flownosaj
Flashlight Enthusiast
I finally made up my mind to sell my Suzuki Bandit.
My wife hated it. One of her friends, a co-worker is in a nursing home because of a drunk hitting the bike she was on. I'd seen too many post-accident injuries to know that they were never as safe as I told myself, and I could use the money.
So I Drove the bike down to the dealership in Austin the "back way" through Florence. Beautiful weather, little traffic on an early Friday afternoon.
The wind was rushing and trees where whizing by. The sky was perfect and the air had just a hint of a chill. I had that feeling I haven't had in a long time--I was free.
Gliding along at 75, I check the road ahead and mirrors behind--no cars anywhere. Hitting a straightaway I drop down a gear and crank the throttle back. If not for a good grip I'd be flying off the back--75 to 130 mph in mere seconds. I quickly drop back into the legal speed limit.
Then I hit I-35 and the accompanying Friday rushour traffic. I get pelted by a few pebbles and dust off the back of a semi. Lady in a mini-van cuts me off. She probably didn't see me--I'm invisible you know.
Off 35 and into Austin. God, my hand hurts from pulling the clutch in so many times. Someone's burning oil and it's noxious. My visor's splattered with bugs which wiping with my hand only smears into an opaque mulitcolor cataract.
I finally get to the dealership. He cuts me the check and I wait for my ride. I change out of my riding gear. The past 30 minutes in Austin remind me why I'm getting rid of the bike--dangerous and inconvenient.
My ride finally shows up.
As we're pulling away and past the row of bikes, she asks which one in the line up used to be mine. I point to the silver Suzuki 1200 Bandit. "It's been lowered about 2 inches so it sits low," I told her. It's the sharpest looking one on the lot. Looks custom--polished rims, all extraneous lettering removed, low profile signals, Holeshot performance pipe and a stage 1 jet kit. I feel a twinge of guilt as we pull away.
I kinda put the whole thing out of my mind while we drive back towards home. I enjoy the company and conversation. Not once did I mention the bike.
I get to the house and open the garage, wondering for a second why it seems larger than I remember. There's a big open spot next to the car where the Bandit used to sit. That's when some of the feelings started to come back. The ride down to Austin, the feeling of freedom; just me, the bike and the road--connected. Driving down to I35 was one of the nicest rides I've had in a while--a good last ride.
I'm really going to miss my motorcycle. /ubbthreads/images/graemlins/icon23.gif
-Jason
My wife hated it. One of her friends, a co-worker is in a nursing home because of a drunk hitting the bike she was on. I'd seen too many post-accident injuries to know that they were never as safe as I told myself, and I could use the money.
So I Drove the bike down to the dealership in Austin the "back way" through Florence. Beautiful weather, little traffic on an early Friday afternoon.
The wind was rushing and trees where whizing by. The sky was perfect and the air had just a hint of a chill. I had that feeling I haven't had in a long time--I was free.
Gliding along at 75, I check the road ahead and mirrors behind--no cars anywhere. Hitting a straightaway I drop down a gear and crank the throttle back. If not for a good grip I'd be flying off the back--75 to 130 mph in mere seconds. I quickly drop back into the legal speed limit.
Then I hit I-35 and the accompanying Friday rushour traffic. I get pelted by a few pebbles and dust off the back of a semi. Lady in a mini-van cuts me off. She probably didn't see me--I'm invisible you know.
Off 35 and into Austin. God, my hand hurts from pulling the clutch in so many times. Someone's burning oil and it's noxious. My visor's splattered with bugs which wiping with my hand only smears into an opaque mulitcolor cataract.
I finally get to the dealership. He cuts me the check and I wait for my ride. I change out of my riding gear. The past 30 minutes in Austin remind me why I'm getting rid of the bike--dangerous and inconvenient.
My ride finally shows up.
As we're pulling away and past the row of bikes, she asks which one in the line up used to be mine. I point to the silver Suzuki 1200 Bandit. "It's been lowered about 2 inches so it sits low," I told her. It's the sharpest looking one on the lot. Looks custom--polished rims, all extraneous lettering removed, low profile signals, Holeshot performance pipe and a stage 1 jet kit. I feel a twinge of guilt as we pull away.
I kinda put the whole thing out of my mind while we drive back towards home. I enjoy the company and conversation. Not once did I mention the bike.
I get to the house and open the garage, wondering for a second why it seems larger than I remember. There's a big open spot next to the car where the Bandit used to sit. That's when some of the feelings started to come back. The ride down to Austin, the feeling of freedom; just me, the bike and the road--connected. Driving down to I35 was one of the nicest rides I've had in a while--a good last ride.
I'm really going to miss my motorcycle. /ubbthreads/images/graemlins/icon23.gif
-Jason
