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Scooterboys are the lost tribe of British youth culture.
Unrecognised, uncelebrated and unwanted; misunderstood by a general
public who mistook us for Mods. We weren't Mods though. By the
1980s myself and tens of thousands of scooter riders collectively
rejected that label. Instead, we took the roadmap of British youth
disaffection and carved a new bypass. This route took us beyond the
UK's faded seaside resorts, allowing us to spread our creed across
the continents. Tuned and customised Vespa and Lambretta scooters
gave us freedom to roam; transport to live for the weekend. Shared
experiences of riots, local hostility and police harassment built
strong fraternal bonds that endure to this day. Despite decades of
two-wheeled rebellion our threat level was never high enough to put
us on the national security radar. This low profile has its
benefits. We aren't doomed to follow the same cycle as Mods. First
feared, then pilloried, accepted and finally adopted as part of
UK's rich culture. As British as a vindaloo. The cult of Scooterboy
has escaped death-by-public-acceptance, simply by remaining too
underground. Too difficult to distinguish from what came before.
And that's just perfect. You'll never see Scooterboys parodied in
TV insurance adverts or low budget fly-on-the-walls. The
poorly-rendered caricature is always some cliche Mod on a
'Christmas Tree' scooter. If you rode to rallies in the 80s and 90s
then this book will mirror your experiences. If you've never had a
scooter then it offers a rare glimpse of life inside the lost tribe
of two-stroke terrorists.
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