Editors:

Vol. 2, No. 2 Ron Landers
October, 1963 Len Shearer

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The September social was a quiet affair, with one new prospective member, namely Robert Stevens, who rides a Diana. Club business was discussed, and a short barn dance followed and of course, supper afterwards. Unfortunately, a great number of members apparently forgot that it was down on the itinerary as a Pyjama Night, and only five came dressed in same.

This letter is being written by a very angry scooterist. I wish to protest on the attitude shown by some service stations to scooter riders and to their machines. I wish to quote two cases which have happened to me during this past month. I was low on petrol on my way to work one morning and pulled into a garage (naturally) for petrol. This was one of Bob Dyer’s. After asking for _ pint of oil and 1 gallon of Super I was rudely informed that I could have ready-mixed or nothing. I mounted my trusty machine and went to the next station where I was served quite happily.

The next time occurred at 6pm in Port Melbourne at night, when I was out working. I returned to my machine to find a flat tyre. Having no spare wheel, I removed the wheel and headed for the nearest garage, which was about _ mile away. I was then told that it was too late and too small a job for them to handle for the price they would receive. I then had to walk _ a mile to the next one. I am aware that garage owners get very little return on petrol and repairs on scooters, but one thing they seem to forget is that the scooterist of today is the motorist of tomorrow, and that they are cutting their own throats.

Fortunately most garages deserve praise for the way in which they treat scooterists and their small buying sprees. But as always it is the one or two that people judge a group on. I would be very interested to know if any other members have had to put up with these service station antics!?

Yours faithfully,

Alex McLean.

Sign at a service station: PETROL WAR NOW ON — ENLIST HERE.

Ten machines left for King Parrot Creek on Sunday, October 6. Nice to see Lionel L., Elsie B., Tom G. and Ken B. back after long absences from Sunday trips. Ken K. arrived late and after maintenance on his carby, we got away. Ken stopped in Hoddle Street to screw his clock back on. Then again for petrol. Clear run through to Whittlesea, where we refuelled our tummies. Then on to King Parrot Creek, at least, that’s where we think we were. The road was rather rough, with fine dust making it pleasant for everyone. Then came a stop for a football break and lunch stop. Following this, we decided to avoid the gravel road on the return trip, and went on towards Yea, only to strike more dirt tracks. Total so far about 32 miles of gravel. Arrived at Yea covered in dust, ate hot chips, drank cold malteds and played football in the middle-of-the-road plantation along with a local member of the "talent" company. (She was drop-kicking better than any of us). Left via a short-cut through Mt. Slide and Yarra Glen, only to come once again onto gravel roads. Ken and Len left early and went on. The rest stayed on. Ken and Len arrived back in the city well after 6pm, after clocking well over 160 miles for the day. This was a terrific day, although a little marred by the dusty roads, approximately 60 miles in all. We shall never forget the terrified look on Alex’s face as his brakes failed on a very sharp turn and he just managed to stop on the brink of a rather steep drop. Also Dave, who fell off in an endeavour to stop to clean his windscreen. And from Bob G. came the remark that "…I will block the drain when taking a shower tonight…" This proved to be the longest Sunday trip that we have undertaken for some time, we made excellent time considering the conditions.

The five-foot-nothing man walked into the headquarters of the Northern Territory Mounted Police and explained to the husky six-foot-six recruiting officer that he wanted to enlist for service. He was promptly laughed at and told in no uncertain manner that he was too small. The dwarf argued that although he was small he was also very strong and brave. Finally he convinced the officer that he should at least give him a trial. "OK", he said, "we’ll try you out. There are three main tests to undergo first, and if you pass them, you may join up. First, you have to line up twenty large glasses of Victorian beer and drink them within five minutes. Then, you must walk out, find yourself an Aborigine and kiss him, and last of all, shoot a crocodile." "I can do it", the little man replied. In front of an audience of a dozen big, brawny policemen, he lined up his brown ales and very quickly disposed of the whole twenty of them. Following this he stated that he would now go and take care of the crocodile. An hour or so later he returned, his clothes torn to shreds and his body cut and freely bleeding. "OK fellersh", he said "that’sh taken care of the drinksh and the croc; now where ish the Aborigine that you want me to shoot?"

During a Royal Visit, a flustered young radio commentator was heard to report that "the Royal couple were met by a 21-sun galute".

The following article is designed to provide you, the scooterist, with a better understanding of your vehicle. I believe a clear grasp of the principles of operation is essential for the scooterist to gain maximum efficiency and economy from his scooter. It is my hope that this article helps you toward that goal.

