The old motorcycling is back
A motorcyclist who had given names to the dust patches in his eternal student flat. A motorcyclist who pushed his motorcycle into his room, started it there and fell asleep. To the dismay of his roommates. The Norton also made a lot of noise on zero load with its Dunstall Decibel 'Red Cap' dampers. When the door was kicked in, the angry fellow residents saved the life of the snoring motorcyclist who was already well on his way to carbon monoxide poisoning. The parts dealer who was also the treasurer for his favorite brand club and used the club's money for his own trade. He received a beating twice a year for that. But he remained in office. Because nobody supplied parts as cheaply as XXXX did.
A ride to France that was driven all the way in jeans, a T-shirt and a flapping denim jacket. Sjoerd who, like a kind of Joe Bar pilot 1.0, always drove full throttle so that 'he was already over before anything could happen'. Sebastiaan popped a Simca 1100 at the back, flew over the roof, landed on the asphalt before the car… and was run over by the same Simca. Bert who only kept up with him because he was able to get through the corners faster with 'Matje' as a ballast than when he piloted solo. Alloys who from a higher sphere saw a VW Bus for a kangaroo and wanted to kill the beast.
Those are just some memories from an 40 + year-long motorcycle life.
Great all of them. Motorcycling then stood for youth, limited finances, thirst, sense of unplanned adventure and some scrapes and fractures. And as long as you were not too drunk to find your motorcycle you could take it home. That with what, what might now be called a 'lifestyle', what people disappeared from view? Oh well ... That was collateral damage. Sometimes you will find some friends from that time. And I have to say that it is still a different kind of motorcyclists than the knights of the road of today, almost radioactive fluorescent Kevlar. For old skool motorcyclists it is a staggering experience that all bikers go to the mineral water en masse during a meeting with modern motorbikes the night before the next day's tour. "Come. We're going to bed men. We have to go fresh tomorrow ". People who digitally plan a trip of the week per hectare marker and who crash themselves when their GPS collapses.
Doesn't a motorcyclist always have an ordinary card in his boot shaft or under his buddy? The tigers of that time, the baby boomers of today will no longer bring the adventure back to motor land. But the new generation of motorcyclists who were born in the Randstad and are steadily expanding, they all get it again. They don't have a bag of golden hand prints to wear out. But they buy, renovate and enjoy their own taste with appropriate, usually older Japanese engines. Engines that are technically okay but have no actual commercial value. That's how the old skool motorcyclists started.
And look at how many GSsen, Goldwings and Harleys that ended? In 020 and 010 you can see them dancing bravely through the urban bustle, the motorcyclists 2.0-M / V. Often they are even dressed trendy and if male, with neatly groomed savage beards. They drink specialty beers and are even vegetarian on a regular basis. But it is motorcyclists who are taking over the flag. They are the future classic enthusiasts. And before? In the past not everything was better. And the classic world is never lost.
But why are scramblers almost obliged to have a spring roll as a seat?