Born to be styled
HILLIARD “HILLDOG” GUESS cuts a striking figure in his skinny black-and-white tie, gray Dickies and chunky Doc Martens, revving up his ride -- a yellow 1962 Vespa VBB 150 scooter, or “sko’ta,” as he calls it, with a Union Jack on the side and a set of 10 rearview mirrors. “I’ve always had a sense of style,” he says. “I never ride without looking sharp.”
On Friday nights, he and his 20 or so nattily dressed mates in the Reflections Scooter Society meet up to hit the nightspots, engage in some snappy repartee and buzz around town on their vintage two-wheelers.
Though it may sound like the London of a bygone era, the scene is Franklin Avenue in today’s Hollywood. And far from being the angry toughs of the Mod ‘60s, these riders are not just indicators of what was once hip, they also offer a clue about what’s happening now.
The classic motor scooter has been born again, not just as an item of nostalgia but as a matter of practicality in a world of $3-a-gallon gasoline and incessant Southern California traffic jams.
New scooter sales have more than doubled nationally since 2000, with 96,000 sold last year, according to the trade association the Motorcycle Industry Council. Most of the sales were in California, and baby boomers were the primary buyers. But vintage scooters are also getting plenty of mileage, as they’re being traded on the Internet and ridden by individual collectors and members of the 20-plus scooter groups, such as the Reflections, who cruise Southern California on weekends.
Being in a scooter club here seems to be an easygoing prospect: Most of them have no rules. Many also seem to sprout up then disappear at the drop of a kickstand. All of them, no matter their size -- which can range from just a few friends to dozens -- profess to have a fun, unique spin on the art of scooting.
The Reflections, of course, dig the Mod scene. (“Look smart and clean,” they admonish. “Give respect to the scooters we love.”) The Hard Pack consists of Orange County speed demons who love souped-up technologies. The Unforgiven, named for Clint Eastwood’s movie, is a Bakersfield club that insists, “We don’t take just anybody like the other clubs. You have to be somebody we’re actually friends with ‘cause we might get arrested together.”
No matter the vibe, the goal is common: to ride. But not just any old scooter. Though your average rider might be content to pilot a Honda, Yamaha or Kymco, to name a few brands, the clubs are largely devoted to vintage Vespas and Lambrettas, which put scooting on the map in the postwar era.
Ask a club hound, such as the Reflections’ Jen Graves, why she does it and the explanation is as matter-of-fact as that given for scaling Mt. Everest: Because it’s there. “Well ...,” Graves says with a shrug, “it’s just something fun to do in a group on the weekend.”
Even Paolo Timoni, chief executive of Vespa USA, has trouble putting a finger on why consumers continue to buy a product whose basic design is almost 60 years old: “It’s a bit of mystery, really, a little bit of magic that we can’t rationally explain.”
That said, there are more concrete reasons for scootering’s popularity: practicality and expense.
“It’s gas prices,” says Mike Frankovich, owner of NoHo Scooters. “Especially since the hurricanes hit, we’ve seen a tremendous spike in sales.”
Scooters get from 50 to 100 miles per gallon. Most new scooter models range from $1,600 to $5,000; vintage bikes go for about the same, though many scooter clubbers and collectors are known to put at least double the price into fixing up their bikes with vintage parts, paint jobs, mirrors and lights.
Maneuvering the roads and parking create another incentive: Scooters can be parked between cars or on the curb, and they can wend their way through traffic.
Of course, scooters can have their drawbacks.
Foremost in most minds is safety. Government agencies and insurers do not keep separate statistics on scooter accidents; they are lumped together with all motorcycle accidents. But nationwide, motorcycle deaths rose to 4,008 in 2004, up 8% from the previous year; injuries jumped 14%, to more than 67,000. Most motorcycle crashes occur on trips of five miles or less and at speeds of 30 mph or less, according to the California Department of Motor Vehicles.
“You’ve got to remember you’re still out there with other cars, trucks, pedestrians and so on,” says Robert Gladden, project manager for the California Motorcyclist Safety Program, which launched a scooter school curriculum last year. “You still have to wear the proper safety gear, get training and ride sober. Just because a scooter is small doesn’t mean it’s to be taken lightly.”
In fact, California law treats most scooter riders essentially the same as motorcyclists, requiring them to obtain an M1 license and to wear helmets.
Though larger models can reach 75 mph, many scooters are not highway-worthy, making them impractical for longer drives. (The most popular models have engines of 50 to 150 cubic centimeters; only those with engines of at least 150 ccs are allowed on California’s freeways.)
In addition, federal officials warn of illegally imported scooters that don’t meet emission or safety standards, a problem that has grown with scooters’ popularity.
EVEN with such concerns, scooter club enthusiasts seem preternaturally happy. In the pursuit of a good time, they will band together to ride pretty much anywhere, as a glance at www.scooterbbs.com or www.scoot.net will attest. The occasional rainout aside, the calendar is not set by the seasons.
Most local groups hold weekly or monthly cruises. Beyond those, club-hosted events can draw hundreds for a weekend of barbecues and scooting.
