Moped Adventure #1

Today, I test out my moped and my memory and instincts on a little adventure. First I will go and
find a bakery beside the post office in Saint Georges des Coteaux, the
little village. Then a small supermarket in the little village we live
in, to find some fettuccine and bread. Then to the big town Saintes,
to find Stephanie's brother's apartment, where he will help me call
some enterprises for a volunteer opportunity. Then back home to clean
windows, dishes, and such. It is cloudy, and threatening to rain
today. If it doesn't, I will plant some onions or schallots.

Moped Adventure #1

Was Saturday morning. Grey, cold morning, lots of wind, probably ten
degrees. We drove to the dealership, MotoSport or something like that.
I chose a helmet, the mechanic showed me the mixture for the moped and
how to start the ignition, and off I went, around the tiny roundabout,
behind a warehouse, and back, for a little test. Easy to control. So
then We decided Stephanie will go in front of me in her car. Off we
went. I quickly realized the power of a 50 cc engine. Not much. After
45 km per hour, the engine started sounding like it was suffering,
like a huge humming bumblebee who is too good at finding pollen,
struggling with his tiny wings under his huge load.

Around a roundabout. Wow, it was my first roundabout! They are useful,
because if you don't know where to turn next, you can keep going in
circles until you make a decision. Onto the big road, and Stephanie is
pulling back hard on the reigns of her Renault, keeping it at around
60 km, probably staring at the rearview mirror more often than not. A
car comes behind me, and I can't go any faster! Sorry! I try to stay
to the right of the lane, but not too close to the edge, don't want to
wipe out (again...see this isn't really my first moped adventure...).

Onto the big road towards the little village. A few cars pile up
behind me, no honking or cursing, this isn't Roma. They wait a bit and
then overtake me. I push the moped, 55! We start to go uphill, 45. The
driver behind Stephanie doesn't get it: this little moped demands a
little convoy, and this stranger has just disrupted it! They soon
overtake Stephanie, as she pulls over to the side of the road to wait
for me. I catch up, and pass her, and then pull over.

She pulls back onto the road, and passes me, and I accelerate with the
mighty little roar of the 50cc! The same routine continues for a few
kilometers, and then we enter the village of Saint Georges des
Coteaux. narrow streets, a few turns, by this point my hands are damn
cold. She pulls over infront of the post office. I pull over behind
her. She steps out, tells me to turn off the engine.

Okay, I put the tiger to sleep. I engage the kickstand as she
approaches the front door of the little post office. It's closed. Oh
well. Now, for the first time in my life, I try to start a moped of
this kind. Hold the left lever, pull the right lever as I push on the
left pedal with my foot. Nothing, the moped moves forward as I push
the pedal, and it is hard to push! I try again, again, again, this
time pushing the right pedal. I start to get a little hot. Stephanie
comes over and tries, and she discovers how hard it is to push the
pedal.

She crosses the street looking for someone to come and help. I try not
to get embarrassed, and keep trying. She comes back and tries a few
times. Oh well, I can just walk it back, not too far to the house,
right? She agrees after five more minutes. Do you know where to go? At
this point I am tired, mentally foggy and congested, frustrated and
flushed. I think so. She tells me to go back, make a left into the
park, cross the park. I say okay, how about you drive home and then
start walking towards the park, and I will see you. She says it's real
easy, we have done it many times! Yes, but when I don't have to steer,
my mind goes absent too easily. Ok, I will find it.

She takes off, and I turn the moped around. It is pretty heavy, and
has a lot of resistance. I start pushing it, struggling with it. I hit
my ankle on the pedal. We go, 2km per hour. To the left, into the
park, onto the path riddled with huge water puddles, dodging the
puddles. I choose one path instead of the other. After ten meters, it
has a massive puddle. I go into the grass around it. Heavy, and slow
going. No more paths, I take it into the football field.

Cold, cold hands. Onto the driveway, through the parking lot, and I
see Stephanie. She arrives, and points to a road to the left. That was
the road I meant you should take. Oh well, I got a workout. She offers
to push the moped for me. She soon realizes how difficult it is. She
gives it a good try, and after 50 meters she hands it back to me,
flustered. I lean into it.

At this point, I am in a fragile emotional state. My mind is upset
like a cat who has been prodded too many times, restless, glaring,
tail flicking. I feel like a child. Should have started the moped
myself back at the dealership. Why is it so slow? What am I doing
here? I wouldn't have this state of helplessness back home. Why do I
take the hard route? I start to gain some real independence, and then
I run and look for a French teat to feed on, warm and cozy in a French
nest. It is hard to talk to Stephanie, hard to talk at all, without
erupting with emotion. I speak slowly and with great brevity.

We arrive at the house, I put it into the garage, and go into the
house. I am close to tears, but I hold it in. How scary it would be to
burst into tears infront of Stephanie over something small like this!
Hold it in. I know it's bad, but the habit takes over. Infront of a
movie screen, tears flow easier.

She senses I am not okay, and we start to talk. I say I feel like a
child, helpless, dependant. We start to prepare lunch.

We start to talk about what to study. She doesn't know what to study.
All of her friends are unhappy with their careers, hardly making above
minimum wage. I start to talk about tradeskills, and why they provide
secure jobs. They are necessary services, like Police and Hospital.
When the economy goes bad, priviledged jobs get threatened. What I
mean is that in the service sector, personal coaches and teachers and
secretaries and such, their jobs are not as necessary to the
functioning of society as tradeskills. Common folk, on average, don't
know how to build, repair or maintain their houses or the engines of
their vehicles. Tradeskills are necessary, like farming. Other jobs,
many of the more prestigious ones that require considerable years of
post-secondary education and refinement of the abstract mind, are far
more expendable. Look today, here, during the crisis, who is having a
hard time finding work? I talk for a while, at a constant pace,
imbalanced, a compensation for my lack of communication skills within
the previous half hour. The damn of frustration that built up in my
throat burst, and the waters of communicative energy burst forward and
outwards.

She laughs, imagining herself as a plumber. Laugh, but more and more
women are getting into tradeskills! She starts to think. By this time
I have regained a good level of energy and emotional positivity.

Later on in the day, we go to COOP, the local small supermarket. At
the butcher's counter, a man in line tells a little story on how he
saw a beautiful 30something year old woman who was doing a volunteer
period in Masonry. He was confused. The young, fat apprentice butcher
behind the counter, looking quite natural in his dirty white apron,
obviously a man who decided to go and work where the gold is, he said
that it's a pity, a woman like that doing a job like that. Personally,
I thought it would be a very sexy thing, something to drive certain
men crazy with lust, to see a beautiful woman in overalls, sweating
and dirty, heaving huge blocks of concrete around.

This little account of GI Jane was a telling one. It indicated to me
that the economic state of society, coupled with the steps made in the
direction of liberality concerning gender and other topics, was
breeding catalysts for people, catalysts that push them into thinking
outside of the box, breaking taboos and cultural baggage in the quest
of a good earning. I consider it exciting.

We returned to the house, Stephanie called her dad to ask how to start
the moped. I tried not to imagine him reacting surprised at my lack of
practical ability, and succeeded in sidestepping personal
embarassement. Make sure the kickstand is engaged, so the back wheel
doesn't move. Of course! We rush to the garage and take turns trying.
Finally, My left thigh painfully full of lactic acid, I get the moped
started. I rev the engine, and turn it off. I try to start it again.
Third time, it starts again. Yeah!

Cheers,
Maurizio