When Mopeds ruled the roads! A forgotten Era of Teenage Freedom.

“Before the engines roared, before the garages smoked, there was a buzzing swarm of two-stroke freedom machines across the heartland.”

Someplace in time in a land far, far away: after the death of Disco, and prior to the rise of Grunge.

Before the age when you could be trusted driving a car, truck, motorcycle, "hell even a motorhome," there was the magical, mystical time when the world (and by world, I mean at least in Iowa) saw the rise and dominion of the mopeds.

And let me tell you, for few short years in the 1980s, mopeds were it.

Oh, in our sheltered Midwest world, we thought this was universal. (I have talked about it as I have moved around over the years only to get many "what the hell are you talking about looks, and comments".)

At 14 years old you could get your moped license and that single fact lit a fuse that burned across our small towns like gasoline on a bonfire.

Suddenly, kids who barely had hair on their chins, chests, or legs for that matter—were legally buzzing all over town, across backroads, from town to town.

For the parents of the 80's it was a blessing and a curse. Gone were the days of running the kids around, they could just take themselves. But once they had those keys, gone they were.

For us, yes those of us in that strange little window of time, it was truly a freeing experience. A strange social experiment of sorts, but one that framed a generation of us.

The Machines

At least from what I can remember Honda Express was king—the buzzing wonder with a spring-loaded kickstart and a sound somewhere between a chain saw and an angry bee swarm, available in a handful of basic colors. (Mine was blue).

The wealthier kids had the Yamahopper, a little fancier, a little quicker, like the spoiled cousin at the family reunion.

My own Blue Honda Express came via a girl selling it who had evolved to the age of car ownership. 16 in Iowa.

She said it hadn't run in at least a year, wasn't sure if it did run any longer.

It had this oversized white aftermarket seat on it that really stood out. Not in a good way for a teenage boy. I handed over my $50.00 and she handed me the title and keys.

Some of you reading this remember 14-year-old Glen. (Me)

Well, the key chain was a leather tab that had rhinestones on it, it said "MAXI". I looked at it for a minute, I said umm. MAXI? She said without breaking a smile. Yeah, MAXI PED.

"Well, Ok", I said taking the key chain off, "you should keep this to remember MAXI by."

On the truck, then off to the house, where a battery, carb cleaning, and spark plug had the Honda EX, fired up and running like a, well a Moped.

I cruised around all over town, buzzing quite literally here and there.

Thankfully within a couple weeks someone stole the oversize white seat while it was parked at the back of the Muscatine Mall. (If you stole it, and are reading this, I never had a chance to say thank you).

I grabbed a used seat with some tears in it. Minus the great white seat (which in retrospect only needed a string on the front to make it complete) some duct tape later, and the Honda EX seemed to have just a touch more testosterone I believe. (I am sticking to that story).

So, for about a year, I was part of the gang, buzzing around, terrorizing, enjoying motorized freedom that exceeded my previous bicycle freedom by, well by 5 MPH, and a lot less peddling.

The Basics for Non Iowegians, or the younger crowd.

• Iowa was moped country in the 80s the law said at 14 years old you could get a “moped license” without a full driver’s license. That made mopeds the golden ticket to freedom before you could get a car.

  
  

• To qualify as a moped in Iowa, it had to be under 50cc and capped at around 30 mph. (Of course, plenty of kids found ways to “tweak” the restrictor plates or swap out carbs and exhausts to get them faster.)

  
  

• Helmets weren’t required, though some parents insisted. Most of us just rode in shorts, T-shirts, and whatever sneakers were handy. Safety was… negotiable, and street signs were mere suggestions.

  
  

The Craze

• They were cheap to run: you could fill the tank with change from under the couch cushions, 80–100 mpg easy.

  
  

• For rural and small-town Iowa kids, mopeds = independence. Suddenly you weren’t stuck waiting for mom’s station wagon, you could cruise into town, loop the Dairy Queen, or run out to a buddy’s farm.

  
  

• Mopeds became this whole pre-car social network. You’d see packs of 14- and 15-year-olds buzzing around like hornets, parking 5 or 6 deep outside Hardee’s, gas stations, or movie rentals.

  
  

• The craze came with what always comes with a craze, accessories, customization, and tinkering to see just what we can make these things do.

  
  

The Culture

• Some treated them like bicycles with engines. Others tricked them out: chrome mirrors, milk crates on the back for carrying 12-packs or fishing gear, even spray-paint jobs.

  
  

• A few mechanically inclined kids treated them like baby Harleys — rejetting carbs, porting cylinders, changing gearing so they’d scream past 40 mph. Illegal, sure, but half the cops just shook their heads.

  
  

• Still, for 14-year-olds? Nobody cared. Mopeds meant freedom. Freedom at 14. Gas for less than a buck. Packs of kids terrorizing small towns at 30 mph.

  
  

• Driveways clogged with buzzing little machines. Fathers yelling: “Get those damned peds out of the yard!” Lawns flattened, oil stains spreading, mufflers rattling.

  
  

Yes, it happened!

And then there were the chicks—God bless ‘em.

Picture this: tight jeans, Walkman radios, sporty little foam headsets safely tucked behind impervious Aqua Net fortifications that would rival modern ballistic armor plate.

The Aqua Net–fortified hairstyles standing like monuments against the rushing wind. Some of those curated hairdos would’ve survived a category five hurricane, let alone a 28 MPH moped ride.

The sights, the sounds, the smells—it was a sensory circus.

Dudes were not exempt from the craziness; (or the 80's hair) we had boom boxes bungeed to the back racks blasting Motley Crue, Ratt, Def Leppard over the incessant buzz of the ped...

At least for the hour or two that 8 D batteries would last in one of those old power gargling boom boxes.

Good lord it was glorious!

Cottage industries popped up too—chrome racks, goofy baskets, duct-taped seats, and anything you could scavenge from a junkyard.

And the hills. Lord help you if you had to ride up a hill. Mopeds didn’t climb hills—they whined, wheezed, and begged forgiveness while their riders kicked the ground like Flintstones trying to help them over the hump.

But on the flats? Twist that throttle and feel the wind in your face. Twenty miles per hour never felt so much like freedom.

The Fall

And then—like a firecracker that burns bright then fizzles—it was gone.

Maybe the laws changed. Maybe we just outgrew it. Maybe the reality of real cars, jobs, and bigger engines drowned it out.

But for those few years? Mopeds weren’t just transport. They were central to our lives.

They gave us a taste of freedom, responsibility, and speed—setting the stage for what came next.

Because when the mopeds finally died (and oh, did they die—usually smoking their last breath on a gravel road somewhere)…

But those buzzing little bees taught us more than we realized: freedom tastes sweet, speed is never enough, and once you feel the wind in your face—there’s no going back.

That was the beginning. Everything after was just louder, faster, and riskier.”

we moved on to garages, junkyards, and real horsepower.

The buzz of mopeds was just the warm-up act.

The roar of engines, college days, mortgages, families, and life beyond, was waiting in the wings.

“Like the Garage Days, these moped years passed like dusk to dawn—gone before we knew it.

Just another memory to pull off the shelf and smile about… before the engines roared louder.”

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