It was a strange funeral of someone who had lived his life and trade in his very own way. The highlight of the ceremony was the man who walked quietly to the pulpit, greeted those present correctly and then said that he had only come to be sure and that the widow wished that from now on, now that her husband was dead, she would finally have a happy life to lead. He nodded kindly, left the lectern and the building.
A good number of those present continued to look gloomy with a look in which something hinted of "I could have said that". The after-seat was somewhat printed. But a lot of old things really came up. I had only known the deceased as a stubborn crotch tube XXL, but he did like old, thick engines, he drank better whiskey than I can afford and also smoked cigars.
On the way back I drove towards a dark blue, almost black sky with dirty sulfur yellow stripes and purple spots. A few seconds later I was soaked to the depths of my soul. I had a view right up to my sight. When I raised that, I felt like a monkey on a cargo bike in a car wash installation. Rolling out of fermented cutlery I roughly stopped on the verge where a brook washed down my left foot. Fortunately it was summer. The water was not all that cold yet. An 4WD that apparently had rain radar on board came with a good pace.
The tsunami that threw up its wide tires hit me. I put my moped against a tree and took refuge in a bus shelter further down the road and took a cigar out of its barely soaked box. Two cigars later it was dry. The K&N filters - only buy the real ones, we have measured that a set of imi's just lost 21 hp - of my engine proved that they let water through as easily as air. I beat them dry and drained the float trays. Fat two cylinders can be thirsty, but they prefer not to drink water.
A bit further on, parts of the road were flooded. Up to my axes. At home I left a very wet pile of clothing on the mat and let the surprised dog enjoy themselves. Wammes sees wet clothing as prey. But as a hunting dog he is 'soft in the mouth'.
I walked naked to the bathroom, dried myself and put on fresh clothes. And anyone who says that sex is better than dry clothes has never been wet. The wet pile of clothing was stowed away when I came downstairs. To the dog's regret. My love and I discussed the day with mild surprise.
The funeral, the downpour that we could see again later on TV. Oh yeah. I have inherited a Honda CB200 from 1978. Sad.
life is largely made up of choices, and you have to experience the consequences of that yourself
her choice to marry that kid and stay with him was her choice, her life.
luckily there are such women, otherwise I was probably alone ...
What is sad about inheriting a CB200?
Perfect slowing-down bicycle, great zip-line moped.
The sad thing is mine. Slowing down & strumming, that's what I have my Ural for. But he also had a Norton Atlas 🙂