 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Dave's blog: compare-and-contrast essay about the author's experiences of motorcycle tours in Europe during different chapters in life, about 25 years apart.
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
My career as a motorcyclist began on one of those squinty-eyed summer days in Europe, when the iffy sunshine and slate-bellied clouds made it hot and muggy enough to stick to the vinyl upholstery of the weatherbeaten car I was riding in..
I had bummed a ride in to town with a coworkder from my squadron named Antonia. She was a cutie from Southern California who, like me, had joined the service to see the world. We were stationed at a tiny German Village called Sembach, and on this day had ventured out to visit a BX (military jargon for "shopping mall") at a slightly less tiny town called Vogelweh.
The young ladies who dotted the roadside were probably the thing this strip of road was known for best, though there was also a small cycle shop where young soldiers could find credit, discounts, and the sense of freedom that comes with having a motorcycle.
The little plywood showroom had a lineup of Kawasakis, all of which looked appealing amid the engines, chrome, and curvy gas tanks.
|
|
|
|
I browsed the shop rather sheepishly until the the shop's staff- a young woman, pulled the cheapest bike for me--a shiny new 1981 Kawasaki LTD 440. I straddled the bike and felt the controls while the sales pitch went on: "Electric start...belt drive, no chain to clean.." I didn't dare ask how many of my ninety dollar a week paychecks this machine would cost, though as Antonia climbed aboard, that seemed to become less of a concern. Since there were no test drives, this test-sit was to be my only preview of the ownership experience. Let's see: Gauges, engines, chrome pipes, cycling buddies, and amid the smell of lumber and fresh tires--perfume, thanks to Antonia.
"I'll take it" I said, and began my career as a motorcyclist.
click for next page
|
|