Exchanging
I just scored a croissant and walk back to my bike. In the meantime, there are two recent two-wheelers and a few motorcyclists to prove that it is not too bad with the aging of our passion. That extremely high average age of motorcyclists is of course partly due to my great-uncle Garty. He once got his motorcycle license in colonial times. He is now 87 and still smokes without glasses. But he has not been riding an 50 for years. However, he counts bravely in the statistics.
Motorcyclists 2.0
One motorcyclist looks at me with a raised eyebrow in surprise. "Is that a classic or is it just old?" . He's just old. But he is still doing it well and I have grown a bit with it. “Does something like that still drive a bit?”. Mwah, I'm on my way to Venlo through the shortcut and apparently we're going the same way. “We can swap for a while. Just try". The idea of getting on a bike that looks less thought out than the Honda CB500R and isn't much younger than it is itself has to sink in. But it does appeal to him. We take a look at each other's bikes and think we understand. We are on our way. My new young friend is ahead because he is concerned about the clumsiness of his loaner bike to set the pace. It is great fun to ride your own motorcycle. An opportunity. By the way, I notice how much noise the exhausts make when you are behind your own pride. I suddenly understand the crying children who sometimes press their hands against their ears and tear themselves away from their moms to flee. The sound is a bit loud. But not bad. I think. A kind of thunderstorm behind the mountains. Or an artillery bombardment in Syria. "Whatever" Europeans say.
In the meantime, Thierry is going to drive faster and I am ashamed of the noise of his engine. I hear nothing on my Honda. Not even the ticking of the valves. Just some wind noise around my ROOF helmet. With the visor and the jib down, I get the aquarium feeling. Fish have a boring life. But the Honda sends wonderfully, comes nicely up to speed and feels like something that she puts in your inside pocket when you're done playing.
In the meantime, Thierry has discovered intermission when switching down. The boy has a feeling for it. The buildings next to the road bounce back the roaring barking from the 'Competition' dampers. At Venlo we say goodbye after a beer and discuss our findings. Thierry says radically bewildered: "That you used to ride on things like that!"
I fell for the charms of his Honda.
But comfortably my faithful twin knocks on his tank. He can still stay. Satisfied, he drops a drop of oil on the asphalt.
