"MY MATE'S MARVELOUSLY MAGICAL MOTORCYCLE MUSEUM" . . . . IN THE BACKWOODS OF SOMEWHERE NEAR SOMETHING LURKS A SERIOUS MAN-CAVE STUFFED TO THE EYEBALLS WITH TERRIFICALLY TASTY TWO WHEELED TREASURES . . . . A COMPACT YET EXCELLENT COLLECTION OF SOME TRULY CLASSIC MOSHEENS . . . . ON A STINKING HOT ARVO I PUNTED THE 'PURPLE PENIS' OUT TO THE PONDEROSA TO PONDER AND PERVE . . . . I CAME, I SAW, I DROOLED !!!

I've had the pleasure of knowing Geoff for nearly twenty five years, a fair dinkum Aussie Renaissance Bloke, a brain the size of a planet, a heart as big as an ox, staunch and true, no bullshit and a spirit and soul that you just don't come across too often, an old school gent by any measure. It was the 'G' who had been in my ear for years to get with the program and park my arse on one of Milwaukee's finest, despite my well known and long held aversion to actually ever owning one given my predilection for the offspring of Edward Turner's Speed Twin . . . . and it was the Big Unit who greeted me with 'about bloody time' when I strode into Morgan and Wacker to slap down the reddies for the deposit on the Skirtster, he also happens to be one of the finest and most knowledgeable parts specialists in the country, known and respected across this wide, brown land as a great bloke with a capacious mind for part numbers from Knuckles to Twin Cams and every fucking thing in between, and what they've superseded into or what can do exactly the same job, a freak and a doyen of the marque and its century plus history.

I reckon the reasons that drew us together initially were twofold, we loved music, comedy, trivia, history, film and other ephemera and, despite our individual personal preferences for choice of sickle, we both just loved motorcycles, all of them, good, bad and indifferent, if the fucker had two wheels and a motor, we were all over finding out more about it and had been since childhood . . . . nothing's changed one jot, other than now, instead of owning one everyday ride and some form of shovel project jigger, he has recently accumulated this splendid little flock of classics that really reflect his broad spectrum passion for bikes and their place in his life. He's hunted them all down himself over the last eighteen months, all from the States, all utterly authentic, and all in fine fettle, using his super fund with a view to eventually selling a few to make an honest profit . . . . given that his so-called fund was going rapidly tits up things have turned out pretty bloody well I think . . . . couldn't happen to a nicer chap !!! Thanks for the treat mate, see you soon.

For the record, the line-up consists of the following - 1946 Indian Chief, 1957 Panhead, 1969 U.S spec T150 Trident, [yes, they came with the Breadbox tank], 1973 Kawasaki Z1A 900 and a 1982 FLH . . . . anyone who knows their shit will realise the significance of each model and why they have earned their spot on the floor of the shed, anyone who doesn't probably needs to start doing more than just following blogs and looking at pretty pictures . . . . funny thing, the only one that doesn't drop any oil is . . . . that's right, you guessed it, the Trumpy . . . . the irony was not lost on either of us.