The Hard Way to Swap Batteries in a Vespa GTS

Most of the time, changing batteries is one of the easier maintenance tasks to perform. Unbolt a couple cables, lift a heavy plastic box, put a different heavy plastic box back in, bolt the cables back on to the correct posts and you're off and running again.

Most of the time.

But I think that Vespa deliberately set out to make changing the battery in the GTS as difficult as they possibly could. The battery lives in this little compartment between the floorboards, and it's crammed in there pretty tightly. Just getting the battery cables off is a tedious chore, and that's assuming you have a stool to sit on as your turn the bolts bit by bit until they're finally free.

I didn't have a stool. Last Friday, as I was looking forward going home for a weekend full of new motorcycle chains and hoping for some pizza, I tried to start the Vespa and discovered the battery was dead.

What I should have done was pulled the battery then, to bring it home and test it. Sadly, I wasn't thinking clearly due to frustration, heat and hunger. Oh well.

Lady Luck gave me a lift home from work, and the next day I set about finding a new battery. That was a nightmare in and of itself. Eventually, we went to the Vespa dealer, who claimed to have two of the batteries I needed in stock. We bought the outrageously expensive battery ($70!), and went home to charge it.

After a few other errands, Saturday was over. So, on Sunday, we went to put the new battery in the Vespa. Piece of cake, right?

We were about halfway to my office when I realized I'd left my access badge at home. Whoops. And, of course, the freeway heading towards our house was clogged up from construction, so we had to take surface streets. By the time we got my badge, we were starving, so we stopped for lunch at Ted's Hot Dogs. Incidentally, if you're in the area, I recommend them.

Fed and badged, we tried again. We arrived at my parking garage and I set about pulling the old battery. After about fifteen minutes of fighting with the battery cables, I discovered that the guys at the parts counter had given me the wrong battery altogether. My bad for not noticing when I picked it up, but they are the parts guys. They've got a computer to look this stuff up in... Oh well.

I brought both batteries home, and stuck the old one on the charger. To my surprise, it seemed to take a charge just fine. So on Monday I brought the old battery back to work, mildly concerned about what had caused the battery to go dead.

Turns out the battery was bad.

So, Lady Luck and I went back to the Vespa dealer, exchanged the battery for the right one, and this morning I brought it in to the office with me. Again. Over lunch I went to the garage and set about the chore of putting the battery in again. It's about 103 degrees in the garage, and there's nothing like sweating over a dirty motorcycle in business clothes to put a fella in a great mood.

The good news is, the Vespa lives once more.

The First Time I Crashed

I posted a while back about the time I crashed my uncle's motorcycle. That wasn't my first crash.

My first crash was when I was probably 6 or 7 years old. Another uncle of mine, who drove his stock Dodges in drag races, had a Honda Z50 he used to get around the pits.

One weekend, our whole family was gathered at his house for a dinner. I can't recall why, but for some reason the little Honda came out, and it was decided that I was going to get to ride it. Sweet, huh?

He lived on about an acre, which was plenty of room to buzz around on a little motorcycle at low speeds. My uncles and dad got me situated on the bike, and told me not to give it any gas when I was putting it in gear because it would lurch. I wasn't exactly sure what lurching involved, but I knew I didn't want anything to do with it.

Anyway, I survived putting the bike in first gear, and buzzed off around and around the yard. Around, and around and around, and gee riding is awesome. And, hey, I bet it would be even better if I was going faster.

So I whacked open the throttle and froze in terror as I hauled ass straight across the yard into a pine tree.

Seconds later my parents and uncles were helping me up, then getting the bike off the ground. My mom picked pine needles out of my face and calmed me down a bit. The minibike was parked for a while.

After dinner, my folks came up with some excuse for why I wasn't allowed to ride anymore that night. While I was busy trying to come up with a good reason why I should be allowed to ride some more, my other uncle decided to take the little bike for a spin. He crashed. And he had to go to the hospital.

I guess he made it lurch.

If I recall correctly, after falling off the back from an unintended wheelie, he landed on his feet and caught the handlebars in the gut, which cut him up and bruised him pretty badly.

Amusingly enough, my folks didn't tell me "see, motorcycles are dangerous!" They told me, "Don't feel bad, your uncle crashed too."

At least, that's how I interpreted it...

Scare Yourself Silly in Three Easy Steps

1. Inflate flat bicycle tire to recommended pressure before noticing tire was not 100% in place on rim.

2. Frantically try to deflate the tire and watch with growing horror while the inner tube forces its way out the gap between tire and rim, pushing more and more of the tire aside.

3. Fall over backwards on to garage floor when BANG!! the inner tube pops.


My ears hurt for half an hour after that.