When we were walking down the street in NYC a few weeks ago, we cruised passed this old BSA that was parked on the street. It was plated and appeared to be currently registered so I assume it is a runner and perhaps a daily rider. I have no idea just how old it is but it was looking a bit, how shall we say… ‘lived in.’
Each bike has a secret life, rich with memories that the passer by knows nothing of. I feel pretty confident that there were a lot of memories on those wheels and I hope that they were more good than bad.
There was a time in my riding life that I absolutely worshipped my motorcycles for their aesthetic beauty. The slightest scratch, scuff or nick being something that would make me cringe. That isn’t to say that I would no longer be upset if i put a big, honkin’ gouge across my tank with a screwdriver, but, I don’t sweat the little stuff like i once did. This could be attributed to any number of things, I suppose. It could be due to economics, age, my overall outlook on life changing over the years or maybe a combination of all of those things.
So here I am on the precipice of letting one of my own “old” bikes go. I haven’t ridden her in at least 2 years and at this point my 98’ Kawasaki 6R just taking up space in that garage that could be used for something else. What that something is… well, who knows? Life is mysterious that way. I guess like a child you have to know when it’s time to let them go out in to the world to share life and experiences without you. Bittersweet, this is. This will be the first time I’ve sold a bike as opposed to destroying it by tangling with a minivan. There are so many friends, memories and experiences which were unique to my time on the old 6R. I will miss seeing her out in the garage but would be happy for the person who ends up with her to enjoy her as much as I did.
And with that… I feel like I am emotionally ready to let her fly. It’s been a long time coming.