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Northwind's Musings
 Bikes in the BelfryJuly 23, 2008 Story by NorthWind. Photo credits as noted I was sitting in the garage thinking about nothing mostly, and listening to the rain. Looking at my bike that needed washing. Again. Ought to just roll it back and let Mother Nature do it, but she's short of soap, and that's probably for the best. I got to thinking about bikes that have flown through my life. Some I've owned, and a lot that I might have just gotten a look at, but they've made an impression somehow. This motorcycling thing might be a disease or disorder. No, that's wrong. Well it certainly is a condition, for sure. The Impression and the Incident We all get this. Male or female, somewhere, sometime, you saw a particular motorcycle, and it made an impression. Probably nothing spectacular, like a motorcycle cop, or the hard-bitten rider who looked to have as many miles on him as the bike he rode (the owner and dog looking alike thing). Then there's the Incident where you got close enough, and heard the silent call, or felt the pull. Might have just been a ride on the back of one. For me, I don’t know. I knew my dad had a 175cc 2-stroke in post-war Germany for a time, never saw a picture. Did see lots of cops on Harleys around Toronto - 1960s, and some shady-looking characters. They all looked good to me, so it must have been the bikes, not the riders. First ride that I drove was a black French moped. Looked like something off the moon, and it stank, but I was hooked riding around in a laneway. Hell, that sounds like something illicit. Might just as well have been, the way our parents looked at it. Well, that's why we were in the laneway. The Early Stages A couple of my friends had older brothers, and in their group, it was all about bikes for a time. We hung around and soaked up the atmosphere and horseshit, getting in the way, hanging on every word like these guys were it. We were 14, and these men of the world might have been 17. One bought a 100cc Yamaha, and had it for a while til his girlfriend (or his mother, can't recall) made him sell it. Probably the girlfriend. Yeah, that must have been it. Can’t see him listening to his mom, but the girl, well...The other bought a 1967 Triumph Bonneville, and THAT bike set the hook for me. I remember scrubbing carb parts in a bucket of solvent with a toothbrush (mine) just for a ride afterward. He eventually sold it for a new Yamaha 250 Enduro. I stared at this shiny new thing, but I was stricken. "You,...you TRADED-IN the Bonnie? For...THIS?" These guys and their circle had some bikes that would be worth a mint today. A Honda 305 Dream, a Jawa, and a collection of British and other Japanese bikes. And the thing that made my knees weaker than any bikini-clad girl could - a big old pristine Zundapp. Well I was 14, ok? Took me a little longer to get my priorities straight. They stopped making opposed twins in 1957, I think. I walked around that beast for hours while he was chatting up the fairer sex. Looked more like a BMW than a BMW, and it actually made noise. A bit more flair to the fenders and styling. Like comparing plain Jane to Marlene Dietrich. To me, the thing called out to be loved, and I knew it needed what we now call Beach bars. But like any teenager at the time, he knew exactly what to do. Megaphones and ape-hangers. Turned a classic into a cartoon. Well it worked well for the Bonnie, but this? Sacrilege. The bike was totaled in an accident a few months later. Would a bike commit suicide out of shame?
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