I got pulled over by the cops last night, NYPD Blue-style.

I've only been pulled over once - when I was sixteen. It's funny, how it happened last night, because I thought I was getting out of the way so they could pursue the real criminal who had triggered those flashing lights and sirens. Oh - that would be me?

The irony of the event is entertaining. In traffic, I've been practicing my balance to occupy myself at signals. Inspired by bike messengers doing track stands while awaiting the green light, I see how long I can go without putting my feet down. If I roll ever so slowly, I can keep it up for quite awhile.

I was riding home from work, approaching one of the many 4-way stop intersections in my neighborhood. After the car in front of me went, I continued my glacial roll to the stop sign, stopped, saw no other cars in the intersection, and headed up the hill. I was marveling over the flawless engineering of the Vespa GTS - so perfectly designed that I could balance while barely moving! - when I saw the cop car racing up the hill behind me. Lights and sirens - the whole nine. It's much louder when you're not encapsulated in a car. So I pulled over to let them pass - and much to my surprise, they followed me.

I must have had a giant question mark on my face when the officer sauntered up alongside my scooter, because he asked, "Do you know why I pulled you over?" I shook my head. No idea. I briefly entertained the possibility that I knocked my license plate off while parking against the curb earlier.

"You neglected to stop at that stop sign," he said.

"I stopped!" I protested.

"If you'd stopped, you would have put your feet down, right?"

I was about to enlighten him on the majesty of engineering that is the Vespa, when a trusty piece of advice loomed in my head: "know when to shut up." I suspected this was one of those times - as ready as I was to argue the semantics of the word "stop" with the Seattle Police Department.

stop: v.
to come to a stand, as in a course or journey, to cease moving, proceeding; to pause; desist.

Now I dug through every inch of the Seattle and Washington State Municipal Code that I could find. (And it's amazing to me how difficult it actually is to find our laws clearly published online.) There is not a single word about putting a foot down while riding a motorcycle. The only exception is the penalty for putting a foot down during the motorcycle skills test. See? They want you to be able to control your bike without putting a foot down.

If I bring my cycle to a standstill (throttle closed, brakes engaged) for two seconds before accelerating again, is that not a "complete stop"?

But lips firmly sealed (it was a struggle), I handed over my driver's license. He requested my insurance card as well, clarifying, "It's not required, but if you have one, I'd like to see it."

"Of course, officer. I wouldn't dream of riding without insurance." Is my laminated Geico Full Coverage Insurance policy winning me brownie points? Or should I show a little more leg?

I smiled apologetically as he returned to his vehicle, ID in hand. Meanwhile, I chuckled to myself over the timing; right when I had been extolling my awesomeness for not needing to put my feet down, I was nabbed for not putting my feet down.

The Friendly Officer returned with my license and insurance card, and started drilling me on my social security number, last mailing address, birth date and other assorted details which I must have answered correctly. "We were a little confused by the photo on your license. It doesn't look like you."

What, a girl can't dye her hair?

"I'm not going to write you a ticket. It would have been $200," he told me. I gulped audibly. "Yes, exactly. We see a lot of these scooters on the road now, and it's dangerous out there - cars don't see you, and it's slippery in the rain. We want everyone to be safe," he said earnestly.

I believed him - I think he really meant it. They want everyone to be safe. And he's right - a more thorough stop at an intersection, when warranted, can save your life. I thanked him cordially and continued on my way home.

At the next intersection - which is a known danger zone - a car drove right through stop sign without braking. He would have hit me, but I was ready for it and stopped quickly.

I glanced in my rearview mirror for a witness, but my Friendly Officer was nowhere to be found. He would have been proud - I put my feet down that time.

Occasionally I find myself poring over the scooter classifieds for some ungodly reason; perhaps I like to torture myself. I enjoy trying on different personalities as I imagine acquiring each lustworthy scooter. My outdoorsy, rugged Pacific Northwest alter-ego on a Big Ruckus loaded with gear for a weekend getaway. Or the meticulously restored, pink and white 1962 Vespa Super that I ride to my ladies' luncheon at an outdoor cafe. Or the venom yellow rat bike Rally perfect for drag racing in my black Corazzo hoodie.

I enjoy accessorizing.

Both of my Cupcakes are toying with the idea of getting their very own two wheels. As fabulous as it is to ride pillion on Aphrodite, sooner or later, everyone gets bit by the scooter bug. I indulge my vicarious thrills by shopping for them.

Maybe it's the Vespa paraphernalia plastered all over my cubicle at work, or the helmet on my desk, or my close encounters with coworkers in the parking garage. It could even be the fact that I frequently arrive in the morning soaking wet. But everyone at my day job knows I'm way into scooters.

If I come in on Monday with a sunburned nose, they ask if I rode a lot over the weekend. After stopping for gas on the way in, they tell me they were considering a scooter. People I've never met stop by to ask for my advice on the feasibility of commuting on two wheels. "I heard you're the Scooter Girl," they say in a hushed tone. "Can you hook me up with the 411?"

