Wednesday, February 08, 2006
No Sex Appeal!
Back in June I saw a rare sight here in Anchorage—two men on Segway Human Transporters scooting along on Fifth Street. In December 2001, Dean Kamen brought to the market a product that was going to revolutionize transportation—a motorized, self-balancing scooter with maximum speed of 12 mph. No matter how klutzy you might be, supposedly there was no way to fall off—unless the battery ran low—in which case all bets were off. Thus far the Segway has failed to live up to its hype—selling only 6000 in the first 21 months after its introduction. Sales have picked up a bit since, but the buzz surrounding its debut has long since faded. Many reasons have been cited for its lackluster sales record. It is high priced. It is slow—very slow when compared to high-powered pickups on the road today. Its passenger capacity is limited to one person at a time. Think bicycle built for two. Obviously there is no sex appeal. Most men will not buy a mode of transportation unless they can use it to pick up their date, race it, add headers to make more noise, play the radio very loudly and lean on the horn—since it does not have one. Moreover, it is not particularly comfortable. Mailmen who were identified in focus groups as likely buyers, found they could not sort mail or use an umbrella while riding one. It does provide relief for pedestrians with sore feet, but so does a good pair of walking shoes.
Back in the fifties there was another mode of transportation with zero sex appeal, until they finally wised up—the old Cushman Scooters sold by Sears. My firsthand acquaintance with one was limited to a 1946 or 1947 model in badly worn condition. It was red and boxy and always in need of repairs. We decided to get rid of a paper route and had found two boys who were eager to get into the paper business. They needed to learn the route so I became the designated trainer. What they brought to the table was a weak work ethic and the dilapidated Cushman. We agreed that I should drive the Scooter and one of them would ride behind me and throw the papers. We figured that it would take about a week for them to learn the route. Everything went fine the first two days. The third day things sort of got out of hand. Dan told me that he had made some repairs and somehow or another the gas throttle on the handlebar was now reversed. If you let off the throttle you would gun it and if you tried to gun it, you would slow it down to a crawl. We were on the last leg of the route, when I rounded a corner a tad fast and I decided to let off the gas—only this time I gunned it and my natural throttle instincts kicked in and I kept gunning it. He kept yelling, “Let off the throttle!” and I kept gunning it. The Scooter banked sharply to the right and we both went flying off—skidding on the grass. Luckily, neither of us got a scratch.
Two days later neither of the brothers had time to run the route and asked me to do it by myself—handing me the keys to the Scooter. I should have known then that something was wrong with the Cushman. But it was my last day on the job and I was eager to get it over with so it never occurred to me to ask, “What is broken today?” I zoomed down Height Street at full speed, expecting to brake and make a right turn. When I hit the brake—nothing and I do mean nothing happened. Having already experienced the sensation of flying off the dang thing two days earlier, I decided that one such experienced was more than enough. I elected to continue straight down the street. Then I saw what was staring me in the eyes—a dead end with a high embankment. I extended my feet and eased my shoes onto the payment. My shoes began to feel rather warm and when I glanced down to my right, I saw that it was actually smoking. Fortunately, I got the Scooter stopped about two feet before my impact point. I jumped off and immediately ripped off my shoes. When my feet quit burning, I looked beneath the machine at the brake lever. It was completely detached. I scouted around and found some haywire and eventually had working brakes again. It was the last time I ever delivered papers and the last time I ever rode a Cushman.
Back in June I saw a rare sight here in Anchorage—two men on Segway Human Transporters scooting along on Fifth Street. In December 2001, Dean Kamen brought to the market a product that was going to revolutionize transportation—a motorized, self-balancing scooter with maximum speed of 12 mph. No matter how klutzy you might be, supposedly there was no way to fall off—unless the battery ran low—in which case all bets were off. Thus far the Segway has failed to live up to its hype—selling only 6000 in the first 21 months after its introduction. Sales have picked up a bit since, but the buzz surrounding its debut has long since faded. Many reasons have been cited for its lackluster sales record. It is high priced. It is slow—very slow when compared to high-powered pickups on the road today. Its passenger capacity is limited to one person at a time. Think bicycle built for two. Obviously there is no sex appeal. Most men will not buy a mode of transportation unless they can use it to pick up their date, race it, add headers to make more noise, play the radio very loudly and lean on the horn—since it does not have one. Moreover, it is not particularly comfortable. Mailmen who were identified in focus groups as likely buyers, found they could not sort mail or use an umbrella while riding one. It does provide relief for pedestrians with sore feet, but so does a good pair of walking shoes.
Back in the fifties there was another mode of transportation with zero sex appeal, until they finally wised up—the old Cushman Scooters sold by Sears. My firsthand acquaintance with one was limited to a 1946 or 1947 model in badly worn condition. It was red and boxy and always in need of repairs. We decided to get rid of a paper route and had found two boys who were eager to get into the paper business. They needed to learn the route so I became the designated trainer. What they brought to the table was a weak work ethic and the dilapidated Cushman. We agreed that I should drive the Scooter and one of them would ride behind me and throw the papers. We figured that it would take about a week for them to learn the route. Everything went fine the first two days. The third day things sort of got out of hand. Dan told me that he had made some repairs and somehow or another the gas throttle on the handlebar was now reversed. If you let off the throttle you would gun it and if you tried to gun it, you would slow it down to a crawl. We were on the last leg of the route, when I rounded a corner a tad fast and I decided to let off the gas—only this time I gunned it and my natural throttle instincts kicked in and I kept gunning it. He kept yelling, “Let off the throttle!” and I kept gunning it. The Scooter banked sharply to the right and we both went flying off—skidding on the grass. Luckily, neither of us got a scratch.
Two days later neither of the brothers had time to run the route and asked me to do it by myself—handing me the keys to the Scooter. I should have known then that something was wrong with the Cushman. But it was my last day on the job and I was eager to get it over with so it never occurred to me to ask, “What is broken today?” I zoomed down Height Street at full speed, expecting to brake and make a right turn. When I hit the brake—nothing and I do mean nothing happened. Having already experienced the sensation of flying off the dang thing two days earlier, I decided that one such experienced was more than enough. I elected to continue straight down the street. Then I saw what was staring me in the eyes—a dead end with a high embankment. I extended my feet and eased my shoes onto the payment. My shoes began to feel rather warm and when I glanced down to my right, I saw that it was actually smoking. Fortunately, I got the Scooter stopped about two feet before my impact point. I jumped off and immediately ripped off my shoes. When my feet quit burning, I looked beneath the machine at the brake lever. It was completely detached. I scouted around and found some haywire and eventually had working brakes again. It was the last time I ever delivered papers and the last time I ever rode a Cushman.
