It was a sad weekend.
2006 saw approximately 9000 kilometers pass under the rubber tread of the Hammerhead a.k.a. The Silver Jet (Paul from the Hip finally saw the bike a week ago and approved of both names; Gord was more fascinated with Nolan's way with words...which is to be expected as he is somewhat lyrical)
Still, I Repress...
Saturday saw me outside in the fridgid air of post positive temperate Northwest Calgary, clad in stormriderish apparel cum western wear, winterizing my muse. I hand-washed her first, an ice-cream container filled with warm water and vinegar being the baptismal vessel of choice. Wash, dry, wash, dry...I avoided streaks on HER but my cheeks bore them; but that was the frozen wind tearing my eyes....honest.
With each caress of the shammie I was taken back to a moment or place we shared together:
- Memorial Drive, my Eleanor in the Spring
- 567, 772, 574 & 580 - the back roads to the North and the pubs coming back ending at Symon's Valley Ranch
- The 2006 Poker Run - 3's full of Kings and some new friends on 2-strokes
- The Okanagan (twice)
- Kananaskis (again, twice) and learning this weekend while changing the bulbs on the Beluga that Alex was in an accident recently; bike written off and Alex out of commission with broken bones for 6-8 months
- Morning rides to the Starbucks on 17th Ave; reading Sun Tzu was a Sissy by Stanley Bing
- Taking the kids for rides, each wanting equal time/kilometerage
With engine warmed to optemp (a word that I may have just invented) I placed the container below my centerstand supported friend, and took out the plug; lifeblood flowed dark yet clear from her, heating the surrounding air enough to produce steam which rose as if it were the spirit of the bike going to a better place. I needed an Eagle feather, just then, but had none...instead I used a 17 mm Mastercraft wrench to help send the spirits to the next world.
I have not yet fully accepted this period of separation; there is still a chain to lube and stabilizer to dilute...and carb bowls to drain; the final act of sleep.
Next weekend maybe...
This winter will be cold, without the touch of steel and rubber to kindle the fire within; the wind will not caress my stubble for the next 5 months unless I am on a sled or my snowboard.
These are sad times.
This was very self-indulgent.
I hope Marty approves.
2 comments:
My reactions to your Zen and the Art of Motorcyle Storage run the gamut.
While I know and share the heart rending that is the season's end - for today I took Naked/Sexy out for what will likely be the season's final burn - I also found your prose somewhat erotic. I never realized one could put such a soft porn spin on description of the all-hallowed ritual of the Winter Storage Ceremony.
So here I am - feeling both very fahklempt and a little bit aroused.
I do take some exception to a couple facets of your post though. "Unless" you're on your board? That's like an "if", no? What 'if', Deewddd? Get her tuned! Chaw!
What really didn't sit well with me though? Your decision to not make any reference to how you're looking so forward to us spending the off-season working on our music together again.
And finally, yes, of course I approve. Hey, I like to think I put the 'i' in self-indulgence.
But I Digress™
I'm thinking of taking Baby out for a ride today. I need to console myself since if I hadn't broken up with my last boyfriend we would have spent the last week in Vegas with our bikes.
(Note to self: I love my new boyfriend, I love my new boyfriend, I love my new boyfriend...)
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