With this said, about a year ago Peter bought a very precious motor scooter. See? Precious. Believe it or not, it is required by law that you get a M2 license to drive such a vehicle. The fact that it only goes 20 miles an hour downhill apparently was not a factor in this crazy decision.
From the starting blocks this precious little blue scooter was stubborn. It would work sometimes and not others. Decide to work and then lose all power once you hit the 45 m/hr rode. In order to capture the picture featured above we had to kick start it several time and then hope it didn't die before passing in front of Nathan's lens. Trouble. It was trouble that went to annoying then manifested into--a pain in the hinny.
It's the middle of July 2010 and I start to panic. I only have until August 17th to complete my skills test and that requires a functioning bike and practice at the DMV test site. (Peter has passed his by now--easily). We make an appointment and then go to Forest Home for a week. We get back Sunday afternoon, hang out with the family, go out to dinner, chit chat back at the house--now it's 10pm. My test is at 9am Monday morning. Peter and I drive over to the DMV at 10:15 and start practicing. Talk about procrastination! I start to do the course and it's clear I'm going to need to spend some serious time with this thing. You gotta keep your front tire in between the
The line is wrapped around the building. I know, not surprising. I forgot to mention one small little problem. Scooty is only half registered. Peter didn't think this would be a problem. I thought differently. After waiting in a line for awhile Peter was told we have to finish registering it. Shocker. Peter goes out and has the inspection done while I wait in the same line again. Once complete and after waiting we step up to the same guy again with the process complete. Or so we thought. We had to go stand in "that line over there". Oh. great. So he waits in that line and by this time I am not giving up my spot so easily. Over in his line we realize he only gets a number and has to sit and be called. I head to the back of my line realizing it will be awhile. Ug.
Once Peter gets called I am half way through the line for the 3rd time. His process takes a while and so I keep letting people go ahead of me one at a time. It was ridiculous but I didn't want to lose my spot! By the time he comes back to the original line all the other people have gone through and it is just me in line. Yes-- haha. So, Peter and I step up to the counter for the third time with everything complete. It is now 10 am. I hand him everything and he asks what time my appointment is. I reply, "9". "It's almost 10; I'm sorry." Oh no, no, no...he's not getting rid of me that easily. I explain I have been standing in the line since 8am and have gone through the entire line 3 times, I would like to take my test, please. "I understand that, but.." "I'd like an opportunity to test, thank you." Without raising my voice or being disrespectful, I was allowed to test. He then discovered I needed to also change my name and address....oh boy I thought I was going to explode if he told me to stand in another line. I told him I was going to take care of that afterward and he said it needed to be done now. Somehow he was able to do all that from his desk and I was very grateful it only took a matter of minutes. He sent us to go wait in the line of cars out back.
Remember how scooter = trouble. Well, it has now been sitting for 2.5 hours and needs to be "warmed up". I go stand in the middle of the line of cars carrying antsy 16 year olds with their dads. I am just standing there-- in the middle of the road. The security guard tells me to wait on the curb because it was "dangerous". Maybe the exhaust from the car in front of me was going to kill my brain cells?! The guard leaves and the line grows and I have people looking at me like I'm crazy and/or lost. I felt a little of both, honestly. Then the guy who gave me all the trouble inside comes out on his break. Oh great. He asks where the motorcycle is and I tell him. He says, "The bike needs to be in line with you!" I assure him my husband is on his way.
Scooty and Peter arrive and I'm getting so nervous. I've made several friends throughout the morning sine I had to talk to everyone in order to let them go ahead of me while I waited. I am anxious about the test, trying to keep the bike warm and I'm trying to pray through my fear. The line is moving. I am getting closer. Peter can see my anxiety sky rocket as we round the corner and I can see the course. Ahh! I am now making friends with the guard thinking I need as many people to like me as possible since the test is fairly subjective. If I'm on the boarder of passing...I'll need as many fans as I can muster up. He's giving me tips and it's not calming me down...just the opposite actually. He says the instructor approaching me is really nice and doesn't grade hard. Deep breath. By the way, the instructors now wear long white lab coats-- they look like scientists. The nice man gets side tracked and a young instructor comes to greet me. Ah. panic. He said the young ones are uptight. Making sure my instructor can hear me, I shout a few comments to the guard about how much I have practiced so the guy knows I am a "good student"-- hey, I'm a teacher, that's the way I think.
I sign a wavier and he tells me what he wants me to do. The bike dies. Thankfully it turned back on with the starter. I take off down towards the course; I've worked myself up so much I am shaking like a leaf. Weaving through the cones well, I enter into the circle at the end perfectly and begin my loop. With lots of self talk and prayer I am actually doing shockingly well. I loop around for my second circle with controlled skill. Weaving back through the cones I head towards the instructor for my next task. As I am exiting the last cone, disaster strikes. I'm not quite sure how it did, but it did! Some how the throttle was up way too high and I B-line off to the side, jump up the curb and crash into a bush. Yes, I crashed into a bush. What just happened!! The bike is laying almost completely on the ground as I'm trying to hold it up and my foot is completely wedged underneath. This is where the "underneath" part comes in. The guard, the instructor, Peter, and the mad scientists all come running towards me in a panic. I'll I want to know is if I can try again. The guard told me the nice ones let you do it again. The answer: if you lay the bike down you have to make another appointment. NOOOOOO! Not another 3.5 hours, built up stress and four more lines! Insert tears. Not hysterical balling but I'm so so so frustrated tears. After 50 "Are you OKs?" and a filled out accident report I was able to leave. They want to make sure I won't sue them. No, thanks, I take responsibility for my own actions. I was upset. I had never dropped the bike in my whole year experience riding it and this is the time I chose to do so. Cool, Laura. We rented mopeds in Boston on vacation and I flew around Martha's Vineyard like a pro with Mom on the back- never fell. Poor Peter had to deal with me-- by lunch time I had 3 big bruises on my left leg and a nasty skinned up knee (I felt like I was five again) and a nice black and blue spot on the back of my right leg. With a little bit of venting, lots of ice packs and a bag of frozen blueberries on my leg I decided I was going to survive. I'm not quite sure why but it was very traumatic for me. Lots of anxiety built up over long waits and then crashing for the first time in front of lots of 16 year olds only to realize I would have to do it all again did not bode well in my mind. Well, that's my story. Unfortunately, I have to stick to it.
xo, p&l
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