I heartily endorse the acquisition of a scooter, and I intersperse every sentence with, "Take the safety course." If it's your first scooter, get an automatic. Take the safety course. Parking can be much easier on a scooter. Take the safety course. I'd recommend a 150cc if you live in the 'burbs. Take the safety course. Oh, and - take the safety course.

Bodhi, Hairy LaPinch, Safety Ed, Victoria and RogerTango throwing
the Westenders gang sign and hanging tough in West Seattle.

I'm not sure my friend Victoria knew what she was getting herself into, moving to the West Coast. Or, more specifically, moving in with me. Let's not blame Seattle at large for my borderless insanity.

Big People Scooters was named "Best Number to Have Tucked Into Your Italian-made Leather Jacket" by Seattle Weekly.

I would argue that AAA is a better number, since they're open 24-hours.

But Big People's is a good back-up. Read the full report here.

I haven't updated because I've been riding non-stop, as evidenced by my gas consumption for the past two weeks. When the sun is out in Seattle, one does not lollygag in front of a computer, my friends.

I've put nearly 3,000 miles on the GTS now so I made my appointment for the next scheduled service. I'm told it's a quickie - fuel filter, I think, and some other things. Seems I'd be needing a rear tire around now but they look good as new to me. It's a good thing I scheduled the service ahead of time - I had to book out three weeks because they're so busy. Tis the season.

This gas update is brought to you by the new MPG Calculator at Scooterworks.com. Those kids. Always trying to make stuff easier on me.

My love of two-wheeled machines is surpassed only by my love of four-legged creatures. I have the privilege of sharing my home with Princess Nevadelia Lotus Blossom. I've been her servant for almost four years. She is a ridiculously beautiful lynx-point Himalyan mix cat with a feather-duster tail. Despite the fact that her enormous blue eyes are crossed, she is a formidable moth slayer. Nevadelia adopted me from the local animal shelter and turned me into a certified cat worshipper.

You can imagine my insane delight when I discovered the Flickr group, Cats on Scooters. Their subtitle is, "Cats are taking over the world - and they're using scooters!"

While Nevadelia enjoys lounging on the sunny veranda of our residence, The Aloha Cabana, her reign is limited to the confines of the property because a free-roaming city cat is a dead cat. So I was stumped on how exactly I was going to participate in my new Flickr obsession with the cat on one side of the fence and my scooter on the other. Oh yeah... PhotoShop!

Cities need to start looking for places to tuck scooter-friendly parking spots where cars can't fit. Then nobody loses. Cars have all their allotted spaces, and scooters are making good use of real estate that would otherwise be wasted. I've never heard a scooterist complain about being given the leftovers - we're usually thrilled just to have a safe place to stow our scoots.

This space I found in the QFC parking lot on 15th is a perfect example. I'm not sure what it's intended for, but it's a perfect scooter spot with little barriers and everything!

The other place that would be good to sneak scooter spots are the sloped edges of parallel street parking. In Seattle, many of the curbs are "cut out" so the beginning and end of them are angled and cars can't fit. Usually they're painted red or white to let you know you can't park there. But they're perfect scooter spots. You can often squeeze two scooters in.

For example, on University Way (or "the Ave" for you locals), I see a lot of cycles tucked into these corners. We could easily fit 6 scooters per block if we were allowed to park there, without affecting the availability of car parking at all. Presently, many of those spots are painted as no parking zones, as I mentioned in a previous post. I know at least two other people besides myself who have recently gotten tickets for parking in those areas, painted or not.

It's all about getting creative. Maybe it's the blue-collar Yankee Ingenuity I was raised with, but I'm all about making do and making use of the resources at your disposal. We probably don't need to engage the city in expensive, red-tape laden parking revolutions. We just need a little less yellow paint and a receipt for our meter stickers.

This photo is from the Sustainable West Seattle fair. A couple of people asked me about the magnetic poetry yesterday's article in the West Seattle Herald referenced. Here it is!

Aphrodite was covered head to tail light in Sexual Innuendo Magnetic Poetry. It was fun for a few months and then i removed it because it was scratching my paint. Last week I found one lonely word lying on the floor of the garage, and stuck it to Celeste.

One of the scooter clubs I'm a member of, the Westenders, is featured in a great article in the West Seattle Herald. Once again, I'm caught in the act of waxing philosophical. You'd think I spend most of my time sitting in cafes wearing a beret and fondling my soul patch.

Ralph's quote pretty much sums us up:

"Being a Westender is a state of mind," said Ralph Leach, who wears a jacket of patches and buttons. "This is a family friendly scooter club. We aren't a bunch of derelicts, just some of us."

This lighthearted little news bite provides a much-needed respite from yesterday's rampant stupidity in the reader comments on the Seattle PI scooter parking piece.

I've received word that the Westenders article is in the print version of the newspaper, on newstands now. I've got to grab a copy tonight to read while sitting on the beach at Alki, eating cupcakes and waxing philosophical.