One of the biggest is the Las Vegas High Rollers Weekend on Presidents Day, which this year drew about 600 people, including a substantial British contingent. The scooters included one decked out in pink faux fur called “The Furbretta,” another dolled up in purple candy-sheened chrome with pink flames, and a third featuring a sidecar with more than 25 Barbies appended to the front.
Other big California rallies include the Push Start Motor Club’s Rides of March in San Luis Obispo, the Unforgiven’s Hedonism rally in Bakersfield in April, the San Francisco Classic in August and the Hard Pack’s Orange Crush rally on Memorial Day weekend.
Although those events impress with their size, it’s the weekly gatherings that may offer the best glimpse into scooter culture. Such was the case on a Friday evening, as the Reflections cruised through Griffith Park, lighting up the night with their string of headlights.
Lisa Svenson always leads the pack of mostly thirtysomething riders on her pink Vespa with its reflective butterflies. She strikes a regal pose as she edges the bikes on, wearing her faux leopard coat, helmet and goggles.
“Scooting is very relaxing,” she says. “It’s almost like meditation. You’re in your own world. You’re in a bubble when you’re in a car. Scooting is a very free feeling.”
Her husband, Glen Miller, who rides a Lambretta, offers a slightly different view. “Her bike is way loud, and she rides it like a banshee. That’s why she’s out front: It’s not like we want to follow her; we have to follow her.”
The Glendale couple, who work at Whole Foods Market and were married in a drive-through chapel at the High Rollers Weekend in 2004, own six antique scooters -- not an unusual number for group riders. As is typical of the culture, their love of vintage items extends beyond their garage to the living room (Arne Jacobsen and Herman Miller furniture) and bedroom (a 1937 Singer sewing machine).
“That’s why we’re called the Reflections,” Miller says sardonically. “We all live in some type of reflection of the past. Everyone has a glory day, right? You know, ‘Nick at Nite’ and all that.”
That’s why you’ll find the Reflections rooting around in vintage clothing shops for Ben Sherman shirts and pegged pants, regularly revisiting the 1979 Mod film “Quadrophenia” and cruising to such retro places as Bob’s Big Boy in Burbank.
This bit of fun can actually be quite serious. Hilldog Guess, a 35-year-old actor-turned-screenwriter, says he gets a certain discipline out of the retro scene.
“In San Francisco, where I grew up, the Secret Society [Scooter Club] taught me, ‘Don’t get into it if you’re not going to get into it for life,’ ” Guess says. “They told me never to go out without dressing up, never go out without washing your scooter or cleaning your mirrors.”
Despite their devotion to living in the past, the Reflections have to face the reality of aging, as they did on their Friday jaunt when one of the spiffier vintage machines broke down.
“That’s part of what makes it fun,” said one rider, as she stood huddled with the others over the scooter. “That’s why we call them Lambroken.”
“I’d rather be pushing a Lambretta than riding a Vespa,” parried another, reflecting the frequent but respectful fights between the two camps.
“It does get a little snobby,” says Jon Halperin, a 36-year-old social worker, nightclub booker and co-founder of the Long Beach-based Motorcreeps. (He owns four scooters: a 1963 Vespa 125 with a British bulldog painted on the side, a ’63 Lambretta LI 150 into which he’s poured $11,000, a rare ’69 Lambretta LUI and a 2003 Vespa PX200E.) “Scooter snobs will welcome a new Vespa, but if you’re riding around on a 1963, you’re going to be accepted with wider arms.”
In addition to Motorcreeps, Halperin occasionally rides with the Hard Pack in Orange County. The club, founded in 1992 and one of Southern California’s longest-running scooter groups, is bent on speed, with many of its vintage bikes calibrated for high-performance racing.
Club co-founder Charlie Yoon, 41, lists the work done to his bike in perfect scooterhound-ese: “I got a 200-cc Lambretta, added a racing kit -- which increases the engine size to 225 ccs -- an electronic ignition, a bigger Japanese motorcycle carb and a custom-built pipe.”
Translation: “I got a little mini rocket.”
When asked why he doesn’t just race a motorcycle, Yoon says, “You get the most incredible acceleration off the line, which two-piston bicycles and new scooters today don’t have. That’s where the thrill is. It’s like riding a bucking bronco -- more physically and mentally disciplining.”
Though the Hard Pack prides itself on performance, nostalgia is never far away here either. Co-founder Nyle Schafhauser, who goes by the handle RacerX, has won awards for his speed in competitions sponsored by the American Scooter Racing Assn. But his Hot Wheels-themed Lambretta GP reflects his hobby of collecting toy cars, and it has been featured on the cover of Scoot! Quarterly.
“Our parents didn’t allow us to have motorcycles,” says Schafhauser, a 36-year-old T-shirt print shop owner and graphic artist in Costa Mesa. “We had scooters instead. And it stuck.”
That spirit of celebrating individuality is moving scooter clubs beyond snobbism to a new level of embracing differences in riders and their machines.
“Back in the ‘80s, it used to be a Mod thing, how you dressed, what you looked like,” says Schafhauser, who’s more apt to be wearing a Hard Pack jacket or Alpinestars racing gear. “Now it doesn’t matter anymore. You could be a surfer, a Mod, the president of a company -- who cares? You have a scooter, you just want to hang out, it’s all great.”
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Elizabeth Segal can be reached at weekend@latimes.com.
