When we returned to town last Sunday evening, a new bike had been purchased over the weekend. Parked under the carport, its paper plates still smelled of the sharpie used to write the expiration date of the temporary registration.
Finally today, I got the occasion to walk over to check out this new playmate to the motorcycle sandlot. A white 2000 Yamaha Road Star 1600 hard-cased bagger.
I stood admiring the look and the lines of the bike when its owner wandered out of his apartment. I’m sure he needed to see why I was out there creeping on his bike.
I let him know that I liked the bike, asked some questions, and complimented him on his fine purchase. All this set him a little at ease.
“Those are my bikes over there,” I told him, thumbing at the pair of bikes resting in their own spot under the aluminum roof, a few sections down. This seemed to change everything and suddenly I had street cred.
We spoke a little longer and it seemed to get his juices flowing for a ride. He looked up to the dark clouded skies. Standing in my riding jacket and seeing my helmet resting on the back seat of the bike on which I had just rolled in, he trusted me when I suggested he should go. It could be hours before the next rain session.
He agreed and rolled out for a country scoot.
We had nothing in common but the name on the apartment complex and a love for the two-wheeled people movers. That usually is enough to be buds in the parking lot and equals in the eyes of the motorcycle gods.
Well, almost equals. I have TWO bikes and an extra 300cc on MY Yamaha.