This year I finally sold my Piaggo scooter and last month, in a low moment, I ordered an electric scooter. After seeing a young man zooming round the pedestrian areas of Cagnes-sur-Mer I toyed with the idea of a ‘trotinette electrique’ like this:
They are cheap, cool, whizz around at an impressive speed, fold up for a car boot, and can have a good battery life. Then sanity sadly prevailed. I’m 70, with a growing number of artificial joints. Plus I discovered that they are not only too heavy for me to lift into the car, but that it is illegal to drive them on the pavement.
Instead I bought the lightest of the three-wheeler versions (at three times the price!). These are legal on pavements and indoors as they are classified as disability aids.
Apart from a nervous trip up my steep, potholed road, yesterday’s trip to look at kitchens in Ikea was my first outing. Crossing the large underground carpark was a sheer pleasure and inside – apart from a near miss with someone’s feet – negotiating the route you are forced along was easy. (Not so simple to push people out of the way to look more closely at door handles and knobs.) Anyhow, I emerged not feeling like a wet rag.
Just at the moment, thanks to anti-inflammatories, I don’t really need the scooter out here. It can’t handle the local roads, but I do anticipate using it when sight-seeing round other towns in France. I plan to bring it on the plane to London and look forward to zooming along those endless corridors at Gatwick Airport.