so the bastard found himself a new way to take his own life recently. sounds melodramatic doesn't it? seriously, if i wanted to find a way off this crazy ride i would find something a hell of alot more efficient than crashing on a motorcycle. that could hurt.
anyway, all black humor aside, i always wanted one. ever since i sat on uncle acid's honda when i was a kid i wanted one. i started to push on the idea in high school but the shrink always had some way of getting your paranoid on. it always was some kind of complex formula of reverse psychology and catholic guilt that kept any of the three of us from taking any risks.
"well son, i don't want to have to go down to the morgue and i dentify the body"
"but dad, i'm just going out bike riding after sundown". mind you, bicycling. i was 16 at the time. but you get the idea so my approach towards getting a motorcycle in my teens got waylaid. then again, so did my desire for a stick shift car ("what do ya need that for, you're only going to get speeding tickets") and my desire to backpack across europe but, by that point i had already settled into a routine of wonderring what kind of "me dying" scenario would come up in conversation with the shrink so i never bothered. the mofo and i have gone on at length abut the family disease but i digress:
So, i was looking at motorcycles on ebaymotors, you know, just to look when i came across this little number. 1971 honda cb175. small motor, cheap price. i showed it to the shrink while he came downstairs to do his weekly obsessing over his bills and he shook his head. that sunday, i put in a bid for 700 bucks, not expecting to win the auction. i wake up the next morning and voila, the bastard owns a motorcycle and i have to learn how to drive it. this might have been easier when i was young and invulnerable but then again that's what denier fabric and fiberglass are for. heaven help us.