It must explain why I am wandering into the strange-yet-oh-so-cool offerings on the web.
It’s either that or the results of Michelle’s foray into the art of painting up scooters… particularly mine… with kick-butt, 1950s-jazz-lounge-era stars on the legshield. Pics will be forthcoming.
Who gives a furry rat’s gluteous maximus about fishing openers or deer season. Scooter rally season is where it’s at. Rattle My Bones is its name. Three days of Pabst, Bloody Maries, and two-stroke fumes (especially if you find yourself behind one of those vintage Lambrettas, which can create a heat-island effect without ever leaving first gear.
Check it out. Heck, come on out Saturday morning before The Big Ride and walk among the scooterista. Most hail from our fine Twin Cities, but there are plenty of out-of-towners who make their pilgrimage up here. Most of those come from Chicago (those would be the ones who ride in slouched positions, wearing worn-out Chuckies, and managing to keep their cigarettes in their mouths while at cruising speed) and from Denver (those would be the ones who put their seats up to either air out their gas tanks or keep the sun from baking their black vinyl seats; I haven’t figured out which it is, yet).
(Thanks to Clunkyrobot.com for finding that “rad for so many reasons” video. Enjoy all those hits you’ll get… from all three of my readers.)