Bless me, Hemmings reader, for I have sinned. False witness? Coveting? No, no, not those biblical sorts of sins. I’m begging your forgiveness for a life misspent committing sins against all manner of motorized vehicles and motoring in general. In my life I’ve been a miscreant and a menace to all of automotive society.
Speeding. Failure to comply. Disobeying traffic control devices. Driving recklessly in a motor vehicle before I was old enough to have a license. Driving recklessly in a motor vehicle after I was old enough to have a license. Then there’s all the questionable repairs and modifications in my past. The wide-open exhaust. The bald, outdated tires when I was too poor to afford anything else. (Yes, I was the guy who bought those used, Montgomery Ward snow tires at your neighbor’s garage sale.) Honestly, I thought I’d grow out of this, but I never really have.
More recently I’ve been one of the jackals abusing the easy-going Vermont vehicle registration system. The Green Mountain state has since fortified the process to keep looters like me out. Sort of like General John Stark turning back redcoat raiders at the Battle of Bennington. That is, if John Stark had been a Vermont Department of Motor Vehicles official and the redcoats were trying to register an old Triumph on a bill of sale — presumably handwritten with a quill and ink, on a scroll of parchment.
Hemmings is based in Bennington, Vermont, of course, but I live out of state and, until recently, commuted there to work. Years ago, I read on the internet that you could register a vehicle in Vermont without living there and the process was easier than in most states. At issue was my old Suzuki on/off-road motorcycle —a 1973 TC100 “Blazer.” I’m not entirely sure why I thought it was a good idea to drag home this little bike 15 years ago, or why I’ve kept it around this long. But, I did. And, as always, I’ve done nothing but waste money on it. (I’m guessing you all know exactly what I’m talking about and have a Suzuki-type skeleton or three in your closets, too.)
Anyway, with nothing but a bill of sale for the Suzuki in my possession, I thought it would be nice to have some actual, official proof of ownership. Not because I wanted to ride the stupid little thing down the road, and wind up as a 100-cc hood ornament on an Escalade, but to make the bike a little more legitimate. So, I sent off my paperwork with a check for fees and sales tax. Sure enough, Vermont sent me a registration and plates, which I’ve been renewing ever since.
I knew this wasn’t 100-percent kosher, but it beat having no registration, and besides, it was just a little motorcycle that I never rode anyway. Of course, that didn’t stop me from doing it again.
Earlier this year I went slightly nuts and bought another old bike, sight-unseen, from a guy halfway across the country. It wasn’t a ton of money to risk, and it was a bucket-list off-road motorcycle for me: a 1976 Penton 400 Cross Country. I’ve wanted a Penton for years and this one hit all the right notes. These bikes were (barely) road legal when new— they had lights, brake lights and a horn—but they were really off-road race machines. The seller had no paperwork but had started the process of registering the Penton in his state when failing health forced the sale of the bike. I paused for a second. I had zero intention of riding this thing on the road anyway, but it’d be nice to have some ownership paperwork. Then… I told him to send me a bill of sale and whatever he had. Hopefully the Great State of Vermont would come to my rescue.
Two months after I received that registration for my Penton, the good folks of the Green Mountains put a halt to this sort of tomfoolery once and for all. Apparently jamokes from around the country had been abusing the system, registering all sorts of sketchy vehicles in Vermont. Ugh, jamokes like me. Miscreants.
The Catholic guilt is overwhelming and, with who knows how many years left, I seek absolution from you for my vehicular sins. Also, I hear it’s easy to register stuff in South Dakota? Montana? Asking for a friend…
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