This is part 2 about my Vespa ride to Fremont to visit the Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Center on Sunday, 06/08/2008.So, I found myself at a successful conclusion to first leg of my Sunday ride. I was on Hayes Street only about half a mile from the Center. I deemed it a success - I had traveled, successfully over 50 miles - the furtherest south I'd been on a motor scooter - without incident. I had proven to myself that I could be ride on standard US and Ohio routes.
I did a brief oil check; then fired up the Vespa; rolled out of the Exxon; turned left and drove on down to President's Hayes' old home of Spiegel Grove. I rode through the front gates (former gates that once graced the entrance to the White House until the early 20th century and then given to the Center by a grateful country).
Spiegel Grove is indeed a wooded grove, but many of the trees were planted over the years by the Hayes family - some even specifically touched by famous personages at President Hayes' request. It got its name from an uncle of President Hayes, the original owner, who on first sight of the grove noticed it was speckled with many large reflecting pools of water which had gathered in low places due to a recent rain. It all reminded him of a looking glass. He called it, therefore, Spiegel Grove - the first word being German (his native tongue) for mirror.
Any way I rode in; found the parking lot, and doing my usual loop-de-loop, parked my Vespa facing out (no I don't back-in unless I have to). And I then proceeded with 'dismounting procedures" - meaning - doffing the yellow-black armored motorcycle jacket, the full-face helmet, knee pads and mostly leather-gloves - all to be packed away under the seat or in the trunk. However, just as I was in the middle of the process I heard the unmistakable sound of large lumbering beast approaching.
I turned and looked over my shoulder. and was struck aghast by the sheer size of the monstrosity. Some how this over-bearing animal slowly moved and managed to just barely maneuver through the front gates of The Center and lumbered right into the medium parking lot and stopped at a spot -- katty corner from me - taking up 5 or 6 whole spaces.
Of course what I had beheld was a huge RV. And I was shocked to see what it was pulling - an SUV! The whole thing was piloted by a little middle-aged lady who was totally dwarfed by it all.
It was hard to accept that with gasoline hovering near $4.00 per gallon, and sure to to go even higher, that this woman was actually traveling, probably cross-country, in a motor vehicle that is the epitome of all our troubles, a vehicle probably barely able to get 10 mpg - and adding the SUV to its load ensured an even lower mpg.
I wanted to glare at the lady; let her know in no uncertain terms that she was highly disapproved of. Get across to her she was being unpatriotic. However, I knew that would change nothing and perhaps I'd make myself a target for road rage - a fight I could not win.
Yet I couldn't quite hide my feelings of disgust. The woman had to have to seen my fuel miserly Vespa as she drove in. Some place, I hoped, deep in her unconscious, my facial expression had gotten the message across of the extreme contrast between her ride and my ride and what her ownership and use of this gargantuan gas guzzler was doing to hurt our homeland. However, if I affected her, she showed no sign and in fact within minutes of stopping I could still hear the engine running and AC going -cranked up high on this hot day and the engine was never turned off while I visited The Center.
What was in going on in her mind, I thought? Is she blind? Is she deluded? Is this hubris? Is she rolling in dough? Does she live in this machine year round? Is this one last fling by a retiree before the cost of gas stops this? I never got the answers to those questions as I never saw the lady exit her RV the entire time I was there.
And here ends Part II of A Vespa Sunday Ride to Fremont.
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