Have you ever ridden distilled hope? Have you ever piloted undiluted joy? The essence of freedom?
It’s virtually impossible to overstate how important the humble Vespino moped was for Spain in the 1970’s and 1980’s, and it’s equally impossible to overstate the fondness that almost all Spaniards of a certain age retain for the plucky little things. And I say that not of the engineering of the machine itself, but of its cultural and economic and symbolic significance. It might be the most important manufactured product in the history of Spain.
The “little wasp” wears some Vespa badging, but it has only a fleeting relationship with Italy proper. Designed by a Spanish engineer in Salamanca and manufactured entirely (and exclusively) in Madrid, the Vespino is an all-Spanish machine, and although it was exported to a few countries around Europe, Morocco, and latin America, Spain was the market which reigned supreme. In a 30 year production run, more than 1,800,000 Vespinos spread their happiness around the roadways, and a remarkable number still do. Only the Mobylette came close as a sales competitor to the Vespino, and that was only in the early days. Once Spain was stung by the little wasp it was stung forever, and to this day the term “moped” (or “ciclomotor”) essentially doesn’t exist here in Spain. The word you use instead is “Vespino.”
A QUICK SIDEBAR ABOUT LOCAL MANUFACTURING:
In case you haven’t noticed, there is a small tie-in between the Vespino and the Land Rover Santana. Both are Spanish cultural icons. Both were beautifully built and wildly commercially successful. And both were manufactured in Spain, wearing badging from famous foreign brands - Land Rover and Vespa. Land Rovers built by Santana, and Vespas built by MotoVespa.
And they were not alone. Alpine Renault built A110’s in Spain through FASA, Lancia built Betas in Pamplona, Ducati had a Spanish manufacturing arm with some of their own unique models, and (maybe most famously of all) SEAT built FIAT models (badged as SEAT’s) in Catalunya, where they now built Volkswagens (still badged SEAT). Some of this was no doubt due to protectionist policies of the dictator Francisco Franco, some of it probably down to legitimate marketing and business decisions, but however it all shook out, Spain was not only selling a lot of foreign commercial products during the 1960’s and 1970’s, Spain was building them as well. Highly successfully.
END SIDEBAR
The Vespino was launched in 1968, and right off the bat it struck a chord, but it was in 1975 and with the death of Franco that things took a turn toward the legendary. Almost overnight, Spain was kicked out of its 36 year conservative, dictatorial slumber and into a vibrant, rapidly evolving, democratic 1970’s Europe. Rock n Roll, bell bottom jeans, weed, belly shirts… you know, freedom, man. Millions of young Spaniards suddenly needed a way to get around and feel that freedom, and in a country with the mild weather profile and comparatively modest financial position of Spain, the Vespino was the cheapest and most cheerful way possible to do that. At the time, no license was required, no tags, no insurance, not even a helmet. Grab a Vespino, hop on and go anywhere you want.
Almost every young person in Spain had one of these things. I’m not joking. At least at some point. And those who didn’t spent countless hours on the backs of the Vespinos their friends owned. Or their siblings. Almost every Spaniard of a certain age has deep, profound memories and stories which relate directly to Vespinos. When Spaniards talk about Vespinos, it’s like they’re talking about… “summer vacation” or “youth.” The discussions are almost never about the bikes themselves, they’re about the emotions. The excitement. The feeling of young liberty.
So what does that feel like? Well, you’ve probably ridden a moped before. It feels like that. But if you haven’t ridden a moped, you need to. They’re pure joy. And if you have ridden a moped and you didn’t love it? I’m sorry, but I’m not entirely sure I want to know you. You have no romance. No soul. No sense of humor. I am convinced people who hate on mopeds are usually doing it out of some misplaced hubris and sophomoric misunderstanding of what “manliness” is. Like the thing is beneath them somehow. It’s ridiculous. You gotta get past that. You have to kinda… regress. Mentally get younger. You can’t evaluate riding a moped in comparison to driving your car, or riding your big motorcycle. That’s a flawed way to view the experience. You have to remember what it felt like the first time you rode one, as a kid. And if you never rode one as a kid? Then you have to imagine what that sense of wonder must have felt like, and try to channel it today.
I was 13, I think, the first time I ever rode a moped. It was my buddy’s Puch Maxi, and I spent a lot of time on it around the streets of Reston, VA. Up to that point, the only “powertrain” I had experienced were my legs. But when I sat on the Puch and twisted open the throttle and took off, I distinctly remember it being revelatory. It changed everything. I had already been into cars and motorbikes for a long time by that point. I was already a junkie in waiting. But until I actually mainlined self propulsion I didn’t fully understand what I it felt like.
I own four Vespinos. Mine are all ALX models from the 1980’s, because that’s kinda my preferred era. But they’re all charming. And last year my youngest son, age 11 at the time, rode one of them for the first time. He set off through the neighborhood, disappeared over a hill, and I stood in the street feeling scared and deeply irresponsible. But after five agonizing minutes he returned, throttle cracked wide open, wailing over the same hill back toward me at probably 50 kph, his face split into an insane grin under his helmet visor, his eyes wild with emotion and excitement… I saw it all again. Another junkie hooked.
There’s not much to a Vespino, which is the entire point. It looks like a town bicycle and feels like a town bicycle to ride. There is a 49cc single cylinder 2-stroke engine between the pedals, producing between two and four horsepower depending on the year, driving the rear wheel through a variable belt drive (“variator”) system. Stopping is by front and rear drum brakes. Simple headlamp, turn signals… That’s about it. Every component is impossibly simple, which means they are also impossibly reliable. Maintenance is virtually zero. You basically have a Vespino sitting around until you need to use it and then you use it. And it works. Give it the beans and something like my 1980’s era ALX models will do about 65 kph on flat roads, flat-out. Which isn’t… that slow. It’s quite useable, even today. The handling is pure bicycle. Light, nimble, supremely balanced and controllable. Like a bicycle, it can be ridden in tight circles at 2kph without tipping over. Like a bicycle it can wail through downhill corners at 65 kph and carry more speed through them than a car can muster. You can pick it up and put it in the back of a station wagon or SUV. You can park on a sidewalk directly in front of the shop you want to visit. And if you want? You could ride the fucking thing to Italy. Why not? Take the coast roads all the way around the Mediterranean? The Vespino doesn’t know where it’s going. It would be life changing.
I might have to do just that. Because that’s freedom, man.
Sadly, Vespinos are no longer as dirt cheap as they have always been. Out of production since 1999, young riders have moved into Rieju motards and Chinese 49cc repli-racers, which means the people who truly covet Vespinos are now my age. A little older, with a few extra euros in their pockets, and prices have been on the rise for more than a few years. They are nostalgia buys now. A good ALX will set you back 1200€ or more. A good early model can be double that. But you can’t put a price on hope, man. You can’t nickel and dime when it comes to your time machine.
If you’re bored, maybe think about picking one up. Not just a Vespino specifically, but any classic moped. Vespino, Puch, Batavus, Mobylette, Tomos, Motobecane, Jawa…. They all have some version of the same story. And riding one will (or should, anyway) wind back the clock. Make you feel like a kid again. Just like my 11 year old son, grinning like a madman with the throttle held wide open and his eyes wild with emotion.
If you’re too macho now to feel like that, you’re really missing out.