The next best thing to riding a horse
After many months of pondering and research, I finally acquired a steed.
The 2006 Kawasaki Wind.
And with all formidable destriers, a name. This one is Fandango.
This mount carries a four- stroke, kick-start, manual transmission, 125cc K- TEC engine. Since it’s a Kawasaki, it’s also fairly easy to find parts around the kingdom. It’s not an overwhelming and mouth- watering 600cc speed bike that can get through the long expressways, but neither is it the common underbone bike we see everyday. Not that I dislike underbones; in fact, according to research, the Honda XRM and the Suzuki Raider are top- class motorcycles with high ratings. But well, I just wanted something bigger. And different. Something that I could call “my bike”. And yeah, something a little bad ass would help. I must admit that although I have never learned how to fly, I’m thinking that riding a motorcycle is the next best thing.
Of course all vehicles have risks. Cars, trucks, airplanes, rocket jetpacks, Plutonian space shuttles, heck even horses. Motorbikes though, only allots a very, very, small margin for error, whatever they may say.
Going on 60 with a sedan and colliding with a pickup, regardless of whose fault it is, generally ends up with you talking with the driver of the pick up.
Going on 60 with a motorbike and colliding with a pickup, regardless of whose fault it is, generally ends up with your family talking with the driver of the pick up.
And you on the way to some other beautiful place with no beer.
This margin can be increased to the rider’s favor through careful driving, proper bike management and some pretty sturdy gear (pretty and sturdy gear I mean). Nonetheless, even if I become the avatar of all safety regulations in all the lands, and even if I wear enchanted full plate armor, there’s nothing I can do if a 16- wheeler truck, which is driven by a blind and drunk 10 year old listening to Megadeth, which also loses its breaks, which is also conveniently fashioned with deadly poison spikes and a blood- covered battering ram, sends me to the land of my forefathers and makes me as extinct as medieval times.
Other than that particular scenario, if something happens and I go do something stupid, say like drinking and driving, texting while driving, racing with other riders, showing off, or trying out stunt man stuff, you’ll probably know why this journal suddenly becomes stagnant.
In a manner of speaking, I’ll be Gone with the Wind.
The 2006 Kawasaki Wind.
And with all formidable destriers, a name. This one is Fandango.
This mount carries a four- stroke, kick-start, manual transmission, 125cc K- TEC engine. Since it’s a Kawasaki, it’s also fairly easy to find parts around the kingdom. It’s not an overwhelming and mouth- watering 600cc speed bike that can get through the long expressways, but neither is it the common underbone bike we see everyday. Not that I dislike underbones; in fact, according to research, the Honda XRM and the Suzuki Raider are top- class motorcycles with high ratings. But well, I just wanted something bigger. And different. Something that I could call “my bike”. And yeah, something a little bad ass would help. I must admit that although I have never learned how to fly, I’m thinking that riding a motorcycle is the next best thing.
Of course all vehicles have risks. Cars, trucks, airplanes, rocket jetpacks, Plutonian space shuttles, heck even horses. Motorbikes though, only allots a very, very, small margin for error, whatever they may say.
Going on 60 with a sedan and colliding with a pickup, regardless of whose fault it is, generally ends up with you talking with the driver of the pick up.
Going on 60 with a motorbike and colliding with a pickup, regardless of whose fault it is, generally ends up with your family talking with the driver of the pick up.
And you on the way to some other beautiful place with no beer.
This margin can be increased to the rider’s favor through careful driving, proper bike management and some pretty sturdy gear (pretty and sturdy gear I mean). Nonetheless, even if I become the avatar of all safety regulations in all the lands, and even if I wear enchanted full plate armor, there’s nothing I can do if a 16- wheeler truck, which is driven by a blind and drunk 10 year old listening to Megadeth, which also loses its breaks, which is also conveniently fashioned with deadly poison spikes and a blood- covered battering ram, sends me to the land of my forefathers and makes me as extinct as medieval times.
Other than that particular scenario, if something happens and I go do something stupid, say like drinking and driving, texting while driving, racing with other riders, showing off, or trying out stunt man stuff, you’ll probably know why this journal suddenly becomes stagnant.
In a manner of speaking, I’ll be Gone with the Wind.