One would think that only scooterists enjoy reading about motor scooters. This is mostly true. A true scooterista bitten by the bug turns his or her head whenever he or she hears the whine of small motor down the street. They crane thier necks and, if on foot, wistfully watch the lucky rider pass by, turning thier head owl-like to watch the scoot pass over the horizon. If a motor scooter is not like a car, which it certainly is not, it in neither like a motorcycle or a bicycle. It is a true hybrid and it provokes envy.
Living in the middle of traffic under ambiguous rules, a scooterist tastes many travelling pleasures unavailable to those who use more commonplace means of transportation. You can come and go as you please. No one knows what to make of you but you are so little you are granted carte blanche. Life is good on a motor scooter.
The motor may be whisper-quiet and the profile slender, but a motor scooter commands grudging respect. It takes guts to be the littlest thing on the road. Boston isn't choked with scooters the way Rome or Naples are, but this most European of American cities has more than its fair share. The inclines are gradual and everything is nearby. Traffic is often jammed, providing the perfect opportunity to split lanes through gridlock, avoiding road rage and frustration.
Boston, the Athens of America, is where wise people live. The wisest of all drive motor scooters.