Now I'm not used to much, non-existent deities the world over know that most of the things I smoke around on (typically 80s Honda scooters) inspire nothing more than hatred and derision in my 'brother' bikers, but the Vespa Sprint I owned briefly last year really was a lot less than not much. I honestly don't understand how the bald, fat, racist Ska and Soul-loving throwbacks (the irony of which is lost on most of these knuckle-draggers) who make up the majority of their riders come to love and revere these truly dreadful machines.
How did I come to own such a thing? I was curious, OK? I wanted to see what all the fuss was was about, and an acquaintance of mine had recently decided to give up on scootering. The Sprint had sat under a tarp for most of the last five years and needed a few jobs doing to get it back on the road. It was basically sound, if tatty, and not one of the dreaded Viet horrors so a deal was struck. To a man of the spanners like myself a few new bearings, a clutch and a smattering of cables were but a tiny consideration in getting a veritable scootering colossus like the Sprint back on the road. The MOT was a mere formality so how, then, did this venture turn out to be such an unmitigated disaster?
Let's take it one bit at a time, shall we? The handling is abominable, of course, but we should not be surprised by this. Oh no. Not when the 'designers' of this thing made it so that most of the weight of the engine is hanging over one side of the machine, instead of in the middle. Genius.
The brakes are useless, but in defence of the poor beleagured Sprint I can honestly say they provided adequate levels of retardation given the laughable performance available. There was obviously no Trades Descriptions Act in 60s Italy when Piaggio named this thing 'Sprint'! The 2-port 150cc 2-stroke motor could barely push the old heap beyond 35mph, a speed easily achievable two-up on a poorly Honda C50.
Any attempt to ride this horror in the dark would no doubt result in an early death for the rider, as the 6V lights and horn are a sick joke. You'd do better with a torch strapped to your helmet.
In fact, I rode this hopeless device once and once only, having found myself utterly gobsmacked by the 'pig on a skateboard' handling. Even the simple act of doing a lifesaver threw the wretched thing off its line. During this epic journey of some 20 minutes duration I marvelled at the world-beating Italian engineering which allowed a 4-speed gearbox to have 935 neutrals, with the only one of those you wanted actually unachievable.
It even had a speed wobble, which came in when you were doing anything over 30mph in a straight line. I'm assuming it was 30mph because the speedo needle wavered around so much it was really only useful for confirming whether the scooter was moving or not. To add a final insult to the considerable injury I was overtaken by a bus, a fucking great big double-decker to be precise, on the return leg of this most unpleasant of voyages.
Once back at home, I reflected upon the events of the previous 20 minutes. Due considerations were made, and thirty seconds later I had the shed advertised on eBay. A number of misguided souls made offers far in excess of the true worth of such a spectacularly bad scooter, the best of which I duly accepted. Naturally I ended the listing early in order to save the £100 or so that the world greediest auction site would have screwed me for, neatly supplementing the tidy profit I trousered in the process.
As to the poor sod who bought it - well, he could have comfortably purchased a nice Suzuki Burgman/Yam Majesty etc. with the wedge he handed over in exchange for the Sprint - a reliable, fast, comfortable, capacious, decent-handling scooter as opposed to a useless, 45 year-old pile of shite. Still, there's nowt as queer as folk eh?
A Rider