A Quick Scoot Cross-Country

When last we spoke with Rob Downs and Mike Garrett , the D.C. residents were preparing to zip across this great nation of ours astride vintage Italian scooters.

They knew that the Scooter Cannonball -- the name of their cross-country trip -- would be rough, although they probably didn't think it would be as rough as it was. But Rob's 1966 Lambretta pooped out after about seven miles, and the engine of Mike's 1964 Vespa exploded halfway through Idaho. He loaded the scooter into the sag wagon support vehicle, ordered a new crank and installed it in the parking lot of the Comfort Inn in Valentine, Neb.

"It was not very comfortable," said Mike, 34. "I finally got it done at 4 o'clock in the morning, in time for the 6 a.m. wake-up call."

Out of the 30 scooters that started the rally, in Oregon, five didn't finish. When Rob realized it would be too difficult to repair his scooter on the road, he bagged it and headed to Atlanta, where his girlfriend -- and a scooter show -- awaited.

Mike pressed on, through Long Pine and Neligh, Neb.; Ute and Ames, Iowa; Mendota and Joliet, Ill.; and all the way east to the rally's end in Orange, N.J.

He had to tinker constantly, and over the course of 3,500 miles became a much better mechanic, able to disassemble a carburetor in a single bound. And although the wind that sweeps across the Great Plains threatened to dump him onto the asphalt, he never fell off. (Another rider wasn't so lucky. Her wheel caught a bit of bad pavement, and over she went. In true scooterista spirit, she refused to board an ambulance, taped down the broken bits of her scooter and kept on riding.)

Mike is already thinking ahead to his next scooter challenge. He'd like to organize a 24-hour, Le Mans-style race, in which teams of riders would take turns piloting their scooters around a track, round-the-clock.

I asked him whether the Cannonball, which he and Rob had been planning for months, was different from what he'd imagined.

Yes, he said. He thought he'd be riding alongside a bunch of other participants. Instead, the riders traveled at their own pace, and scooters were spread out over miles of blacktop.

"The vast majority of the time, it was just me and the scooter and the road," said Mike.

Just him, the scooter and the road. Can you imagine? To those of us who spend our days creeping along interstates 495, 295, 66 or any of the other sclerotic arteries that sludge around Washington, an open, empty highway sounds like paradise.

Helping the Amish

Lancaster County, Pa., is a special place to a lot of people in the Washington area. Just 2 1/2 hours away, it's a place of covered bridges and antique shops, fresh-baked pies and horse-drawn wagons.