GEAR CHANGING: The art of changing gears is one of the most enjoyable aspects of scooter riding. Are there any mistakes, or pitfalls as it were, that can cause damage to the gear box "insides" or gear change mechanism? What must be remembered is that gears should be fed into engagement gently and that force should not be used. A rider who thumps on the pedal rather than merely caresses it with toe or heel is putting a totally unnecessary strain on the linkages between pedal and gear box, on the selector and even on the pinions themselves. Finally it is important to remember that when you are changing up, you are causing a gear rotating fairly slowly to engage with one turning very much faster. It is necessary for the speed of the faster pinion to drop to that of the other before clean gear changes can occur. Hence upward gear changes, especially from bottom to second, should be made in a leisurely manner. Downward changes too call for just as much thought in order to obtain perfect smoothness. The true expert is the rider who is comfortable and relaxed, and never appears to be doing anything in a hurry. Remember, next time you grate those gears in a fast change you are putting pounds on your scooter’s service bill. From one who knows — Alex McLean.

After all our "shaggy dog" stories of the past few issues, we feel that we should now put an end to them, so here is an appropriate one with which to conclude the series:

A new skyscraper was being constructed, and the usual crowd of sightseers had gathered to have a look at the proceedings. A giant crane was operating, and on the end of the hook was a huge, oddly-shaped object. The crowd speculated as to its nature. Someone said it was a grizzly bear. Another was of the opinion that it was a large hairy ape. And a third swore that it was a bundle of fur coats. Finally it came to rest a short distance from them, and the "thing" stepped off. What was it? Why, a shaggy dog man, of course.

Seven scooters and one car load left for Lake Connewarre via Geelong on Sunday, September 15. Good run as far as the 36-mile post, where Len burnt out his voltage regulator. Continued to Geelong and stopped for a bite to eat. Then onwards to Lake Connewarre. After being informed by a service station attendant that there was nothing there but swamps and mud, we decided to return to the air display at Laverton. Here we saw a large number of aircraft, including a U-2, Hercules, Sabres, Vampires and helicopters. Rain at 4.30pm forced us to make a quick retreat for shelter, and then to home.

We were pleased to welcome prospective new member David Marsh on a Lambretta, "Slim Style", prior to leaving for Mt Evelyn on Sunday, September 22. Finally got going at 9.30am and met Cynthia at Mont Albert. Here Kevin S. showed his skill in crushing an egg with his bare hands. Then on to Springvale Road, where we met Barbara L. Arrived at Mt Evelyn at 11.30am and started our usual football match while waiting for the Vespa Club to arrive. When they did, they joined in too. Prominent here were Kevin and Dave, with some lovely underground drop kicks, Dawn and Sandraw with some worm-digging punt kicks, and "Bad Boy" Bob G., who knocked poor Len over in the mud. Shortly after this he then did likewise with John B. Lunch followed, and the Carron car-load arrived during same.

Sports began with a tug-of-war, won easily by the M.S.A.V. Next came the three-legged race, in which John D. and Bodo just managed to fall over the line first. Sandra and Bob G. were about equal in the mallet-throwing contest. However, Sandra was adjudged the better, being the weaker? sex. The football kicking contest aroused much interest, with some magnificent 25-yarders from Dawn, John D., Sandra, Ken K. and Len.

Over the last eight years, our club has played many types of games under many types of rules — Club Rules, Inter-club Rules, State Rules, Inter-state Rules, National Rules, International Rules, and on occasions even Raffertey’s Rules. But on this occasion we played a game of softball under Vespa Club Rules. It works quite simply: If there is any doubt about any decision, the judges simply arrange it so that the advantage goes to the Vessy Club. It worked uproariously well until our beloved president was "stumped out" or something, while innocently standing watching the proceedings. Incidentally, before this, "Bad Boy Bob" smeared Bodo all over third base with a shirt-front that would have shamed most League footballers. Congratulations, Bob. Following the "stumping" of Mr C., a mass walk-off took place. We all then left for home, but still in good spirits.

From there it was a quiet trip, apart from Kevin trying to push-start his Lambretta with the spark plug lead missing!

Eleven machines appeared for the Sunday trip to Sunbury. The fine weather brought us all out and we left at 9.30am for the first part of the trip. It proved very uneventful as far as Bulla, where our beloved secretary suggested we stop at the local football ground for a breather. In fact, it was very hard to get a breath at all on such a confined area. Then adjourned to Sunbury for lunch. The football ground here was just a little bit larger and we all enjoyed kicking the ball over each other’s heads. Once again dear Alex had an idea — "Let’s go for a walk along the railway line" — grand. Hadn’t gone 100 yards when down came the rain. We kept going however and finally arrived back quite wet. Then homewards, but stopped to chat with the Vespa Club at Bulla. Another stop at Essendon Airport to watch a few planes take off, watch a few land, watch a few air hostesses, drink more coffee, pay more money for parking fees, and finally off again for home. Arrived in the city about five o’clock — in all, a terrific day.