In 1999 I was head of marketing at Italjet Scooters UK and the scooter market was about 20% female, it was clearly going to move towards 50% in the future, all it needed was a little nudge. We needed a presence at London Fashion Week, so I arranged to run a scooter taxi service to get the models through the London traffic at speed after each show with one of the model agencies.
I took one demonstrator 125 twin cylinder (hoping that it won’t destroy the crank) and a pair of Dragster 180s from the crate (with the new Gilera 180 engine), registered and built them, did my best to run them in as kindly as possible. Two colleagues joined me for our adventure through the streets of London with extremely precious cargo.
The Monday morning of Fashion Week opened at The Natural History Museum, which all sounded easy enough. However, Renault, the sponsors, were furious to see us on our sexy scooters with the press asking questions about our machines, eclipsing their boring black Espace. So we were banned from the Museum grounds and had to wait outside with the photographers, where I met Matt Dickens, an old mate from school who was a photographer for The Sun.
The model agency called and the woman told me that two young ladies would come out and join us and we could photograph them. So, Kate Elson and Elizabeth Kerry came and joined us.They were care-free, happy, laughing, intrigued by the super sexy scooters and excited about being driven around on them. So I did the only decent thing I could do in the circumstances. I Photographed them on the scooters.
As we hung out chatting with the two fun young women, who had finished their show inside, they told us that they had heard we would be driving them and wanted to get out of the mania inside. Limos came and went, photographers excitedly snapped moments and images inside the stunning great museum. It still all seemed a bit pointless to me, in reality, in my battered trainers, tee shirt, Levis and leather jacket. The monstrous hairstyles we could just spy in the strobing of the photographers’ flash guns and bizarre clothing that no one could possibly wear, all held in place with pins, clips and toupee tape. It’s dazzling yet so transient and fragile. I stare at the Piaggio engine of my Dragster and hope that this machine is far stronger than its unreliable predecessors.
After lunch in Praed Street, I get a call to pick a model up from the Natural History Museum, so I race through Hyde Park, dodging pedestrians, horses, dogs, bicycles and couriers on motorcycles. this Dragster is as fast through the traffic as a Fireblade and it’s incredibly sure-footed. While overtaking a static car, the driver decides to throw his door open in my path, jump out and remove his jacket in the spring sunshine. I slam the brakes on and the front doesn’t dive at all, because this cute little bike has hub centre steering. My weight makes the front tyre dig in and I stop in an impossibly short distance without fear of the front wheel tucking in, as it would on other scooters. The man holds his hand up in apology and amazement that the bike stopped so quickly. I smile, relieved that he didn’t choose to hurl abuse, and power on through the traffic. From Praed Street to the Natural History Museum in seven minutes through choked London traffic makes this the fastest machine around London and a joy to ride. It also inspires a very naughty streak, even in the most urbane rider.
Outside the Museum I call the agency, they’re impressed with the speed of the journey and sound excited. These women have to get through an almost impossible schedule of shows and the London traffic really wrecks their schedules. They send a young girl, Rachel, who seems to be about sixteen and excited about her impending journey after I grab a quick photo of her on the bike. She jumps on and we race to a marquee in the middle of Inverness Terrace, near Queensway, on a patch of grass between two streets. She is the first model to arrive, so I call the agency and they ask me to wait while she goes in to see a designer.
She’s out ten minutes later and the agency ask me to take her to Brick Lane. We seem to get stuck for ages on red at every traffic light to the west end. Rachel is chatty at the lights and tells me how the designer liked her, but didn’t want her for that show. He’ll definitely offer her work during fashion week, she optimistically confides.
We arrive, quicker than any other form of transport available in London, outside a large exhibition hall with photographers clamouring for…..something? The other Dragster is there and the agency tell me to wait until she comes out. We’re both stood there until seven thirty when the two models come out and we deliver them to Battersea Park and another enormous marquee. We head home at about eight thirty, exhausted and grinning. These scooters are incredible, the perfect transport for central London. They are quick, quick, quick! And they handle and stop beautifully. What more could you ask for, other than a mobile phone holder? Oh, they even have on of those too as standard! Somone had thought of everything on these beauties. The agency tell me to call them from Chelsea football ground at 7.30 tomorrow morning.
So are the Italjets classic scooters, or a classic motorcycle of the future and could they be great alternative investments of the future? Was I the luckiest man in the world driving fun, beautiful models through London traffic on the sexiest scooter in the world? All will be revealed in the coming weeks in parts two and three.
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