There are 41 articles on this title. You are reading the article ranked and rated #9 by Helium's members.
It was just a small ad, hidden somewhere between reconditioned washing machines and local call centre opportunities. He read it again. And again. After a day entrenched in bureaucracy, the dream was allowed to float through the tempting pages of auto traders or regional buy & sells, or like tonight, set free to meander through the maze of the local classifieds.
It was weak at first, this dream, awakening from years of hibernation. He'd felt its first stirrings a year or two before the last kid made it through school. Beckoning from beyond the cloying fog of extended credit and domestic ritual, it promised exhilarating excitement. Roused from complacent musings, he reached for the phone. No harm in asking.
It was beautiful, everything he'd dreamed of. Gleaming chrome, flawless paint job and so much power. The 1400cc engine purred to life at the older man's touch. Sad eyes bid farewell to a faithful companion. It was too big. He was retiring to the Interior. He'd buy a smaller bike, once they were settled. Perhaps. Would he? Or would he let go of that dream and move on to another?
The mantle was passed. He listened to the stories, learned about each repair (had all receipts), and fondled the extras. Yes, the adjustable saddle would ease long rides. It WAS amazing how clear the intercom was. No question about it, there was definitely more than enough storage. It was done. It was beginning.
There'd been lots to learn. The safe riding course that revealed the intricacy of balance and dispelled all fantasies of cruising through vacations with a fidgeting passenger clinging to his jacket. He'd dug out his favourite leather boots and had them resoled and reinforced. Not sure which helmet he liked best, he'd bought them both. The metallic blue one would be much better in cold weather he'd explained to his wife. Even the tedious (and costly) processes of registering, licensing, and insuring his treasure were a joy. After all he was very used to bureaucratic process. He savored each step, the ultimate close at hand. Cradled between stacks of old National Geographic magazines and rows of spare automotive parts, the big machine rested. An aura of excitement emanated from deep within the metallic indigo. Soon, it promised.
The day dawned clear and sunny. The cool ocean breeze made the heavy leather jacket almost bearable. Removing a studded glove, he readjusted the ear lobe crushed beneath the helmet. He'd chosen the
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