|
 As I watched the salesman slam his foot on the kick starter, I wondered if the 3-horsepower, 1950 Sears Allstate motor scooter would come to life. Twenty kicks and numerous cuss words later, the engine made a loud popping sound, belched black smoke, and roared like a lion.
“Will you take $25?” I asked.
“It’s old and beat up, but it’s worth at least $50,” the salesman said. “But seeing you’re a college kid, I’ll give it to you for $40.”
“How ’bout $35… That’s all I have in my wallet?” I pleaded. He grabbed my money, we signed papers, and off I drove, hugging the curb and hoping not to be crushed, in rush-hour traffic from Miami to my new Coral Gables apartment.
It was fall 1963 and I was starting my sophomore year at The University of Miami. I had never driven a motor scooter and felt vulnerable as cars and trucks whizzed past. Even a young boy on a bicycle easily outpaced me, which was humiliating… especially since the one-cylinder engine was operating at full throttle.
It’s a good thing I stopped and checked the fuel tank. I was riding on fumes and wouldn’t have made it home without gassing up. Fortunately, I had a quarter in my pocket.
Looking back on a youth spent on two, somewhat slow, wheels.
| 
Re: Dating, Traffic and Other Hazards of a Three-Year Fling with Scooters
