XOOTR Kick Scooter
Two years ago, I ditched my car and moved from L.A. to Manhattan. I was looking forward to getting some exercise during my morning commute; however, I soon discovered that walking 50 blocks in the New York summer heat leaves you too stinky for the office. I didn’t have storage space for a bicycle, and roller blades require balance, so there was only one solution: a foldable kick scooter.
I shelled out $20 for a Razor scooter. It lasted one day. First, my co-workers each had a crack: “Does your mommy let you ride that alone?” “Is it 1997 again?” My co-workers were asses. Then, on the ride home, the Razor got stuck on a sidewalk crack, pitched me forward into a fence, and almost took out a tooth. I gave the Razor to my friends’ children – their teeth will grow back.
A few weeks later, while perusing the discount rack at the Strand bookstore, I saw an older guy in bike shorts with a two-wheeled contraption folded over his shoulder. This thing looked like a Razor, but it had larger wheels and a convenient hand brake (unlike the Razor’s piss-poor rear friction brake). Bike Shorts let me try the thing. It soared over sidewalk cracks, trash, and even a curb. I was in love. With the scooter, not the guy. He was wearing BIKE SHORTS. Ew.
The nearest Xootr dealer was NYCE Wheels, on York Avenue. I decided to get the Venus model. It had a light-weight board that’s easier to carry onto the subway. Plus, it sounded girlier.
Price: $289 with strap.
My Xootr has taken me pretty much all over Manhattan. I rode it through Central Park, where I raced a 7-year-old around the sailboat pond. Sucker. When the weather’s nice, I take it along the Hudson bike path, while Buttner jogs beside me. Once, I rode it down to the Home Depot. As I folded it up, the guard commended me (in a Jamaican accent) for “getting down with my funky self.” And, on September 11, 2006 I took my Xootr down to the World Trade Center memorial site. I hate to admit it, but even a trip down there was kinda fun on a Xootr.
When I first got it, my Xootr was a bit of an oddity. Foreign tourists would take pictures of me on it as if I were the Statue of Liberty or the Naked Cowboy or a black person. But lately, I’ve been seeing more and more Xootrs, especially in the bike lane on Central Park West. In fact, I recently received a telephone message from a retiree named Judy inviting me to join a Xootr club. No thanks Judy, I prefer to fly solo. But I know someone else who might be interested – if you don’t mind bike shorts.