Oldschool
Moderator
Winter’s Long Shadows
December has just arrived and yet winter’s long shadows have cast their pall upon my spirit. I read of my southern brethren and their fall adventures. The latest technology adds misery, to see clear roads while outside snow and ice carpet mine. Even the rare day where the mercury rises above freezing the roads are mostly unfit for two wheels. Shaded spots lurk with small ponds of ice. Salt and gravel pollute the bare asphalt. Double-digit temperatures increasingly rare and short lived, just enough to tease.
My Canadian pride and love of the geography around me wavers at this time of year. I try to reason with myself that “it happens every year” and “it will only be a few months”. It seems this time to fall on deaf ears. It is worse this season than in as long as I can remember, and with good reason. After years of wanting and resisting the purchase of a new machine finally came to an end. Late this past summer out of sheer desperation I took the plunge and purchased a new bike. My obsession and passion for motorcycles has had resurgence. For the last decade this passion has been somewhat muted by several factors. One a job that was all consuming and kept me away from home and two, money. The last factor was the machine that I already owned.
The 24-year-old machine, although pristine and well maintained was just not suitable for me any longer. Despite my denial, it was getting hard on my aging body. That had been the case for some years. I had not been able to justify (to myself) replacing it when it still worked fine. Replacing it and the subsequent cost for doing so would mean doing without something else. I plugged along, riding every chance I got, even touring on it in later years as time and job allowed. It took days to recover from the longer rides but I stubbornly refused to give in. I had become more cautious in my riding realizing that parts had become near impossible to get due to the bike’s age. This realization came home to roost when the charging system failed this past spring. Many long hours searching the Internet fruitlessly, one false hope and then defeat. There was still a part number but no stock being made. The rehabbed part that was shipped from overseas at great cost failed shortly after installation. Most of a summer’s riding gone in the process. The old girl was put away carefully should the time come to resurrect her. At the time it felt like having an old friend die. I was miserable, a mix of anger, frustration, and despair. My family and co-workers were all too aware of my misery. I began scouring the Internet and newspapers for used bikes with certain criteria in mind. I knew what I wanted, I really always had. Finding a used machine that fit all the wants and needs proved to be too time consuming as the summer slipped away. More agonizing, number crunching and spousal support and finally a new bike. Like gas on a fire, the new bike to my soul.
Then came winter, nature’s cruel joke for northern riders. For a person who’s passion is motorcycling winter feels like a fist clutching your heart. You begin to relate to zoo animals, used to running free and being caged. You console yourself with projects on the machine to keep yourself busy. You read about what’s new in the world of motorcycles and go to the winter shows. Shows that are there to keep the hibernating rider’s interest from waning, or at least their wallets from closing. You plan grandiose trips for the following all too short season.
Nothing really helps and so you suffer and wait and watch out the window, as the shadows grow longer.
Oldschool
December has just arrived and yet winter’s long shadows have cast their pall upon my spirit. I read of my southern brethren and their fall adventures. The latest technology adds misery, to see clear roads while outside snow and ice carpet mine. Even the rare day where the mercury rises above freezing the roads are mostly unfit for two wheels. Shaded spots lurk with small ponds of ice. Salt and gravel pollute the bare asphalt. Double-digit temperatures increasingly rare and short lived, just enough to tease.
My Canadian pride and love of the geography around me wavers at this time of year. I try to reason with myself that “it happens every year” and “it will only be a few months”. It seems this time to fall on deaf ears. It is worse this season than in as long as I can remember, and with good reason. After years of wanting and resisting the purchase of a new machine finally came to an end. Late this past summer out of sheer desperation I took the plunge and purchased a new bike. My obsession and passion for motorcycles has had resurgence. For the last decade this passion has been somewhat muted by several factors. One a job that was all consuming and kept me away from home and two, money. The last factor was the machine that I already owned.
The 24-year-old machine, although pristine and well maintained was just not suitable for me any longer. Despite my denial, it was getting hard on my aging body. That had been the case for some years. I had not been able to justify (to myself) replacing it when it still worked fine. Replacing it and the subsequent cost for doing so would mean doing without something else. I plugged along, riding every chance I got, even touring on it in later years as time and job allowed. It took days to recover from the longer rides but I stubbornly refused to give in. I had become more cautious in my riding realizing that parts had become near impossible to get due to the bike’s age. This realization came home to roost when the charging system failed this past spring. Many long hours searching the Internet fruitlessly, one false hope and then defeat. There was still a part number but no stock being made. The rehabbed part that was shipped from overseas at great cost failed shortly after installation. Most of a summer’s riding gone in the process. The old girl was put away carefully should the time come to resurrect her. At the time it felt like having an old friend die. I was miserable, a mix of anger, frustration, and despair. My family and co-workers were all too aware of my misery. I began scouring the Internet and newspapers for used bikes with certain criteria in mind. I knew what I wanted, I really always had. Finding a used machine that fit all the wants and needs proved to be too time consuming as the summer slipped away. More agonizing, number crunching and spousal support and finally a new bike. Like gas on a fire, the new bike to my soul.
Then came winter, nature’s cruel joke for northern riders. For a person who’s passion is motorcycling winter feels like a fist clutching your heart. You begin to relate to zoo animals, used to running free and being caged. You console yourself with projects on the machine to keep yourself busy. You read about what’s new in the world of motorcycles and go to the winter shows. Shows that are there to keep the hibernating rider’s interest from waning, or at least their wallets from closing. You plan grandiose trips for the following all too short season.
Nothing really helps and so you suffer and wait and watch out the window, as the shadows grow longer.
Oldschool
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