Making Friends, Meeting People: Indian-Russian Relations Blowing People’s Minds

Making Friends, Meeting People: Indian-Russian Relations Blowing People’s Minds

When you’re out alone on the either the Enfield or the Ural, questions or conversations are to be expected when you stop. People are curious and I get that. When Kenny and I go out together on the both of them, it apparently blows peoples minds to the degree that they lose their grasp on reality.

People with even the most rudimentary knowledge of motorcycles are the most “interesting” exchanges.

fuzzygalore royal enfield

Sunday at the gas station.

Wooooooow. Wooow those are so cool.
::points and the Royal Enfield Kenny is filling up.::
What year is that?

It’s new. It’s a ’12.

Wow, yea. So cool. It’s new. I know a replica when I see one. 

It’s not a replica. 

What is it a copy of a Triumph?

It’s a Royal Enfield. They’ve been around a long time.

So is it a BSA, then?

No, it’s a Royal Enfield.

I though I was going to get away clean on this one since gas station friend was so wrapped up in Kenny. I suppose it’s hard to hide when you’re messing around with a giant orange Ural.

Now it was my turn.

Wow, look at this thing. This is wild. What is it?

It’s a Ural.

A  what?

A Ural. It’s from Russia.

Ural. Right. Nice. What’s it like going around turns? 

It’s not really like riding a motorcycle, it’s steering is more… direct. 

Right, yea. I need to get something like this for my wife. She can’t handle a motorcycle.

 

BURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRN!

 

5 Replies to “Making Friends, Meeting People: Indian-Russian Relations Blowing People’s Minds”

      1. Indeed, we’ve all heard about someone… Some of us have known someone… And the older we get and the longer we ride through life, the likelier it is we’ll all have known at least one person who…

        This, regardless of what we do, is something we must try to come to terms with–try, often repeatedly; try, usually unsuccessfully: We all must exit the stage eventually. It can be either while LIVING (in a motorcycle accident, perish the thought; in a giraffe stampede while running with antelope; or under a meteor while out contemplating the mysteries of the universe) or while cowering in the “safety” of our air-tight dwellings (from atrophy and bedsores and terminal translucence of the skin from under-exposure to good old sunlight).

        As weird as it might sound, I once heard a great story on this accidental topic: A woman told me that her grandfather died in a motorcycle accident, went down hard on a curve. He was 90. The dude was 90 freakin’ years old and was out riding his motorcycle. Damn! More power to him. What a way to go.

        Thoreau famously wrote “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived”.

        I propose that we adopt as a slogan an adaptation of this: We motorcycle because we wish to LIVE, to confront essential facts of life, and see if we cannot learn what it has to teach, and not, when we come to die, discover that we have NOT lived.

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