Pictures courtesy of Reliant Cars Ltd and Piaggio
ITALY IS ALWAYS thought of as the land of the olive tree and the vine but the ape is almost as prevalent. Forget all thoughts of hairy primates, because ape, pronounced ‘ap-pay’, is the for ‘bee’. But that doesn’t mean Italy has been overrun with buzzing insects either (or does it?) You see, Ape is the brand name for a wonderful little three-wheeled trucklet, and the peninsula positively swarms with them ! Its size makes it ideal for operating in the narrow streets of medieval towns and its robustness suits it to the countryside. Its strange appearance, not unlike an angular animal, would make it at home in a cartoon or even Noddy’s Toytown.
Apes are manufactured by the Piaggio Company of Pontedera, near Pisa, in Tuscany. The company has a long and diverse history in the transport industry. Grandfather Enrico began as a furniture maker. He moved into fitting out ocean liners, built rolling stock for electric trains and also manufactured aeroplanes and helicopters. In 1946, in order to provide ‘transport for all’, the company produced the famous scooter, the Vespa, so named because, as Enrico Piaggio, the grandson, declared: ‘Sembra una vespa’ - ‘It’s like a wasp’. Although some believe it does indeed look like a wasp with its rounded rear, I’m sure it refers to the engine note that we have all heard droning through the streets. In any case, it was a great success with fashion-conscious s, for whom the front fairing had been designed to keep their clothes protected.
Bee-ginnings
Vespa designer Corradino D’Ascanio then had the inspired idea of adding a box and two wheels to provide light industrial transport in parallel with the social transport of the scooter. In 1948 the new vehicle was launched and as the big brother to the Vespa (wasp), it seemed natural that it should be christened Ape (bee). It doesn’t look anything like a bee but it sure does sound like one and can be heard buzzing along many a country road. Whatever the name, essentially the Ape was half a Vespa pulling a supermarket trolley. It was an immediate success and was much used in the building industry and for deliveries to and from shops and markets. It played a vital role in the rebuilding of the economy in the 1950s.
The Bee as Art
The strange little three-wheeler is more of a phenomenon than just a vehicle so somehow it did not seem odd that Piaggio should publish ‘The Story of the Ape’, a glossy, lavishly illustrated, 100-page paean, nor that they should maintain a museum in its honour.
When I visited the Ape Museum (it is an easy walk from Pontedera station), the gallery section had a fine modern art exhibition ‘Il Tempo del Cuore’ - literally ‘the time of the heart’. The main gallery had rather too many Piaggio Gilera motorcycles for an Ape fan like me. What did catch my attention however were two special Apes: a rickshaw style three-seater developed for use in Asia and an extended articulated fire tender - definitely suited to the Toytown brigade. Outside in the real world, the company’s pride glowed from two impressive, glittering silver exhibits: a 1936 stainless steel electric train carriage and a two-engine propeller wartime aircraft.
Buying a Bee
The basic Ape 50 has only a 50cc ‘sewing machine’ engine but you do not need a licence to drive it. There have been several developments over the past 50 years: bigger engines (250cc and 500cc), the back section boxed in to create a vanlet and even the addition of a steering wheel and an extra wheel to make a four-wheeled van.
What roused my interest was the Cross Country - silver roll bars, front wheel nudge bars and two-tone colour schemes, even a radio aerial. It was designed as a fun wagon to appeal to the young ragazzi. Of course you’ve guessed it, as a 55 year-old I decided I was well within this niche market and couldn’t resist its charms, so I bought one. Painted in eye-catching scarlet with yellow upholstery it was shipped into town on the back of a flatbed lorry. friends seemed to know it had arrived before I did. My local accountant had followed its progress from his office window.
I now had the challenge of riding my newly-acquired beast. You do need some expertise as apart from a hand and foot brake, the controls - clutch, gears and throttle - are all hand-operated. I familiarised myself by trying to drive figures of eight in the local car park. There is only room for one of my size in the cab, so the garage man shouted encouraging instructions from the sidelines. After a while I set off with some trepidation. Other drivers seemed to be quite accommodating, not typical of Italy, and after a nerve-wracking maiden drive I made it safely back to my house. I now use it for hauling gas bombole, collecting wine, bringing back six-packs of sparkling mineral water and, of course, recycling the bottles. As I grind up the hill, pedestrians overtake me and wish me well, but I get there in the end! My dream is to drive it laden with olive branches at the head of a long procession of tractors around our Umbrian village as a parade for May Day. A heroic role indeed.
