The Unboxing of LP
After a restless night, it was finally time. The Scooter Cannonball Run was just around the corner, and I had a mile-long walk to the American Legion parking lot to pick up my scooter, LP. My race handle is PurpleLizrdbrth, and we had a tough time naming my two-wheeled partner. My husband suggested LP, an abbreviation that just clicked, so we went with it. Kevin and I arrived to a sea of scooters. It took a moment, but I spotted her. The big box I’d strapped to her was still in place, a little damp but holding up. After a quick chat with the owner, I signed the transport ticket, confirming she had arrived safe and sound.
My first challenge: how to get LP and the giant box back to the hostel? I unstrapped the box, leaving it on the floorboard between my feet. It was a slow, gingerly ride, but since the hostel was only a mile away, we managed. Once we arrived, I immediately headed to a gas station. The scooter had been shipped with a minimal amount of fuel, so I filled her up and topped off the extra gas can I’d be carrying for the long haul.
Next, it was time to pack. My luggage was stuffed with food, clothes, and my MacBook to download the route onto my Garmin. In my pre-race frenzy, I’d overestimated my food and underestimated my packing space. I tried everything to get it to fit, but it was no use. Thankfully, Kevin had an extra waterproof compression bag that saved me from leaving my snacks behind.
The Tech Inspection Gauntlet
With LP now fueled and packed, it was time for the moment of truth: the tech inspection. I navigated to the hotel across the street, where fellow riders huddled around a fire pit, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames. The air was misty and damp, adding to the pre-race jitters as we all waited for the inspectors to arrive, fingers crossed that our scooters would pass.
The inspection began. As I slowly approached the front of the line, the inspector eyed my spare gas can. He recommended at least two bungee cords for it, a simple request that meant more time at every one of my frequent gas stops. I promised to strap it down. Next, he inspected the custom rack that Mark had made for my water bottle. I was most nervous about this piece, but to my relief, he gave it a thumbs-up. The horns, lights, and signals all worked perfectly, and I felt a huge wave of relief.
But just as I started to relax, the inspector looked at my rear tire. It was at the minimal level—not good, especially with the rain. Luckily, I had a spare tire, but now I had a new, urgent problem: how to change it?
The Kindness of Strangers
I reached out to GoPam, who knew of a rider with a tire-changing kit. A few messages later, the bad news came: he hadn’t brought it this year. But GoPam told me not to despair. A fellow rider, The Governor, who owns a scooter shop in Maine, stepped in to help. He didn’t have a tire changer, but he had the tools and the ingenuity to jerry-rig a solution. We hoisted LP onto a van ramp, using a tie-down strap to keep her in place. With the exhaust pipe off, we were able to get to the rear tire. In no time, we had the old one off and the new one mounted.
The final hurdle was air. My small compressor wasn’t strong enough to set the bead. While we waited for a support truck that was an hour away, The Governor took my tire on his scooter and rode it to a local auto shop. He returned with a perfectly inflated tire, and we quickly reassembled LP. Just before the inspection closed, I got my official sticker—a tangible sign that all the hard work had paid off.
I am forever grateful for the camaraderie among these riders. We’re about to compete with each other, but the support we show each other is what will truly get us to the finish line. Tomorrow, the craziness officially begins.
A Widow's Ride 