Introducing Moe. His last name is Ped. Give the pics some time
to load if you're on a moped-ish internet connection.
He's a 1980 Puch, which in case you didn't know is pronounced
"pook". Apparently they were wildly popular in Holland
until they passed some law making them more difficult to register,
and then the company went completely bankrupt.
I've told this story a million times, but just in case I havn't
told you: I was driving Herman
around at like 2am and I saw this moped up on it's stand right
in the middle of the sidewalk, obviously chained to nothing. In
my hood (Soma in San Francisco) it's odd to see a moveable object
not chained to something very immovable, so I drove back around,
and sure enough his cables were all hanging off, he was all bent
up, his seat was a disaster area, this beast had been left for
dead. I waited around for awhile to make as sure as possible that
I wasn't about to steal someone's moped, then I peddaled him home.
The pedals turned just fine and there was even air in the tires,
he rode all the way to my doorstep. He pedals like an 18-speed
bicycle in the hill climbing gear.
I loaded him into the freight elevator (freight elevators are
what separate mankind from the lower animals) and got him upstairs.
In the morning I put some gas and 2-stroke oil in and tried to
start him up, surprise surprise no go. I went down to the moped
shop that happens to be a few blocks away and they said they don't
touch old Puchs. Then the guy excitedly remembered something and
said "wait a minute" and came back with a service manual
for a 1980/81 Puch. Holy shit, and he gave it to me for $5, holy
shit again. Moe was most pleased.
So I stripped Moe down, took the tranny cover off
and removed the carb, and everything looked fine and well lubed,
like he came from a good home, or at least a non-abusive one.
Then I noticed that no gas was flowing to the carbeurator or however
you spell it, I took the petcock apart (the valve at the base
of the gas tank) and the thing was solidly clogged with what looked
like wet bread. I cleaned that out and manually spooned a little
gas into the cylendar and kicked it over and got a little whoom,
definitley turning over. At that point, I predicted success.
I found mopedarmy.com,
one of those "best things about the internet" type sites,
a bunch of moped enthusiasts sharing their knowledge and helping
each other out. That's what the internet's for, sharing your knowledge
of obscure topics. I posted a couple of ignorant questions and
was directed to "Fred's
Guide on Fixing Your Moped", which is a fantasticly written
and thought out guide on getting your moped to run. As the people
on the site put it, follow the guide and your moped *will* start.
Beautiful. It's been my experience that sometimes when people
teach you something their real intention is to confuse you and
make themselves come off as smart, but Fred (the writer of the
guide) is honestly trying to make things very clear, and of course
in the process comes off as way smarter than any would-be confuser.
If that made sense. Props to Fred. If you want an illustration
of how slick Fred is, go to that
link and search for "feeler" and check out what
he suggests as a makeshift replacement for a feeler guage.
Anyway, I took the carb apart and applied copious
carb cleaner as per Fred's instructions, sanded down the points
to get the gunk off, re-attached the throttle cable and rigged
something to replace to broken starter clutch, and man o man she
runs like a champ now.
It's super fun riding a moped. My favorite part is that it's in
some grey area of the law, even the experts on mopedarmy.com aren't
really sure about the laws regarding mopeds in their state. The
one thing they're sure of is the cops don't have a clue. I think
the general feeling is that mopeds are mostly left alone, as long
as you wear a helmet. One thing I do know is that in California
you aren't required to have insurance and you don't even really
need a title, and registration is as simple as sending $6 to DMV.
So yesterday I loaded Moe in the back of Herman
and headed for the beach. By day I zipped around the parking lots
and dune outskirts, then at night I rode through the long woods
between the Cliff House and the Golden Gate Bridge. What a feeling
being up on the cliffs at night looking out over the surf breaking
on the big rocks with the lights from the Golden Gate in the distance
and not a soul around, just the deep call of the foghorn. One
of those moments that are so good I had to appreciate it by invoking
that new modern ritual: I called a bunch of people on my cellphone
and told them about it.
Anyway, the really great thing about a moped as
opposed to a scooter (no pedals) is that with a moped if you're
riding someplace stupid, like on the boardwalk, and some cop or
similar type comes along you can simply cut the engine and start
pedaling, as if you're just a friendly bicyclist. "Sorry
officer, she wouldn't start so I was just pedalling her home".
Of course if he wants to be a jerk he can feel the engine and
notice that it's hot, but what's he going to do, you're just a
moped-ist. It's like giving out tickets for playing Nintendo.
Anyway, Moe Ped has arrived. Now he's looking for
his brother, Stu.
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