's happening on the bike NOW, as opposed to what might happen.
Learning is progressive: leaning into corners, dodging potholes by flicking the hips, trusting the bike.
My crush on the scooter has developed into a full-blown love affair.
Some notes: got stung by a wasp on the neck, causing interesting word usage on the main road; lots of admiring comments from passersby; and a strange, ever-present fear on my part that I will, without doubt, at some stage put diesel into her instead of petrol.
An old Irish phrase comes to mind every time I ride:
"A shut mouth catches no flies"!
See ye
Dommo