Chuja-do part 6: Pushing dead scooters and nightmare inclines

We charmed the scooter lady into giving us a significant discount, badass. My first scoot was a fat boy fake classic, and it broke down in a hurry, after making a series of disconcerting rattles and moans. And the hazards wouldn't stop hazarding. Luckily it broke down on top a hill overlooking the town where we picked up the scoots, and not on the remote far side. After rolling and pushing the fat boy back to the scoot shop, we found that the scoot lady was gone. Not a problem, as the fish-butchering guy (knife go in guts come out) next door got his fish hands dirty and got another scoot started for me (then went back to his fish gutting, with his scoot oil hands). This one was probably a nice ride, 8 years ago. It was a Taiwanese SYM 125 that reminded me of my old Taiwanese SYM 150, my metallic blue first love. Anyways, this piece of work made a series disconcerting growls and shrieks, and the brakes weren't too hot. It was disconcerting. And the decal was inaccurate. And the wheel-well grated menacingly against the tire at low speed. And the left turn signal was out. And the mirror was wonky. And then, NO AND THEN!
We headed up some steep-ass steep hills. I used to have a distinct re-occurring nightmare as a young pup about being parked on a steep hill, in the back seat of a jeep. As I sat alone, the thing began to roll backwards. Not good. Still in the dream rotation about once a year. Words and pictures can't explain what a ripping fine winter day for a scoot trip round a remote island it was. It was a fine day.