Four Years Gone

As I was walking past my bikes to get to my car this morning, I realized that I've owned my Bonneville for nearly four years.  In fact, it will be four years this March 20.

During the past four years, my Bonneville and I have had some interesting adventures together.  They were not globe-trotting adventures on par with Ted Simon's but they were still fun.  I thought I'd highlight a few adventures to celebrate our four year anniversary.  So what if it's early, I've got nothing better to write about!

I picked up the bike on a Thursday after work.  I got home as quickly as possible, threw some gear on and hopped on my '77 Suzuki GS550B, the bike I was trading in.  It was a bit chilly, around 40 degrees F, when I left so I didn't really go crazy with my gear.  I figured that since it's Spring, it won't get much colder than it is.  I got to the dealer, signed my life away and then waited while they prepped it.  While they were prepping it, the temperature dropped.  It actually dropped a lot.  There's a bank near the dealer and its outside thermometer read 22 degrees F.  The temperature had dropped over 20 degrees in the span of an hour.

Clearly, the ride home would be cold.

I just didn't know how cold.  I had minimal experience with cold weather riding and had never ridden in temps lower than 40 F for an extended period of time.  Combine that with being under dressed and you have a recipe for a very chilly ride.

I hopped on my new bike and went off, carefully getting acclimated with my new purchase.  In addition to having more power, the Bonneville had a lot more torque than the Suzuki and both peaked lower in the rev range.    Needless to say this made the bike feel very fast at first.  As I got to the redlight about one mile from the dealer, I ceased to feel anything else.

The feeling had already left the tips of my fingers by this time.  I had my "cold weather" gloves on, which are regular motorcycle gloves with another pair of cotton gloves underneath, and they weren't working.  There are frequent stops in this particular area and the heat radiating from the engine helped keep me warm a little.  At one redlight, I heard the bike's idle speed raise a bit and looked down to see the AIR injection had kicked on.  I stared helplessly as my gorgeous chrome pipes with all of five miles on them turned blue before my eyes.  Four years later, the pipes are a rainbow of chrome, blue and gold.

I quickly got out of town and onto the backroads.  They're miles and miles of gentle curves taken at 50-60 mph.  Not this time, though.  Not only did I have slippery new tires to watch out for but this set of backroads are heavily tree-lined.  That means shade and shade means cold temps.  I distinctly felt the drop in temperature as I got on the road.  After a few miles my teeth were chattering.  A few miles after that my whole body was shaking.  My eyes were starting to water and I was losing concentration.  Cold air was starting to seep past the air vent zippers in my leather jacket, penetrating the sweatshirt I was wearing underneath the jacket.

The backroads ended and deposited me onto a four-lane highway.  I had to travel down the highway a bit, go through a town, cross a bridge and then travel down more four-lane highway.  The bridge crossing was interesting because I really felt the cold coming off the river.  After crossing the river, I had exactly six miles of highway to cover.  Six miles doesn't seem like much at all.  In fact, it isn't much.  The New York Marathon is over 26 miles long and people (crazy people) run that.

Six miles, however, is a long distance when it's well below freezing, you're on a motorcycle and you aren't dressed properly.  I ducked down on my shiny new gas tank as much as I could and went for it.  The miles passed with a near-constant stream of salty snot running from my nose into my mouth.  This was not one of those romantic motorcycle moments you see in Hollywood films. 

I pulled off the highway, into the last town and made my way toward my house.  The final bit to my house passed in a instant; I don't remember it at all.  I remember pulling in the garage, shutting the bike off and going inside.  I plopped down on the couch in all my gear and just stayed there.  Once I could recognize that there was a body attached to end of my neck, I walked out to the garage and admired my new bike. 

Man, did it look good. 

It was awash in shiny chrome, shiny paint and shiny plastic.  Everything is only new once and this was my moment to relish with my perfect bike.  There were no scratches nor were there imperfections of any kind.  My Bonneville will never be as perfect as it was at that moment.  I remember spending an inordinate amount of time just looking at the bike; crouching down to look underneath, touching the seat and the controls, gazing over the perfect paint.

What's funny is that four years later, I still do the same things.  Even though the bike is far from the perfection of when it was new, I still stop and look at it.  And when I look at it, I don't see the scratches on the fork legs, the wear on the side covers or dirt clinging to the back wheel.  I see the bike the same way as I did the day I brought it home: awash in shiny chrome, shiny paint, and shiny plastic.

It was awash in perfection then and it still is now.