On yer bike

18 08 2012

So a colleague had a problem with his motorbike on Friday. Severe wheel wobble at low speed. Scarily wobbly. Too bad to contemplate the long ride up the Sea to Sky highway to Whistler for the weekend. Nothing for it – it had to visit the Harley Davidson garage ASAP. I agreed to follow in my sensible FOUR wheeled (air conditioned – it was close to 30degrees on Friday) vehicle, and bring him back to the office.

While he was inside deciding which arm and leg he’d trade for the pleasure of having it serviced at a pukka H/D garage, I stood outside watching life. There seems to be a strange fascination in these machines to some people. There was an unlikely posse of 3 men crooning over their motorbikes. Lovingly polishing the chrome with microfibre cloths. Huffing on the windshields to remove remnant bug splatter. Wearing the uniform black skinny Levis and black T-shirts – variously advertising their membership of some bike club or other. Number plates included Washington as well as the expected BC variety. But these men were old enough to know better. They were all North of 60, if they were a day!

The machines themselves look pig ugly I reckon (they are called “hogs” after all!). They purposely sound like they have a blown exhaust, and are well known for being unreliable, leak oil like a constantly excited nymphomaniac and are badly manufactured. Yet they are beloved by their owners. There was a neat line of other bikes awaiting the return of their owners. Don’t they just beg to be knocked over like dominoes? I resisted…




2 responses

20 08 2012
misfits' miscellany

How do you drop off a motorcycle?

20 08 2012
Quieter Elephant

Barry Sheen would know.

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