Scooter Tales: Skeggy or bust

Published: 02:08PM May 18th, 2011
By: Motobi Pete

You know how it goes, It’s a lovely day, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, the world’s a wonderful place; now just watch somebody come and ****** it up. Well as it happens it is a lovely day, the sun is shining, the birds are singing and the world is a wonderful place and no one, but no one is going to even think about trying to ****** it up. Why? Because it’s 1966 and we have just won the world cup and the whole country is buzzing with it. These are fantastic times to be a young mod, what with a new style of clothes, new music, bright colours everywhere; but most important of all was scooters – scooters and Mods everywhere. Time to have some fun!

It started in the summer of ’66. My mate Gordon says we should do a pilgrimage to Skeggy; no self-respecting Mod worth his salt would miss the chance to go there by scooter. “So when do we go Gord?” I said. “Tomorrow, Sunday, crack of dawn” came the reply. It’s a 200 mile return trip, but I can’t wait!

So next day at 9.45am, we are off. Since my Motobi is not very quick, we decide to go on Gord’s Series 1 Lammie. Now Gord hadn’t passed his test, but I had, so I could go pillion (this has to be one of the daftest rules of the road ever made). It also meant I could pass on my knowledge as an experienced rider (of six months); pearls of wisdom like: “Faster, faster”! and “Move it Gord, we’ll be all day”.

The weather was perfect, so we decided not to wear helmets on the way there (second daftest rule ever made). The poor old Lammie was flogged without mercy all the way and we duly reached Skeggy without any trouble about 1.30pm. Time for a bite to eat, so I get the fish and chips (this was pre agreed since Gord used his scoot and paid for the petrol).

We then decided to drive up to the clock tower and cruise up and down the front for half-an-hour, or so. We were now mixing it with loads of other Mods on flash Lammies and Vespas, all covered with chrome mirrors and flyscreens, etc. Since we had no chrome at all on the bike (because Gord felt it was better to invest all his cash in Shipstones Brewery instead), it felt a bit like arriving naked at a fancy dress party.

Having decided we had achieved our mission, it soon became time to head off home. While the ride to Skeggy was uneventful, the run back was anything but! 10 miles out of town, we heard a loud bang and the back tyre went straight down. Gord gets the spare off the rack, but it’s as bald as a coot with canvas showing through the rubber. I remarked that it was about as much use as a wickerwork bedpan. Slightly offended Gord points out that I can’t even carry one on my 16-inch wheeled Motobi and in any case, it only cost two bob. I admit that in that case it was in fact quite a good buy, retract my criticism and apologise.

Another 10 miles further down the road, the spare starts going down with a slow puncture, so I retract my retraction and call him a prat! He tells me to get ******. We now make a dash to the next garage and pump up the tyre to 40psi and then carry on to the next garage and so on. We must have stopped at 12 garages or more on the way home!

Now Gord is not easily worried by such events, as only a week earlier he had to deal with an onboard fire which he blew out, then casually rode home with scorch marks on his scooter panel! This of course, earned him great respect among the other lads and he still talks about it to this day. But things were now about to get worse – much worse.

Gord runs a red light and sure enough, we get pulled up by the coppers. “In a hurry Sonny”? the officer asks. “No” comes the reply, “It’s just that we’ve got a slow puncture and if I pull up quick we might both come off”. Then the copper’s mate says: “Look, he’s on L plates and carrying a passenger – you’re nicked laddie!” He then looks at me and says: “And you too for being on pillion”. He takes Gord’s name and address, then asks for mine, which I duly give him. As he was putting his notebook away, I ask him if he wants to see my licence and hand it to him. He looks at it and says to his mate: “He’s passed his test Bill!” I’ll never forget the look on that copper’s face, as it went from deep satisfaction to absolute and total disappointment. He says: “go on ****** off the pair of you”. We shot off pretty quickly and in about 100 yards, broke out in uncontrollable laughter, brilliant.

We arrived home late that night and my mum cooked us scrambled egg and beans on toast with a big pot of tea. “I thought you were going to sleep under the pier at Skeggy?” she says. Gord says, as quick as a flash: “Er no chance, the tide was in”. Mum says with a wry smile: “Perhaps next time?” We both nod in agreement.

Well, that was our trip to Skeggy; a total success, 200 miles in a day, fish and chips, posing on the sea front and putting one over the coppers – absolutely brilliant!