A red scooter, collecting dust and cobwebs in the corner of our michigan cottage garage. I’ve never seen it ridden. It’s 15 years past registration. I had the spontaneous decision to tackle getting her running - mostly out of an afternoon of boredom. I rebuilt the carburetor, cleaned the fuel lines, the petcock valve, and changed the spark gap. 5 minutes from giving in and she fired up, with a sweat and frustration fueled kickstart. I’ve ridden motorcycles before. I know the sense of two wheeled freedom, the dichotomy between a warm seat and the cool breeze. I cannot explain the connection I felt to this machine: part resurrection, part vintage swagger, and a lot of right time in my life. I hopped on and cruised around a few of northern Michigan’s finest backroads and I lost myself. I experience a sense of peace up here that I don’t find anywhere else. I’d never been more connected to the feeling than on that first ride. It’s hard to explain a connection to something inanimate. I’ve once tried, and once failed. So, I won’t attempt to. I’ll use the only way that i feel i know how to communicate sometimes - in pictures. A product shoot fit for a product of labor and love.
