Mr. Slow apparently has tired of the abundant Pavement Ends signs peppered around this area or maybe he has finally succumbed to all my whining about being bored with the uninspiring layout of our roads; or just maybe he wants to go off on some adventure? Dirt. Plenty of it around here and I’m plenty scared of it, but this girl conquers her fears (eventually). Maybe I should have kept my mouth shut about the only hope he ever has of getting me off the asphalt is a little unadulterated fun sliding sideways around a flat track. And by sideways I mean horizontally on metal, after vertically on rubber.
We were waiting on Ron of BMW of Atlanta to finish putting my bike and her handler into their customer database and write up the work order for us to sign, so the Pirate could get her now 2400-mile overdue 12K service and three minor recalls done; one of which was an updated owner’s manual, which told me among other things that it is now unlawful to operate the Pirate with her red coding pill inserted on public roads; one was a new sticker that goes somewhere under the fairing which is tremendously important; last but not least she was treated to an updated drop sensor and a new breather hose for the crank case. As I was browsing the gear selection, Mr. Slow told me he wanted to check something out and made a beeline to the adventure bikes.He’s really got it for the R1200GS Adventure in Shine Yellow Metallic. The same crappy yellow with a hint of puke green in the paint pail as this year’s new S1000RR color. Yuck. But he’s a weirdo, and his fashion sense is nowhere appropriate but on the golf course. I hope it was just the fluorescents casting the evil green shadow on what I thought was a sunflower kind of yellow from what I saw of this year’s RR online. I sat on the F650GS, which I take to be the smaller sister of the aforementioned monster; definitely more my size. After sitting on the R1200GS, just for giggles, I knew there was no way I could do anything but stay on the pavement with that giant of an Enduro, which is just his size.
We’re well on our way of becoming a couple of Warsteiner guzzling, Beemer riding, motorcycle racing, grownup kids who refuse to act their age; toilet humor is considered an art form around here and is graded on a 10-point scale.
Now, it’s just a matter of paying off both of our bikes to enable Mr. Slow to set his evil plan in motion. The plan to kill off Miss Busa and make it look like an honest goat trail tragedy, so he can collect the price on her overly-insured, adrenaline-fueled head (racing voids the warranty, after all) and live the sweet life of the rich (but not so much famous).
A message to the Dearest: Just remember, I will send you messages from beyond the grave by rearranging the alphabet magnets on the fridge. Please leave three sets of letters and numbers and a full collection of refrigerator poetry words, or crap is going to fly Poltergeist style. Just sayin’.
Holy Helena! What’s a chica to do when all of a sudden a load of options become available that previously were ummm…. forbidden fruit by compromising decree of the better half. Well, I suppose most dreams are dynamic, which is good in and of itself, but presents a host of new problems. Namely, how do you find the compromise between all the things you want to do, but would need three bikes to do it with? How do you know which one to choose, which characteristics are more important and which ones can be lived without or farkled on later?
It’s just another rant of mine. Something that’s been pulling me this way and that. The more research one does, the more one learns, the more confused the issue becomes. *sigh* Actually, I think I want four bikes, that way I can keep Kittyhog, too. Because I do love her so. Now, off to buy a lottery ticket so I can afford a house with a triple-car garage and room for five bikes (my 4 plus hubby’s, well maybe I can make do with three, I’m sure I could…. LOL)
The dilemma: 2 Sports Touring machines which are so close in pros and cons that I keep going back and forth on which one I really SHOULD get. The original dream bike (2009 Yama FJR1300A) or the once-runner-up (2009 Kawi Connie 14), which would be the safe choice because it happens to be hubby’s dream bike and if it doesn’t work out… he’ll take the hand-me-down and I go get the ‘original dream bike’. Was all pretty much settled, until we have another one of those convos, which started out of the blue about a topic that was long since buried due to compromise and respect, but not forgotten. He says: ‘You know, I know you really fell in love with that white Busa at the IMS and I know the ergos were perfect for you without modifications. You didn’t even have to tell me, I could tell by the shit-eating grin on your face. And who am I to tell you what you can and cannot have. I think you can handle her, you are responsible enough and safety-minded enough… blah blah blah’ Basically, he lifted the previously enforced ban on ‘crotch rockets.’ So here I am, plagued by another choice. I totally fell for that bike. It’s sexy, sleek. Can be farkled until the money runs out. I could turn this into a sport-tourer when I need it to, a commuter mostly and a track bike for when October rolls around. But should one decide by love alone???
I feel like a total dork. Like I’m fickle and flakey. Seems like everybody’s got a dream bike, ‘cept for me. Mine changes depending on the mood I’m in, and which side of the brain I’m currently thinking with. The right side is definitely fighting for supremacy with the left side. And I really wonder if my insurance agent will give me the Busa for the premium of an FJR if I promise to stay in Drive Mode ‘C’. ;P
Arrrrgh. I just wanna get my finances straight, sell my bike, go to the dealer and come home with something, just so this can finally end! *starts humming the tune to ‘Torn’*