Sunday, 25 August 2013
THE GREAT "NEW BIKE VS OLD BIKE DEBATE", BOTH SIDES ARE LOSERS SIMPLY BY DISCLUDING THE EXISTENCE OF ANY MERIT IN THE OTHER . . . . I LOVE OLD BIKES, OWNED THEM, RIDDEN THEM, WORKED ON THEM, BEEN PARTNER IN A BIKE SHOP SPECIALIZING IN THEM, TOTALLY LOVE EM . . . . NOT A MONSTER FAN OF ANYTHING NEW, PARTICULARLY CARS AND BIKES BUT THEY'RE NOT ALL BAD . . . . RIDE THE HELL OUT THEM AND THEY VERY QUICKLY BECOME OLD.
I wrestled with the dilemma of new versus old for the best part of four years before finally shelling out the clams for the skirtster back in August of 2010, knowing full well that in the eyes and opinions of many I'd be forever consigned to the 'noob', hipster, loser category of the global two wheeled cultural community. Only an old bike can do this, only an old bike does that, only an old bike is cool . . . . well, guess what . . . . it's right but it's wrong, it's true but it's false and mostly, it gives a whole mess of Johnny's-come-lately the crutch they need to feel like they've been part of something for a lot longer than they actually have, not to mention a cool prop to have in the background of the shots of them resplendent in the mandatory Pendleton, denim, Redwings and beards, as though they were the ones who came up with it all in the first place . . . . just remember, all those miles, all that time applied patina, the accumulation of grease and road grime was made possible by the previous owners and the passage of time, you're just cashing in on someone else's cool, I know it because I've done it and will do it again with Project Shoveller, there's nothing wrong with it, just don't over inflate your role in it, you're only a recent, blow-in custodian.
The thing I'm really loving about the Purple Penis as it approaches 50,000 klms on the clock and three years in my hands as only the second bike I've owned since new, is that every single scratch, each and every wear mark, all the tires it's chewed up, the bearings and bushes it's worn out have all been done with only my fat arse in the saddle, when it does finally take the inevitable dump while under power and umpteen miles from home, all the accumulated fatigue and stress that has led to that failure has been arrived at with only my hand on the throttle, with only my toe kicking on the gearshift and with only my foot dabbing on the brake pedal . . . . and to be brutally and bluntly honest, that is exactly why I bought it in the first place, it's never going to be sold, swapped or scrapped, because one day it will be twenty five years old and possessed of it's own life story and an equally rich patina, no matter what has changed at the Motor Company's HQ or in production methods for the worse, it'll be just another dumb, lovable, idiosyncratic old motorcycle . . . . I can guarantee you of that.
DIRTY, DUSTY AND ANOTHER 300 KLMS UNDER MY WHEELS . . . . GETTING OLDER BY THE DAY